Iruminai hurried through the early morning streets of Phasbar. The city was just beginning to stir, shopkeepers unlocking their doors and street vendors setting up their carts.

  He spotted the meeting point ahead—a small square near the northern gate where travelers often gather before departing. A wooden cart stood ready, its canvas covering stretched tight over metal hoops. Several figures moved around it.

  Mai stood apart from the group, scanning the street. When he caught sight of Iruminai, his eyes lit up with relief.

  "There you are," Mai said as Iruminai approached. "Everything okay? You were cutting it close."

  Iruminai adjusted his bag. "Had to say a proper goodbye. Are we ready?"

  "We're about to be." Mai's eyes flickered to the sword hilt visible behind Iruminai's arm. His eyebrows rose in silent question, but before he could ask, a booming voice cut through the morning air.

  “Alright, folks! Cart’s packed, route’s mapped, sun’s rising. Time to move out!” A broad-shouldered man with a mane of unruly red hair clapped his hands together at the front of the cart. Twin blades crossed at his hips, their hilts worn smooth from years of use. His voice carried like someone used to command.

  "That's Deru," Mai whispered. "He's the party's leader."

  Iruminai nodded as they climbed into the back of the cart. Thick blankets covered the wooden floor, which made the space surprisingly comfortable. Two women already sat inside—one with short orange hair reading a book, the other sorting through a pack of herbs.

  The orange-haired woman closed her book with a snap, sharp amber eyes lifting to meet them. Her cropped hair was neat, scars crossing her jaw, leather coat slung over her shoulders—half scholar, half soldier.

  "New blood, huh?" she asked. "I'm Myla."

  Beside her, the quieter woman didn’t look up. Blonde hair fell loosely over her pale eyes as her hands moved with practiced precision, sorting herbs into small bundles. Every motion measured, unhurried.

  “The quiet one over there is Lira,” Myla added with a faint smirk.

  Lira offered a small nod without pausing her work.

  "I'm Mai," he said, taking a seat opposite them. "And this is Iruminai."

  "First time leaving Phasbar?" Myla asked, tucking her book away.

  "For me, yes," Iruminai answered. "Mai's originally from Arcury."

  The cart lurched forward with a whistle from Deru. The wheels groaned against the dirt as they rolled toward the massive gate.

  Iruminai turned back, peeking through the tarp’s opening to watch Phasbar shrink in the morning glow—the city still and quiet beneath the pale light of the crystal islands above, their shapes blurred by haze.

  Iruminai jolted awake as the cart hit a rough patch. He blinked away the sleep, momentarily confused by the unfamiliar swaying motion beneath him. The bag he'd been using as a pillow had slipped away.

  Mai sat across from him, already alert and watching the passing landscape through a gap in the canvas. When he noticed Iruminai stirring, a sly grin spread across his face.

  "Well, look who decided to join us. The princess finally awakens from her beauty sleep."

  Iruminai ran a hand through his disheveled hair and chuckled. "Fuck off."

  Mai stood up, stretching his arms overhead. "Come on. You'll want to see this." He motioned for Iruminai to follow him toward the back of the cart.

  Iruminai rose, legs still stiff from the hours of travel. He followed Mai to the rear opening, where he pulled back the tarp covering.

  The sight stole Iruminai's breath. Endless fields of wildflowers stretched out on both sides of the dirt path—violets, yellows, and deep reds swaying in the calm breeze. Ancient trees with sprawling branches line the horizon, their leaves catching the midday sun.

  Having never ventured beyond Phasbar's walls, Iruminai stood transfixed. The beauty of the open country overwhelmed his senses.

  "We're hopping out for a minute!" Mai shouted toward the front of the cart, waiting for a response.

  Deru brought the cart to a halt with a sharp whistle. "Alright, break time! Fifteen minutes—then we're back on the road."

  Mai tapped Iruminai on the shoulder. "Come on," he said as he swung himself over the back edge of the cart. Iruminai followed, landing with a soft thud beside his friend on the dirt path.

  They walked around the edge of the wagon, curiosity pulling Iruminai forward.

  Wood creaked as bodies shifted. One by one, the rest of the party emerged from their posts around the wagon.

  A massive figure hopped down from the coach seat beside Deru, armor clinking as he landed. Broad shoulders carried an ornate shield strapped tight across his back. Despite his bulk, he moved with surprising control.

  “That’s Jayce,” Mai murmured. “Looks like he should topple over under all that weight, but he’s faster than you’d think.”

  Before Iruminai could respond, a faint click pulled his attention upward. Perched on the cart’s roof, a slim girl tightened the strings of a wrist-mounted crossbow. Each subtle twitch of her fingers made the threads hum with tension, practiced and precise. She looked barely older than Mai, yet moved with the confidence of someone who’d done this a thousand times. Then her eyes flicked down, catching him watching.

  A smirk tugged at her lips as she called down, “Like what you see? Name’s Jori.”

  "Iruminai," he answered, offering a polite nod.

  She tilted her head, rolling the syllables with mock effort. “Iruminai… that’s a mouthful." Her smirk sharpened, quick and mischievous. "Think I'll call you Irumi. Suits you—kinda cute."

  His brows lifted, half-amused, half-exasperated. “Cute? That’s what you’re going with?”

  “Could be worse,” Jori said, twirling a bolt between her fingers with casual precision. “I’ve stuck people with far uglier names.”

  A low chuckle escaped him. “Then I’ll take the upgrade.”

  “Smart choice,” she quipped, flashing a wink before turning her gaze back to the treeline, crossbow steady as if she’d never stopped working.

  From the far side came a lean, scarred figure, his movements smooth. Scars marked his jaw and temple, a heavy greatsword slung across his back, carried as if it weighed nothing. His gaze cut sharper than the weapon itself, a predator’s calm calculation in human form.

  "That's Kael," Mai said quietly, almost instinctively lowering his voice. "He's a Lunar—same as Myla and Lira."

  Kael’s gaze passed over them—brief, unreadable, cold enough to make Iruminai’s shoulders tighten. Then he adjusted the strap of the greatsword slung across his back and kept walking, silent as before.

  Iruminai exhaled slowly, only then realizing he’d been holding his breath. He shifted his attention forward—grateful for the distraction—and that’s when he saw it.

  A massive stag stood harnessed, hauling the cart with hefty strides. Instead of fur, lush moss carpeted its powerful body, dotted with tiny wildflowers. Its antlers weren't bone but living branches, complete with leaves and small buds.

  Iruminai found himself speechless, wondering what other strange sights this journey might reveal. But before he could even finish the thought, daylight vanished—the vibrant colors of the meadow being replaced by an impenetrable void that seemed to swallow all light.

  A bone-chilling howl pierced the darkness. It rang in Iruminai’s chest, pulling at something ancient in his bones. The adventurers drew their weapons, their silhouettes tense and alert.

  His peripherals caught it first, a blur slipping against the treeline. A tendril of ink-like shadow, impossibly dark even against the surrounding blackness, shot from the treeline with terrifying speed, aiming directly at his chest.

  His body moved before he did. A twist, a drop. The spike sped past, so close he felt the air split around it. It punched through the cart’s canvas with a wet rip, then melted back like liquid shadow.

  Deru’s voice rose, Myla’s too—but Iruminai heard nothing. No footsteps. No wind. Just silence, absolute and smothering.

  Another spike.

  He turned—and didn’t have to. Mai slammed into him from the side, knocking them both to the dirt. The impact stole his breath, ribs rattling as the world tilted. He coughed, gasped.

  Above them, Lira swung her dagger, cutting through the shadow—or trying to. The weapon passed through harmlessly, as if slicing through smoke. It didn’t react. It lingered a moment, then slipped back into the trees.

  Sound suddenly rushed back in, everything flooding in all at once—wind, footsteps, shouted commands.

  And then the howl. Again.

  "Get up!" Mai’s hand grabbed his collar, hauling him upright. His voice was sharp and scared, but he remained focused.

  “My sight—it’s gone!” Deru’s voice yelled, taut with urgency. Still, his sword moved like a dancer—parrying a spike from behind with perfect precision, guided by sound and instinct.

  Jayce stepped forward, shield raised like a wall. Spikes rained around him, hammering against metal. The shield held—for now—but Iruminai saw the cracks spreading across its surface.

  Then the trees broke.

  Something leapt from the brush—high, fast, silent. It landed beside Kael in a crouch, claws sinking into the earth with a dull thud.

  It was a wolf, or at least took the form of one. Its body was covered in sleek, shadow-like fur that seemed to absorb all light. From its back, writhing tentacles of pure darkness flowed like smoke, constantly shifting and reforming. A bone-white mask covered its upper face, leaving only its mouth visible—a mouth that suddenly hinged open to an impossible width, revealing row upon row of jagged teeth that glistened with unnatural light.

  It howled once more.

  Iruminai staggered back. It wasn’t just sound—it was pressure. Like something was pulling at the seams of his mind.

  Kael moved. A blur of blue lightning and motion. He blocked a claw strike mid-air, then vanished, leaving crackling energy sizzling in his wake.

  He reappeared behind the beast. One clean swing. The greatsword—towering and brutal—cut deep into the creature’s hind leg.

  No blood, but smoke. Tendrils. Black and endless, writhing from the wound. But even as they spilled out, they reformed.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Iruminai stared. He knew this thing—a Veil Hound, one of the most dangerous Lunox Beasts in the northern region of Ispin. A nightmare made real, ancient and hungry.

  Kael vanished again and again, each flicker laced with lightning. His strikes carved through shadow-flesh, but every blow reformed.

  Then—with a final blink—Kael flashed into view, suspended above the creature like judgement given form, blade gleaming in the dark.

  And then it hit. Steel met bone with brutal finality.

  The impact cracked through the creature's mask with a splintering crunch—and the Veil Hound screeched, a howl that would give even the strongest willed nightmares.

  Darkness erupted in a violent ring. Kael raised his blade—but a green cord lashed around his torso, yanking him back. Iruminai tracked the arc of light past the shadows.

  Myla braced, both hands on the radiant lasso.

  Just in time.

  Where Kael had stood just seconds before, jagged spines burst outward in a crown of shadow. Each spike shimmered with malice. They stabbed at the air, searching—too late for their target.

  The cocoon of shadow-spikes dissolved into smoke, curling away in the wind. What remained was the Veil Hound—exposed, furious. Its eyes flicked beneath the fractured mask, restless and sharp, hunting for what had slipped its grasp.

  Kael stumbled to his feet, chest heaving. "Shit," he spat, wiping blood from his lip. "'Hit the damn thing dead center. Shoulda' cracked its skull!"

  Iruminai watched as the Veil Hound's head swiveled, its fractured mask revealing one glowing eye that swept across the battlefield. The movement was unnaturally fluid.

  Then it stopped.

  The creature went still, its gaze locking onto Mai. It began coiling—gathering force. The shadow tendrils around it seemed to pulse, drawing inward like a breath before a plunge.

  Iruminai's warning caught in his throat.

  The Veil Hound lunged. Not a run—a blur. A living streak of shadow tearing across the ground. Dirt kicked up in its wake, the forest floor shredding beneath it.

  Mai moved on instinct. The Veil Hound surged, tendrils whipping like liquid darkness. His heart hammered, but his mind stayed eerily calm.

  He dropped low, fingers digging into the dirt. The beast's trajectory was predictable—a straight line of hunger and intent.

  As it closed the distance, Mai pivoted sharply to the side, feeling the rush of air as the creature's massive form sailed past him. A claw missed him by inches, carving a violent trench where he'd stood.

  He hit the ground in a roll, came up crouched, already scanning.

  The cramped cages from his nightmares flashed through his mind—the helplessness, the fear. Not again. Never again.

  Mai locked eyes with Iruminai. With a nod, they flanked the beast as it recovered.

  "We'll keep it busy!" Mai shouted to Deru. "Everyone regroup and coordinate!"

  Iruminai drew his father's sword, the blade catching what little light remained. The Veil Hound's head snapped toward him, tendrils writhing in anticipation.

  "I don't do fetch. Try someone else," Iruminai taunted sarcastically, slashing at a tendril that whipped toward his face. The blade passed through with minimal resistance.

  Mai circled behind, striking at the beast's outer thigh. His blows barely registered, but each attack diverted the Hound's attention, buying precious seconds for the adventurers to reorganize.

  Iruminai took another stab at the creature, darkness filling the injury almost immediately. "Our attacks aren't doing anything!" Iruminai called out to the others, evading another whipping tendril.

  Mai's thoughts tumbled frantically. He observed how their every attack regenerated. What can it be? There has to be something. He recalled Kael's earlier confrontation with the creature.

  Suddenly, it clicked.

  "The mask! Aim for the mask—it's the only section that appeared to damage it!" Mai yelled.

  Iruminai nodded, circling to flank the creature from behind.

  He lunged, aiming for the creature's mask. The Veil Hound twisted with impossible speed, its jaw unhinging to reveal rows of gleaming teeth. He barely dodged the snapping maw, feeling hot breath against his cheek.

  "Almost had it!" he called to Mai, circling for another attempt.

  Mai darted in from the opposite side, drawing the beast's attention. The Hound's tendrils lashed out, slamming him backward into a tree. A sharp pain spread across his abdomen.

  That should be enough time. Mai thought to himself.

  Iruminai charged, sword raised. The beast sensed him coming and whirled. Too late to stop—too committed to defend. The tendril punched through his shoulder, lifting him off the ground. Pain exploded as his father’s sword clattered to the earth.

  "IRU!" Mai's scream tore through the clearing.

  Blood poured down Iruminai's chest as the Hound flung him against a tree trunk. He crumpled to the ground, vision blurring.

  The sound of his body hitting the earth echoed too loudly in the silence. Something inside Mai went taut, stretched to the edge of breaking. His pupils shrank into razor slits, catching what little light pierced the veil. His ears pricked forward, twitching at sounds no one else could hear. Behind him, his tail lashed in restless arcs, too agitated to stay still.

  Pain pulsed through his chest, heat pressing against cracked ribs until every breath came jagged and shallow. His lips peeled back in a silent snarl, teeth pushing longer with each inhale—fangs sliding down, predatory and cruel.

  The trees warped around him, their shapes stretched thin in the suffocating dark of the veil. Branches twisted overhead, blotting out the sky. The cart, the adventurers, even Iruminai blurred to the edges of his vision, dissolving into meaningless haze.

  What cut through was raw and unrelenting: scent, movement, threat. The forest itself seemed to vanish, thinning to a single truth—prey and predator.

  Time fractured into the rhythm of a hunt.

  His fingers curled, nails tearing skin as they lengthened into claws, blood slicking across his palms. His jaw locked, tasting iron as a growl vibrated low in his throat, too deep, too raw to belong fully to him.

  Every part of him sharpened, a fox turned feral. The boy was still there, buried somewhere beneath the weight of instinct.

  Mai lunged, crossing the gap in a blur of claws and fury. His nails carved through the Hound’s shadowed hide, raking smoke that bled and reformed around his hands. A snarl ripped from his throat, raw and feral.

  The beast recoiled, tendrils lashing wildly—then its mask snapped toward him, jaw splitting impossibly wide. Teeth gleamed. Hunger surged.

  He twisted aside—too late.

  A tendril slammed into his ribs like a hammer. Agony tore through his chest, each bone screaming as he crashed through dirt and leaves. A breath tore from his lungs; blood spilled from his mouth in thick drops.

  Staggering upright, swaying but unbroken, Mai locked his slit-pupiled gaze on the beast. His chest burned, vision blurred—but he refused to fall.

  The Hound lowered itself, tendrils writhing. Then it charged, a streak of living shadow.

  A wall of steel flashed between Mai and the beast.

  Jayce hit like an avalanche. His roar shook the clearing as his massive shield crashed into the Veil Hound. The impact thundered through the ground, sending shivers up Mai’s legs. The beast was hurled sideways, its shadow-flesh tearing against bark as it smashed into a tree with bone-cracking force. Cracks spider-webbed across the shield’s surface, but Jayce held fast, braced like a fortress in the storm.

  Before the Hound could recover, the sharp click of springs cut through the chaos.

  Jori moved. Her slim figure crouched low atop the cart, wrist flicking, threads on her crossbow rig singing with tension. A staccato rhythm of twitches and pulls—then three bolts screamed through the air, streaks of frost-lit silver. They buried themselves deep into the beast’s legs and shoulder. Cold spread instantly, frost veins racing outward, crystallizing across its shadowed hide until the creature groaned under the weight of its own frozen prison.

  “Hold it!” Myla’s voice rang, sharp and commanding.

  The air shimmered. A translucent plane of Lunis energy snapped into place before her, glowing faintly like tempered glass. She twisted her palms, and the construct lurched—rotating with brutal speed.

  Deru and Kael were already moving.

  They sprinted without hesitation, boots hammering against dirt. As they reached the edge of Myla’s conjured platform, she flipped it like a lever. The force catapulted both men skyward—two human projectiles launched toward the creature.

  Kael led. Lightning crawled up his body, sizzling through the air as his greatsword gleamed like a slab of judgment. His eyes glowed with something unreadable. He released the blade mid-arc, the weapon spinning once before plunging straight into the Hound’s chest. The sound was wet, wrong—steel tearing shadow. The impact slammed the beast harder against the tree, half-pinning it, its howl ripping apart the veil.

  Kael didn’t stop. Momentum carried him straight into his embedded weapon. His hands found the hilt, muscles straining as he twisted with inhuman precision. The greatsword ripped sideways, carving a trench of light through the beast’s torso. Smoke and shadow burst from the wound, writhing, screaming.

  Then Deru crashed down.

  Twin blades blazed in either hand, his crimson hair trailing like fire through the dark. He twisted midair, a predator’s grace honed to perfection. Both swords plunged into the Veil Hound’s neck with surgical brutality. The impact slammed the beast harder against the tree, pinning it like prey caught in a trap.

  The creature thrashed, shadowy tendrils whipping wildly, but Deru held firm. His eyes locked on its glowing sockets, unwavering. For the first time, the Veil Hound’s gaze faltered. Hunger and rage gave way to something else—something colder. It recognized the look in Deru’s eyes: the cold, calculating gaze of death itself, staring down at its next collection.

  The beast lunged in desperation, a tendril stabbing toward his chest. Deru pivoted with effortless precision, letting it scrape past. One sword remained buried deep, anchoring the monster in place. With the other, he raised his arm high, and in a clean, merciless arc, brought the blade down.

  Steel met bone. The mask shattered like glass.

  Light erupted, pure and blinding. Radiance poured from the fractures, unraveling shadow-flesh in ribbons of brilliance. The Veil Hound’s howl cracked into something unearthly—half shriek, half song—as its body dissolved into motes of light.

  The forest exhaled. Shadows peeled back. Sunlight speared through the canopy, gilding the battlefield in fractured gold.

  Day had returned. Birds cautiously resumed their songs.

  Where the Veil Hound had been, a glowing white crystal resided. Scattered motes of light danced upward before fading into the afternoon air.

  Mai got up and stumbled across the clearing toward Iruminai, his own pain forgotten. His friend lay motionless against the tree trunk, blood soaking through his torn shirt. Mai's heart hammered against his broken ribs as he dropped to his knees beside him.

  Lira was already there, her hands hovering over Iruminai's chest. A golden orb pulsed between her palms, casting a warm light across his pale face. Delicate tendrils of energy extended from the orb, weaving into Iruminai's wound like a golden thread through fabric.

  "Is he—" Mai's voice cracked.

  "He'll be okay," Lira said without looking up. Her brow furrowed in concentration as the tendrils sank deeper. "The puncture missed all vital organs."

  Mai watched as the torn flesh beneath the glowing threads began knitting together. The bleeding slowed, then stopped. Iruminai's labored breathing gradually steadied.

  The golden tendrils retracted into the orb as Lira sat back on her heels. Where the gaping wound had been, a fresh scar now marked Iruminai's upper chest.

  "He needs rest," she said, her voice softening. "His body has been through significant trauma. The healing accelerates recovery, but it doesn't eliminate it completely."

  Iruminai's eyes fluttered, but remained closed. Mai let out a long sigh of relief, his shoulders slumping as he collapsed onto the ground beside his friend. The adrenaline that had kept him moving, left him trembling and light-headed.

  "Thank you," he said, barely a whisper. His eyes slowly closed as Lira twisted her attention to him, the golden orb between her palms reigniting once more.

  Mai's eyes fluttered open to darkness. Stars glittered overhead through gaps in the forest canopy, their light competing with the warm glow of a campfire nearby. His body felt heavy, each breath a deliberate effort.

  He turned his head slowly, vision focusing on Iruminai's still form on a cot a few feet away. His friend's chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm.

  Mai pushed himself up on his elbows, wincing as pain flared across his torso. The world tilted momentarily before settling back into place. He took a moment to gather himself before attempting to stand.

  "Easy there," Jori’s voice came from beside the fire. She sat with her crossbow resting across her lap, idly adjusting a string, her posture loose despite the long day. Myla sat opposite, stirring something in a small pot, the flames painting her features in amber light.

  Mai steadied himself against a tree trunk, testing his balance. His legs trembled but held. "How long was I out?"

  "About six hours," Myla replied. "Lira did what she could before exhausting herself. She's resting now."

  Mai took another look at Iruminai as he walked toward the fire. "Has he woken at all?"

  Jori shook her head, fingers drumming idly against the crossbow’s frame. "Not yet. But Lira stitched him back together. If she says he’ll be fine by morning, then he will be."

  Mai lowered himself beside the fire, each movement careful and measured. His ribs protested with dull throbs of pain.

  Myla reached for a wooden bowl, ladling steaming stew from the pot. The rich aroma of herbs and meat filled the air as she passed it to him with a small wooden spoon.

  "You should eat," she breathed. "Help rebuild your strength."

  Mai accepted the bowl with a grateful nod. The first spoonful warmed him from the inside, the broth surprisingly flavorful given their circumstances.

  "Thank you," he said after a few more sips.

  The fire crackled between them, casting dancing shadows across the small clearing. The quiet night around them felt like a cocoon of safety after the day's chaos. His gaze moved between Jori and Myla, curiosity finally overcoming his exhaustion.

  "So, where are you all from originally?" he asked, setting his bowl down. "I know so little about any of you."

  Myla smiled, tucking a strand of orange hair behind her ear. “Faltra. A small town north of Phasbar. Fishermen, farmers. My father was a blacksmith. My mother, stayed home to take care of us. Neither of them wanted me chasing adventuring work, but here I am.” Her smirk softened into something closer to fondness. “They came around eventually.”

  Mai returned the smile, setting his bowl aside. “They sound like good people.” His eyes drifted toward Jori. “What about you?”

  "Junisol," she said, giving a small shrug as if to downplay it. Her fingers tapped against the frame of her crossbow.

  Mai’s eyebrows rose. “Really? Not many Vesrin settle in Junisol.”

  Jori’s lips quirked with the faintest curve of amusement. “Guess my family liked the view. Mountains, rivers, forests—hard place to leave once you’ve seen it.”

  Mai studied her a moment, noting how the firelight caught the sharp lines of her expression. “It sounds beautiful.”

  "It was," Jori said, then glanced at Iruminai’s cot. “Though it taught me one thing: if you’re weaker than the rest, you work twice as hard. Guess that’s something your friend already knows.”

  Mai followed her gaze before letting out a soft chuckle. "He definitely puts in the effort, that's for sure."

  The fire danced lower as the night deepened. Myla offered another bowl of stew, but he declined with a grateful smile.

  Jori rose, brushing dirt from her trousers as she adjusted the strap of her crossbow. “I’ll cover second watch. He’ll be fine; I'll keep an eye on him. You should get some rest,” she added, almost offhand, though her eyes lingered on Iruminai’s cot for a beat before she turned away.

  "Will do, goodnight." Mai murmured, watching Jori disappear into the darkness beyond the fire's glow.

  Myla stood next, stretching her arms overhead. "Rest well," she said before following Jori.

  Mai remained by the dying embers a moment longer. The day's events weighed heavy on his shoulders as he finally pushed himself to his feet.

  Each step back to his cot sent dull pain radiating through his chest. Mai lowered himself carefully onto the makeshift bed. Exhaustion quickly overcame discomfort as his eyelids grew heavy, then closed completely.