The forest no longer whispered.
It groaned.
Every root they stepped over seemed to reach, every branch they passed clung like fingers trying to hold them back. The trees towered above, blotting out the sky—drenched in mist, hung with vines, and stained with blood not yet washed away by time.
They marched in silence.
Boots dragged. Arms trembled. Not from battle, but from hunger, thirst, exhaustion, grief.
They were barely halfway to the academy. The journey had become a punishment—one long, aching reminder of how many they'd lost.
Kael walked near the rear, keeping pace beside Ravi, who limped with every other step but refused help. Liri was a few paces ahead, her bandages damp with sweat, her jaw tight.
Even the noble students weren't talking much anymore.
Not after last night.
And not after this morning.
One of the students—Jonrik, a broad-shouldered boy who once joked too loudly—collapsed without warning. Just fell forward mid-step and didn't get up.
They stopped.
No one moved.
Captain Varn crouched, checked for breath. His face didn't change when he stood.
"He's gone."
Some sobbed. One girl turned and vomited behind a tree.
But the march didn't stop.
They left Jonrik there, under the roots of a thick ashwood tree. No prayers. No burial. Just another soul swallowed by the forest.
Kael wanted to scream. Not out of fear, but out of frustration. They weren't being hunted. They were being bled—slowly, one by one.
"We have to find food," Liri said between gasps. "Anything. Berries, roots…"
"And poison half the group?" snapped a noble boy. Taren, golden-eyed and proud. "Better to die clean."
Ravi spat. "Better to die quiet, you mean."
The two nearly fought right there. Kael stepped between them.
"Stop. Save your strength. We'll need it."
Varn called for a short rest. The group huddled under a fallen trunk, drinking the last of their clean water. A few sucked dew from leaves.
A pair of hunters scouted ahead.
When they returned, the group stirred with hope—only to have it crushed.
"Two routes," the scout said. "Northwest is safe. Longer by a day. South path is quicker—but burrowing tracks. Probably Tunnelbacks."
"Of course," Varn muttered. "Damn things are like earthbound sharks."
A vote was taken.
Risk the shortcut, or play it safe?
The majority wanted to risk it.
And so they walked into the roots.
The southern trail was narrower—twisting through steep gulleys, half-flooded caves, and tangled underbrush. The air turned colder, thicker, the light almost gone.
And then…
Screech.
A grinding, ear-piercing cry from below.
The ground exploded.
A Tunnelback Mawbeast—massive, armored, and blood-hungry—burst from the earth like a living boulder. It flung dirt and bodies into the air.
Screams tore through the group.
Kael dove aside just in time, rolling through mud. One student wasn't fast enough.
Taren.
The noble boy who had mocked the others.
The Mawbeast snapped him in half with its plated jaw—just like that.
For a heartbeat, everything paused.
Even the hunters seemed stunned.
Then the second Mawbeast erupted from behind.
"Defend the line!" Varn roared.
Blades clashed. Fire exploded from a mage's palm. A spear ripped through a beast's side. A student screamed and fell, clawed in the leg.
Kael grabbed the nearest broken spear and charged—not at the beast, but to cover a fallen girl. He held his ground, blocking with shaking arms, blood in his eyes.
The Mawbeast shrieked and lunged—until an axe from one of the hunters crushed its skull.
Silence returned.
Bodies everywhere. Breathing ragged.
One more student dead. Two injured.
Kael collapsed onto his knees.
He was clawed—deep across the ribs. Blood ran, hot and sharp. But the pain didn't reach him.
All he could see was Taren's face before the beast took him. That arrogant smirk. That proud laugh.
Gone. Just like that.
Even the nobles didn't speak now.
That night, the group didn't make camp.
They simply collapsed in a wide clearing and passed out where they lay, not even bothering to post full watch.
Kael couldn't sleep.
He looked up at the sky, the stars barely peeking through the trees.
He still had the chipped sword. The only thing he'd taken from a dead boy two days ago.
Tomorrow, he'd need it again.