Derpy didn’t have to guess where she went.
Vambasta had made sure of that.
The forest edge outside Fenward looked like it had been insulted. Gouges in the dirt. Broken saplings. A line of snapped branches that pointed the way like a finger.
And the scent.
Hot wolf-musk, iron, pine resin.
It hit the back of his throat and made his eyes water.
His body reacted before his brain could argue.
His lungs pulled deeper. His steps found the cleanest path without thinking. His tail twitched under his hoodie, correcting his balance every time the ground dipped.
That was the worst part.
It felt easy.
Derpy swallowed hard and kept moving.
Behind him, Fenward’s noise faded into nothing. No roofs. No chimneys. No straight lines.
Just roots, wet leaves, and the quiet that made every breath feel too loud.
He stepped over a fallen log and the world changed.
Not visually.
In his nerves.
Like he’d crossed a boundary he couldn’t uncross.
A sound drifted through the trees—breath and voice, carried on purpose.
Not close.
Not far.
Everywhere.
“Good,” Vambasta called, voice light with satisfaction. “You can follow. That’s step one.”
Derpy spun, Frostburn already crawling over his forearms in a cold, black sheen.
Nothing.
Only trunks and shadow.
“Stop doing that,” he snapped.
Her voice slid to his left, as if the woods had moved her for her.
“You run like prey,” she said. “But you hit like a weapon.”
Derpy’s jaw clenched. “I’m not—”
A blur.
He barely saw her. A pink streak between trees, too fast for something that big.
Instinct screamed.
Derpy raised his arms.
Claws raked across his guard with a sound like metal on stone. The impact shoved him sideways. His boots skidded in leaf-mud.
He didn’t fall.
His tail snapped out, countered the slide, pulled him back into center.
Derpy’s stomach lurched.
Vambasta’s voice purred from behind him. “Oh. That’s new.”
He whirled.
She wasn’t there.
A second feint hit from the right—low, aimed at his legs.
Derpy jumped, wings twitching under his hoodie like they wanted to tear free.
He landed hard, knees screaming.
Her voice cut closer, sharp with delight. “Protect your neck? Or protect your wings?”
Derpy’s breath came sharp. “I don’t have—”
Another strike.
This time she went high.
Derpy threw Frostburn up and felt claws scrape ice. The cold bit into his skin through the gauntlets, a clean pain.
He staggered back, eyes scanning.
Nothing.
She was making him chase shadows.
She wanted him to panic.
To summon everything.
To burn himself out.
Derpy forced his breathing down.
In.
Out.
He kept Frostburn up—steady, not flaring.
He didn’t throw shards.
He didn’t flood the woods with ice.
He listened.
Leaves.
Branches.
The smallest shift of weight.
A heartbeat later, he caught it—one soft crunch that didn’t belong to him.
He pivoted and punched.
Ice burst outward.
The shockwave cracked through the underbrush and forced a pink blur to recoil.
Vambasta finally showed herself—half a second of teeth and bright eyes—before she vanished again.
“Better,” she called. “Not stupid.”
Derpy’s teeth ground together.
He moved forward, slow now, refusing to sprint.
He wasn’t prey.
Not here.
Not like this.
Vambasta circled him without stepping into sight. Her voice slid around him like a leash.
“Tell me,” she said, almost conversational. “Do you think you’re brave?”
Derpy didn’t answer.
“Because you look brave,” she continued. “You yell at monsters. You stand in front of my teeth and you don’t lie.”
A pause.
Then her tone sharpened.
“But I wonder if it’s you.”
Derpy’s spine went cold.
Vambasta’s voice dropped, cruelly curious. “Or if you’re only brave when someone else is in your skin.”
The words hit like a fist.
Vespera’s warning flashed in his mind—sleeping shadow, wrong posture, wrong stillness.
Derpy’s breath caught.
For half a heartbeat, he felt it.
That other presence.
Not speaking.
Not moving.
Just… there.
Like a weight behind his eyes.
Derpy’s hands tightened into fists.
“No,” he said, voice rough.
A short, sharp sound left the trees—approval or mockery, impossible to tell.
“Prove it.”
She came out of the trees like a cannonball.
Derpy barely had time to raise Frostburn.
Impact.
He flew backward, slammed into a trunk, bark exploding against his shoulder.
Pain flashed white.
His wings jerked under the hoodie, desperate.
Vambasta loomed over him, teeth bared, breath hot.
“Come on,” she taunted. “Show me the real you.”
Derpy shoved off the tree and rolled.
Claws hit where his head had been.
He came up on one knee, Frostburn steaming.
He didn’t rush.
He watched.
Vambasta’s stance was relaxed, almost lazy—like she could end it whenever she wanted.
But her eyes.
Her eyes were locked on his shoulders.
On his hoodie.
On the places his body didn’t sit right anymore.
She was testing him.
Not just his strength.
His control.
Derpy’s chest heaved.
He made himself stand.
He took one step.
Then another.
Vambasta tilted her head. “You’re thinking.”
“I have to,” Derpy said.
Her voice came back flat and satisfied. “Good. Thinking hurts.”
She lunged again—fast, brutal, designed to make him react.
Derpy didn’t retreat.
He sidestepped.
And as he moved, he dragged Frostburn’s cold across the ground.
Leaf-mud stiffened.
A thin crust formed—brittle, innocent-looking.
He kept moving, laying it down in a curve.
Not a wall.
A lane.
A suggestion.
Vambasta chased, breath loud now, snapping at his heels, forcing him to choose footing over speed.
Derpy let her.
He made the other routes look worse—louder branches, thicker roots, deeper mud.
He made the lane look safe.
Vambasta’s attention sharpened.
She saw the trap.
And she chose it anyway.
Because she couldn’t stand the idea that he could steer her.
Because pride didn’t like being guided.
Her paw hit the crust.
It held.
For one step.
Then it shattered.
The slick ice underneath caught her weight and stole it.
Vambasta’s leg slid.
Her balance broke.
Not fully.
Not enough to make her fall.
Enough.
Derpy’s heart slammed.
Now.
His wings flared under the hoodie—violent, instinctive.
Not flight.
A half-boost.
A burst of air that shoved him forward.
His tail snapped out, stabilized the dash.
He closed the distance before she could fully pivot.
Frostburn surged.
Cold sharpened.
Crystal formed.
“Diamond Flare,” Derpy breathed.
The name tasted wrong in his mouth—too clean for something this desperate.
He struck.
A dash-strike that brought him in close—then the follow-through.
Diamond-hard ice shards bloomed from his gauntlets in a brutal, controlled volley.
They slammed into Vambasta’s thigh.
Not her chest.
Not her head.
A tactical hit.
A stop.
A pride-breaker.
Blood sprayed—dark against pink fur—mixed with frost that hissed in the air.
Vambasta’s leg buckled.
She skidded, claws carving trenches into the earth.
For a heartbeat, she looked like she might fall.
She didn’t.
She caught herself.
One knee down.
One hand in the dirt.
A queen forced to kneel.
Silence swallowed the woods.
Derpy stood there shaking, Frostburn steaming, wings trembling under his hoodie like they didn’t know where to go.
His stomach churned.
He’d hurt her.
He’d actually hurt her.
Vambasta’s head lifted.
Her eyes were bright.
Then they flashed.
Anger—pure, instant, ego stung raw.
Her lips peeled back in a snarl.
The air around her felt like it tightened.
Derpy’s body screamed to brace.
To run.
To summon more.
For half a second, he saw it—how easy it would be to let that other thing inside him take the wheel.
How easy it would be to become a weapon.
Derpy swallowed the urge like poison.
He held.
He stayed himself.
Vambasta’s snarl stopped.
Not fading.
Clamped down.
Her shoulders lowered.
Her breathing slowed.
And something in her face went dead serious.
Ritual.
Respect.
She looked at the blood on her fur, then at him.
“You made me choose wrong,” she said quietly.
Derpy’s throat worked. “You chose.”
Vambasta’s gaze sharpened. “Yes.”
She pushed herself up, favoring the injured leg, but she didn’t hide the limp.
She didn’t pretend it didn’t matter.
She stood in front of him like a verdict.
“I yield,” she said.
The words landed heavy.
Not playful.
Not teasing.
A declaration.
Derpy’s breath shook out of him.
Vambasta stepped closer—slow, controlled, eyes never leaving his.
“You’re forgiven,” she said. “Not because you ran.”
Her voice dropped.
“Because you didn’t fold.”
Derpy’s hands trembled.
He didn’t know what to say.
He didn’t know what he was.
He only knew he was still standing.
High in the trees, something watched.
Riven crouched on a thick branch like she belonged there. Her porcelain skin looked almost gray in the forest shade. Her button-black eyes didn’t blink.
She didn’t move to help.
She didn’t move to hurt.
She just observed.
Her head tilted as Derpy steadied his breathing. As Vambasta spoke like a judge. As blood darkened pink fur.
Riven’s fingers curled around the bark.
A quiet sound left her throat.
Not humor.
Not grief.
Something in between.
“Friend,” she whispered.
Like the word was a tether she could hold onto.
Then, softer—almost reverent.
“Friend is strong.”
Back at the inn, the waiting-room feeling had only gotten worse.
Lenora’s pacing had worn a groove into the floor.
Lewd sat on the edge of a chair like she couldn’t commit to resting. Her hands were clasped so tight her knuckles had gone pale.
Vespera stood by the window, gaze fixed on the treeline as if she could see through miles of wood.
Vemi wiped the same spot on the counter for the tenth time, eyes glassy.
No one spoke.
Then the door opened.
A gust of cold air rolled in.
Lenora snapped her head up.
Lewd lurched to her feet.
Vespera’s posture tightened.
For half a second, all of them looked for the same thing.
Not Derpy.
Riven.
The corner she’d been in.
The quiet presence.
The unsettling little shadow that had become… normal.
Empty.
Lenora’s face drained.
Lewd’s ears flattened so hard they looked pinned.
Vespera’s eyes sharpened with sudden alarm.
Vemi’s mouth opened, then closed, like she couldn’t get air.
Lenora’s voice came out low.
“How long,” she said, “has she been gone?”