Twigs snapped beneath bare feet as Nyxia ran, breath ragged, vision blurred. Her spectral tail dragged in the dirt behind her, and her fluffy ears twitched wildly to phantom sounds.
Run. Keep going. You don't deserve rest. You don't deserve mercy. You're the thing the Light should've purged—
"Shut up—" she gasped, stumbling. "I can't—I can't—"
Loque'nahak raced beside her, silent and focused, but even his presence wasn't enough now.
Her knees buckled.
She slammed into the earth like a felled tree, breath gone, limbs shaking violently.
"Loque—" she whimpered, reaching for him with trembling fingers before her body seized, just once—and then fell still, lips parted, eyes fluttering.
Loque pressed his nose to her cheek. A mournful, low rumble echoed from him as he curled protectively around her collapsed form.
[10:34 PM]
Cut to: The Temple Gates – Search Party Launch
Temple guards in pale armor mounted spirit-touched sabers and beasts, their glowing eyes narrowed with concern. Lanterns blessed with Elune's grace were passed among them, soft silver light cutting through the growing darkness.
"Split into groups of three," the high priest ordered. "They can't have gone far. Use the beacon crystals—one flare if you find her, two if she's hurt."
A tall elf raised his spear. "And if it's too late?"
The priest's jaw clenched. "Then you bring them both home, no matter the cost."
With that, the hunt began, silver light scattering into the gloom like falling stars.
[10:34 PM]
Scene: "The Ghost of the Huntress"
The forest was quiet.
Too quiet.
The only sound was the low, rasping breaths from Loque'nahak, curled around Nyxia's motionless body. His eyes glowed dimly in the growing darkness, watching the rise and fall of her chest—shallow, unsteady, wrong.
He nuzzled her cheek, gently, desperately.
Come on, kitling… fight. You always fight.
No response.
He gave a frustrated huff and licked her forehead, then her shoulder, then gave a sharp nip to her arm.
Still… nothing.
His spectral form flickered, worry tainting his usually majestic glow. He arched back his head and let out a long, mournful yowl—part spirit, part beast, part ancient pain.
Above them, the leaves trembled. A silver lantern's light flickered between branches.
[10:34 PM]
Scene: "Search & Silence"
A pair of riders broke into the clearing. One gasped and immediately dismounted.
"There—there!"
They rushed to her side, dropping to their knees beside Nyxia. Loque let out a warning growl but didn't move from his place—his eyes locked with theirs, judging their intent.
"She's alive," one whispered. "Barely—but she's alive."
"And the beast?"
A moment passed. Then the other knelt, bowing their head to the spirit. "He is not the beast. He is her protector."
The first rescuer activated the beacon crystal, launching a single flare of silver light into the sky. Within moments, the forest began to stir with the sound of others coming—riders and priests drawn to the light.
Back within the candlelit temple, Perseus lay unconscious, still breathing but unmoving. His body occasionally twitched as healing spells continued to work under his skin.
In the hall beyond, three senior acolytes stood with the High Priestess.
"…And if she's gone?" one whispered. "What then?"
The silence between them was suffocating.
"We don't tell him," the elder finally said, voice hoarse. "Not right away."
"We can't lie to him—"
"Not lie. Just… delay. You've seen how he fought to keep her alive. If she's dead… that could be the end of him, too."
Another added, "She's more than a comrade to him. She's his balance. His fury was nearly uncontrollable today."
The youngest among them stared toward the door, toward the figure in the bed. "If she's dead… then we've already lost him."
No one spoke after that.
They simply stood there—waiting for word.
The forest deepened.
Nyxia didn't remember how long she had run—only the sensation of her lungs burning, her bare feet slicing through undergrowth, and Loque's presence trailing beside her like a ghostly shadow, never touching, never speaking.
Until she couldn't anymore.
Collapsed against the roots of a gnarled tree, her breath sawed in and out of her throat in jagged stabs. Dirt streaked her skin. Blood had dried at the corners of her mouth. Her spectral tail barely flickered. And her ears drooped limply beneath a curtain of tangled, silken hair.
Loque circled her again. The great spirit beast nudged her, then shoved her with his shoulder. No answer.
You can't shut down. Not here. Not now.
But she was already slipping again—eyes rolling back, limbs giving out.
Loque gave a guttural snarl and backed off, pacing tight circles, frustrated and frantic. The bond was still alive. He could feel her soul flickering behind a veil of silence, but it was growing dimmer, as if even she wasn't sure she wanted to be found.
Nyxia, you don't get to leave me, he hissed into her mind, words sharp and desperate.
You don't get to leave after everything.
Still, she didn't respond.
So he lay beside her, draping his translucent, glowing form over her back like a blanket of moonlight and fading starlight.
And waited.
Hours later, the search party had grown to nearly a dozen—spread out, marking trees with ribbons of Elune-blessed silver.
"We should've found tracks," one whispered, sweating. "Anything. Spirit beasts don't cover their trail this well."
"She's a Beast Master," the leader said grimly. "She taught Loque that herself."
A sharp whistle echoed in the trees—negative. No sign.
"She didn't want to be found," the priest muttered. "She still doesn't."
"But if she collapses again…"
No one wanted to finish that thought.
The sky was growing darker, with only slivers of moonlight piercing the canopy. The forest seemed to hold its breath.
Perseus screamed.
He tore at the bedsheets like they were shackles, sweat soaking his brow as he writhed under the effects of the forced sleep and the spellwork binding him in place.
The napkin had been laced with dreamleaf and silverroot, enough to knock out a kodo. And still, he fought it—jaw clenched, voice hoarse, fury flooding the room in waves.
A lamp shattered. Then the wash basin. A bookcase slammed to the floor as the room's air seemed to pulse with barely-contained divine rage.
The door burst open.
Three acolytes and a priestess rushed in, only to freeze in horror.
"Gods preserve us…"
Perseus was glowing. Not just faintly—but with dangerous intensity. His tattoos burned like live wires, and the bedframe had splintered beneath his grip. His eyes—half-lidded, wild—looked at them as if he barely recognized where he was.
"W-What is he doing?"
"He's resisting everything—the sedative, the spells—"
Then one of the acolytes, pale and shaking, rushed in with a scroll.
"She's still missing."
The priestess turned sharply. "You were not supposed to tell him—!"
"I didn't say it out loud—he just… knew."
Perseus's body arched again, every muscle locked. Then a ragged, tormented growl escaped his throat:
"Where… is… she?"
It was cold.
Boo stirred beneath the layers of woven blankets, her limbs tangled, her head pounding like the aftermath of a hangover laced with grief. The softness of the room felt too gentle—too distant from the horror they had come from.
At first, she didn't open her eyes. She just lay there, listening to the quiet.
And then the silence cracked.
Muffled voices. Distant panic. The subtle hum of magic being woven somewhere down the temple's hall.
Her heart clenched.
Something's wrong.
She sat up too fast, gasping—disoriented, sore, but alert. Her fingers clawed the blanket back as she stumbled from the bed. Her shirt stuck to her side, damp with dried sweat. Her knees buckled for a second.
Then she heard it:
Perseus, roaring like a wounded god.
Her stomach dropped.
"No. No, no—"
She pushed open the door, nearly colliding with a startled acolyte holding a tray of dried herbs and salves.
"Where is he?" she snapped. "What's happening?"
The girl—young, wide-eyed—stammered, "Y-you shouldn't be up yet, you need to—"
"Tell me where he is." Boo's voice cracked like a whip. "And where's Nyxia?"
The pause was too long.
Too heavy.
"She's missing."
Boo's breath hitched, all the way down to her spine. "She what?"
"She ran. Last night. No one noticed until this morning. Loque is with her—but she's been gone hours. And Perseus—he… he felt it. They had to sedate him. But it's not working."
The words blurred together, thick and heavy, like mud sliding down her ribs.
Gone. She ran.
The world tilted sideways.
But Boo grabbed the doorframe to steady herself, jaw clenched, blinking past the pressure behind her eyes. "Show me to him."
"I—I don't think you should—"
"Show me to him."
She didn't wait for permission.
The corridors rushed past in a blur of white stone, flickering torchlight, and memories she didn't want to relive. By the time she reached Perseus's room, she could already feel the wild magic bleeding out into the hallway like a wave of heat.
Someone had broken the door just to enter. She stepped over the splinters.
And there he was.
Collapsed in the center of a wrecked room. Furniture in splinters. Walls cracked. Four temple acolytes surrounding him, magic dancing between their fingers, sweat streaming down their faces as they chanted healing invocations and containment mantras.
Perseus looked like death warmed over—lips pale, skin ghosted with divine burn marks from his own magic. His breath came in shallow gasps, body too tense to relax.
Boo swallowed hard, stepping closer.
This is bad.
And Nyxia was still missing.
The chanting wavered as Boo entered the ruined room.
"Give us space!" she barked, striding through the circle. The acolytes hesitated—fear, reverence, uncertainty—but parted just enough for her to kneel beside Perseus.
He was trembling. Not from cold, not from pain—something deeper, knotted in his chest like a hook lodged in his ribs. His breath hitched at her presence, eyes wild, unfocused.
"She's gone."
"I know," Boo whispered, touching his shoulder.
He flinched.
"I know, okay?" She leaned in, forehead nearly against his. "But she's not dead. Don't say it. Don't even think it. Nyxia's a damn fighter, remember? You taught her to be."
He didn't answer. His knuckles were white, hands fisted in the bedsheets.
"They're looking for her," Boo pressed on, voice softer now. "A dozen of them. No way in hell they're coming back without her."
Perseus shuddered, jaw clenched. "I—I should've stopped her. I felt her slip past—should've been faster."
"You nearly died yesterday." She reached up and cupped his face. "You couldn't even sit upright without puking blood. So no. You don't get to blame yourself for this."
He looked at her, truly looked, and something cracked behind his eyes.
Still, he resisted. "What if she—"
"She's not." Boo's voice sharpened like a blade. "She's going to make it back. Because she's got Loque. And she knows we're waiting."
The air hung thick between them, magic still buzzing faintly along Perseus's skin. But his fingers finally loosened. The tension in his shoulders dropped a fraction.
Reluctantly, Perseus allowed her to guide him back against the pillows.
"I'll stay," Boo said quietly. "I'll stay right here. And when she walks through that door, you're going to be strong enough to hold her."
His lip trembled—barely. But he nodded.