He reached into his pack, pulling free the rations he'd brought—a bundle of preserved meat, dried fruit, and a flask of water. The fight had drained him, and his body screamed for sustenance.
With slow, deliberate movements, he ate in controlled bites, forcing himself to take in enough energy to stabilize. The water was cool against his parched throat, a welcome relief after the searing heat of battle.
His wounds still throbbed—the deep gash along his ribs and the burn across his arm refusing to let him forget how close the fight had been.
Hours slipped by as James remained alert, forcing himself to rest without truly relaxing. His body ached, the wounds throbbing with every movement, but he had patched himself up well enough to keep going.
The distant sounds of battle had faded, replaced by an eerie quiet. The weaker beasts had been eliminated. The strongest had claimed the Emberfang Tiger's corpse. But that didn't mean it was safe.
His fingers hovered near his bow, ready at a moment's notice.
Then—a faint crunch of footsteps against dried leaves.
James stiffened.
Someone—or something—was nearby.
Slowly, he shifted deeper into the shadows, steadying his breath, listening. The footsteps grew closer. Steady. Unrushed.
Whoever it was, they weren't hiding.
They were approaching deliberately.
James steadied his breath, muscles tensed as the footsteps grew closer, deliberate, unhurried. Not a beast acting on instinct—something more organized.
Then, the scent hit him.
Blood. Fur. The distinct musk of a predator—but not the Emberfang Tiger. This was something else. Something familiar.
Through the gaps in the foliage, shapes materialized from the darkness—wolves, their sleek, powerful bodies marked with crimson streaks along their fur. Their eyes gleamed in the low light, intelligence flickering behind their predatory gazes.
The Crimson Fang Pack.
James exhaled slowly. This was worse than wandering beasts. These wolves hunted as a unit, working together, overwhelming their prey with ruthless coordination. And judging by how they approached the battlefield, they had tracked his fight. They had planned for this.
He could already tell—they weren't here for the Emberfang Tiger's remains.
They were here for him.
His grip tightened around his bow as he shifted his weight, preparing to move.
But then—he saw it.
A towering shadow, lingering at the back of the pack, far larger than the rest.
A wolf—no, a beast beyond the others, its crimson-marked fur more vivid, its eyes darker, its presence suffocating.
James didn't need confirmation.
This was their king.
James exhaled sharply, forcing his body into motion. Staying in the alcove was suicide. He had already fought one brutal battle—he couldn't afford another, especially not against a coordinated pack with their king watching over them.
His mind raced.
His eyes flicked upward—a towering tree just ahead, thick-branched, stable enough to climb. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than staying grounded, where the wolves had complete control.
He made his move.
With practiced speed, he darted out of the alcove, his injured limbs protesting with every step. A sharp howl pierced the air behind him, the pack realizing his escape attempt.
They were coming.
James pushed harder, reaching the base of the tree in seconds, throwing himself upward, fingers gripping rough bark, boots pressing against the trunk as he climbed as fast as his battered body would allow.
The wolves closed in, their flames licking at the ground beneath him, heat rising—but he was already too high.
From the upper branches, he steadied his breath, bow in hand, gaze locked downward.
He had escaped—for now.
But their king hadn't moved.
And he had the sinking feeling that this wasn't over yet.
James steadied his breath, perched on the thick branch high above the snarling pack. The Crimson Fang wolves circled below, their fiery eyes locked onto him, their bodies coiling with anticipation.
There weren't too many—six, maybe seven—but each was deadly, their flames licking at the ground, their hunger undeniable.
And then there was their king.
The towering alpha wolf stood at the back, its crimson-marked fur more vivid than the rest, its presence suffocating.
James gritted his teeth.
If they thought he was trapped up here, they were dead wrong.
His fingers inscribed a rune onto the first arrow.
He fired.
The shot struck clean, embedding itself into the nearest wolf's shoulder, sending it staggering backward. The others snarled, reacting instantly.
The pack burst into motion, flames erupting around them as they leaped for the tree, claws slashing at the bark, trying to reach him.
James moved fast, drawing another arrow—a fire-resistant rune this time, meant to counter their burning strikes.
The battle had begun.
James loosed another arrow, the rune glowing fiercely as it tore through the air, striking a second wolf square in the flank. The beast yelped, staggering backward, but the others weren't deterred.
The Crimson Fang pack surged forward, their claws slashing at the tree trunk, flames licking higher as they attempted to reach him.
James moved quickly, nocking another arrow, this time inscribing a explosive rune—meant to blast back anything caught in its path.
He fired downward, just as one of the wolves leaped toward the branch. The arrow detonated mid-impact, sending the beast spiraling back into the pack, knocking two others off their footing.
But before James could line up his next shot—the alpha moved.
The Wolf King let out a deep, resonating growl, its massive form shifting as it finally stepped forward. The pack froze, instantly deferring to their leader.
Then, it leaped.
===============================