The woods didn’t feel like a battlefield anymore.
They felt like a place that had been forced to remember.
The gouges were still there—trenches carved by claws, ice-scars glittering where Frostburn had kissed the earth, snapped branches hanging at ugly angles like broken fingers. The air still carried that sharp mix of pine and iron and wolf.
Derpy stood in the middle of it, breathing like he’d run a mile with his lungs on fire.
Across from him, Vambasta shifted her weight and didn’t bother hiding the limp.
She wore it like a badge.
Her thigh was crusted with frost and blood where Diamond Flare had hit. The wound wasn’t fatal. It wasn’t even close.
But it was real.
And that meant everything.
Vambasta’s eyes tracked him in silence for a long beat—bright, assessing, the way a predator looks at something that surprised it.
Then she spoke.
“Prize,” she said.
Derpy blinked. “What?”
Vambasta’s mouth tightened, like she was annoyed he didn’t already know the rules. “You made me yield. You get a prize.”
She reached behind her back and pulled something free.
Not a trophy.
An artifact.
A lens-frame wrapped in dark leather, cold as river stone—its glass not quite glass, more like a slice of night caught and polished. The rim was etched with tiny runes that looked like claw-scratches until you stared long enough to see they were deliberate.
Graveglass.
Even before Derpy touched it, he felt it: the faint pressure behind his eyes, like the world was waiting to show its seams.
Vambasta held it out.
Derpy didn’t take it right away. His fingers hovered.
“You sure?” he asked.
Vambasta showed teeth. “You earned it.”
Derpy finally took the Graveglass.
It was heavier than it looked.
Warm.
Alive with meaning.
Then Vambasta’s tone shifted—still casual, but with weight under it.
“And,” she added, “pack protection.”
Derpy’s stomach dipped. “Like… what, a promise?”
Vambasta exhaled through her nose. “Like a pact.”
She stepped closer, and the air around her felt different—older.
Not magic in the flashy way calamities were magic.
More like law.
“A formal pack pact,” she said. “Two layers.”
Derpy’s brows knit. “Two?”
Vambasta lifted two fingers.
“First,” she said. “Pack law. No wolf under my name hunts you. No wolf under my name touches you without permission. If you’re in my territory, you’re not prey. If someone makes you prey, my pack makes them regret it.”
Derpy swallowed. “That’s… big.”
“It’s honest,” Vambasta said.
Her gaze didn’t leave him.
“Second,” she continued, voice dropping like she was telling him the real rule. “Territory law.”
The wind shifted.
The trees creaked.
Derpy felt it—something subtle, like pressure behind his ears, like the forest was leaning in.
“In my lands,” Vambasta said, “outsiders don’t get to ignore pack law. If anyone breaks the pact inside my borders—wolf or not—the land marks them.”
Derpy’s throat went tight. “Marks them how?”
Vambasta’s mouth pulled back, teeth bared. “Immediate.”
She tapped her own chest once.
“Instant pressure,” she said. “Like the world suddenly weighs more. Like breath doesn’t sit right. Like every shadow is watching.”
Derpy’s fingers tightened around the Graveglass.
“And delayed,” Vambasta added, like she was listing weather. “The land logs it. A debt.”
Derpy stared.
Vambasta’s eyes sharpened. “Even if they run, it follows. Scent doesn’t wash off. Tracks don’t lie. My pack will know. The forest will keep whispering their name until the debt’s paid.”
Derpy’s stomach flipped.
That wasn’t just protection.
That was a sentence.
Vambasta watched his face, then gave a short, satisfied huff.
“You don’t fold,” she said. “You don’t lie. You don’t beg. You don’t pretend you’re something you’re not.”
Derpy’s throat tightened. “I’m still figuring out what I am.”
Vambasta’s voice slowed. “Then I’ll figure it out with you.”
She reached behind her back again.
This time it was a strip of leather—thick, dark, worn smooth by years—wrapped around a heavy metal ring etched with simple marks that looked like claw-scratches… until Derpy stared long enough to realize they were names.
Not letters.
Marks.
Like a pack’s memory.
Vambasta held it out like it was the obvious next step.
“I could make you mine permanently,” she said, casual as breathing.
Derpy’s stomach dropped.
He tried to force a sound out—something to defuse it—and it came out thin and wrong. “That’s… a lot.”
Derpy took a step back, hands up.
Not defensive.
Just careful.
“I’m not ready for that,” he said.
Vambasta’s ears angled forward.
For one heartbeat, Derpy thought she might flare again.
Instead, she exhaled through her nose like she respected the boundary.
“Fine,” she said. “Not yet.”
Not no.
Not never.
Just not yet.
She didn’t put the ring away.
She simply let it hang from her fingers like a future she was patient enough to wait for.
Derpy’s skin prickled.
The moment his fingers tightened around the Graveglass, a voice slid through the back of his mind like a match striking.
Derpy.
He froze.
The voice wasn’t Lenora.
Wasn’t Vespera.
Wasn’t his own.
It was bright and possessive and smug.
Ask her to hold out her hand.
Derpy’s throat went dry.
He didn’t move his lips when he answered.
…Celica?
A sharp, pleased sound in his skull.
Celica’s Embers.
Yes.
Now do it.
Derpy looked at Vambasta.
She was watching him like she could smell the conversation.
“Hold out your hand,” Derpy said.
Vambasta blinked. “Why?”
“I—” Derpy hesitated. “Just… trust me?”
Vambasta bared her teeth again. “You’re bold for someone who just bled me.”
Still, she held out her hand.
Palm up.
Derpy’s bracelets—those innocent yellow bands—felt suddenly too tight.
Heat pulsed.
A flicker of ember-light crawled along his wrist.
Then the air above Vambasta’s palm warped.
Not with flame.
With paper.
A single page formed as if it was being written into existence—edges crisp, surface faintly glowing, ink lines appearing like veins.
Derpy stared.
Vambasta stared.
The page didn’t burn.
It didn’t crumble.
It simply existed.
Like it had always been meant to.
Celica’s voice purred in his mind.
It’s not her.
Derpy’s heart kicked. What?
But it is her, Celica continued, delighted with her own contradiction. A page. A record. A taste. A thread. You understand?
Derpy didn’t.
Not fully.
But he understood enough to feel the danger.
Vambasta’s eyes narrowed. “What did you do?”
Derpy swallowed. “I… think my book did something.”
Vambasta flexed her fingers, watching the page hover above her palm like a verdict.
Her expression went still.
Not fear.
Not anger.
Interest.
“Your calamity likes me,” she said.
Derpy’s mouth went dry. “It likes… collecting things.”
Celica’s voice cut in again.
Tell her to spar with you in the morning.
Derpy blinked. Why?
Information, Celica said, like it was obvious. More data. More style. More truth. Ask.
Derpy looked at Vambasta. “Spar with me in the morning.”
Vambasta’s teeth showed. “You’re not done?”
“I’m… trying to learn,” Derpy said.
Vambasta’s eyes sharpened. “Good.”
She closed her hand.
The page sank into nothing like it had never been there.
Vambasta rolled her shoulders, then nodded once.
“Morning,” she agreed. “I’ll show you how wolves fight when they’re not playing.”
Derpy’s stomach flipped.
That sounded like a threat.
It also sounded like a gift.
A sharp burst of voice came from the treeline.
Vemi ran up like she’d been holding her breath for an hour and finally remembered she was allowed to breathe.
“You did it!” she barked, and before Derpy could react she threw her arms around him.
Her hug was tight and warm and completely unearned.
Derpy made a strangled sound. “Vemi—”
“I told you she wouldn’t kill you!” Vemi said into his hoodie, voice spilling over itself.
Vambasta huffed. “Get off him.”
Vemi only hugged harder.
Derpy’s tail twitched under the fabric, betrayed by the contact.
Vemi felt it.
She froze.
Then she pulled back slowly, eyes wide.
Derpy’s face went hot.
Vemi’s mouth fell open. “Oh my gods.”
Derpy groaned. “Don’t.”
A raw, uncontrollable sound tore out of Vemi—too loud, too delighted, too much.
Footsteps crunched through the brush.
Lenora appeared first, armor scuffed, eyes sharp, expression set like she’d been holding herself together with nails.
Lewd was right behind her, small and pale and trying not to look like she’d been crying.
Vespera followed, calm in the way storms are calm.
Mia and Sphinx padded at their heels—chibi shapes that still carried the threat of something bigger.
Lenora’s gaze snapped over Derpy’s body like an inspection.
“Still alive,” she said.
Derpy huffed. “Barely.”
Lenora’s mouth shifted.
Not a smile.
Just the edge of something that almost was.
“Good work,” she said.
Derpy blinked at her like he didn’t know what to do with praise.
Lewd stepped closer, voice so quiet it almost didn’t exist.
“You did it,” she whispered.
Derpy looked at her.
Her eyes were glossy.
Her hands were clenched.
She looked like she’d been waiting to say those words since the first howl.
Derpy’s chest tightened.
Then Lewd’s gaze darted past him.
Past Vemi.
Past Vambasta.
Searching.
“Where’s Riven?” Lewd asked.
The air changed.
Lenora’s expression drained.
Vespera’s eyes sharpened.
Vemi’s noise died mid-breath.
Derpy’s stomach dropped.
He opened his mouth—then realized he didn’t know.
Later, when the sun had started to sink and Fenward pretended it was peaceful again, Derpy couldn’t sit still.
The inn felt too small.
Too full of eyes.
Too full of questions he didn’t have answers for.
So he took a stroll.
He told Lenora he was “just getting air.”
She didn’t like it.
But she didn’t stop him.
Derpy walked back toward the place the hunt had ended.
The forest edge was quieter now.
The gouges looked darker.
The ice scars had melted into damp stains.
And then he heard it.
A wet crunch.
Derpy froze.
He moved forward slowly, Frostburn not summoned but ready in his bones.
Another crunch.
Then a soft hum.
Derpy eased around a tree.
Riven was crouched in the clearing.
Her porcelain skin looked moon-pale in the dim light. Her button-black eyes were fixed on something in her hands.
Forest sprites.
Tiny, glowing things that looked like they were made of leaf-light and mischief.
Riven was munching on them.
Like they were snacks.
Derpy’s stomach turned.
“Riven,” he said carefully.
Riven’s head snapped up.
Her mouth was stained with faint green glow.
She blinked.
Then, slowly, she tilted her head.
“Friend,” she said.
Derpy swallowed. “What are you… eating?”
Riven looked down at the sprite in her hand.
She seemed confused by the question.
“Forest,” she said.
Then, after a pause, like she was trying to be polite: “Small.”
Derpy’s throat tightened. “You can’t just eat… living things.”
Riven stared at him.
Her expression didn’t change.
But something in her posture did.
Like she didn’t know where to put the guilt.
“I… hungry,” she said.
Derpy exhaled, slow.
He didn’t want to yell.
He didn’t want to scare her.
He also didn’t want her to keep doing that.
“Okay,” he said, voice low. “We’ll figure out food. Real food. Not… sprites.”
Riven blinked again.
Then she looked at him like she was trying to understand the rules.
“Why,” she asked, “you have book?”
Derpy’s stomach tightened.
Celica’s voice stirred faintly, pleased.
Careful.
Derpy kept his face neutral. “It’s a calamity. It chose me.”
Riven’s eyes sharpened. “Calamity… talk?”
Derpy hesitated.
Then he nodded. “Yeah. Sometimes.”
Riven leaned forward, fascinated. “Show.”
Derpy swallowed. “It’s not… like that. It’s in my head.”
Riven’s gaze drifted to his bracelets.
Then back to his face.
“Mine,” she said.
Derpy’s spine went cold. “What?”
Riven opened her mouth.
Wide.
Too wide.
Her jaw unhinged with a soft, wrong click.
Inside wasn’t teeth.
Inside was a void.
A dark space that didn’t reflect light.
A hollow that felt like staring into deep water at night.
And in that darkness, something moved.
A presence.
A name.
Phantasm.
Derpy’s skin prickled.
Riven held her mouth open like she was showing him a secret.
Like a child showing a toy.
Derpy forced himself not to flinch.
“What… does it do?” he asked.
Riven’s mouth closed with another soft click.
She looked at him.
Then she lifted her hand.
The air beside her rippled.
And something formed.
A chair.
Not a real chair.
A perfect idea of a chair.
Then it melted into smoke.
Then it became a wolf.
Then it became a knife.
Then it became nothing.
Derpy’s breath caught.
“Anything,” Riven said simply. “Riven think. Riven make.”
Celica’s voice snapped in Derpy’s mind.
Be cautious.
Derpy swallowed. “That’s… dangerous.”
Riven blinked. “Danger…?”
Derpy’s hands flexed. “You don’t know how you react. You don’t know what you’ll do when you’re scared. Or angry.”
Riven stared at him like those words were rocks she had to pick up one by one.
Then she tilted her head again.
“Spare?” she asked.
Derpy blinked. “What?”
Riven pointed at him.
Then at herself.
“Spare.”
Derpy realized.
“Spar,” he corrected gently. “It means… practice fighting. Not to hurt. To learn.”
Riven’s eyes widened a fraction.
“Learn,” she repeated.
Derpy nodded. “Yeah. Would you… spar with me?”
Riven stared at him for a long beat.
Then she nodded once.
“Yes,” she said.
Behind a tree line, a soft shift of fabric.
Derpy didn’t notice.
Lewd did.
Lewd stood half-hidden in the brush, arms wrapped around herself like she was trying to hold her ribs together.
Her eyes were fixed on Derpy.
On the way he spoke to Riven.
On the way his voice softened.
On the way he didn’t look at Lewd at all.
Something sour twisted in her chest.
Jealousy.
Hot and humiliating.
Like someone had reached into her and stolen her only safe thing.
Riven moved first.
She opened her mouth again—wide, wrong—and reached into the dark void like it was a pocket.
She pulled out a sword.
Not steel.
Something that drank the light around it.
A magic-absorbing blade.
Then, with her other hand, she drew a shield that shimmered like a mirror.
A magic-reflecting shield.
Derpy’s heart kicked.
“That’s… a lot for sparring,” he muttered.
Riven tilted her head. “Practice.”
Derpy swallowed.
He lifted his hands.
Frostburn wanted to answer.
It always did.
But his mind flashed to the other weapon.
The one he’d finally summoned.
The one he’d never really used.
Derpy’s bracelets warmed.
A ripple of ember-light.
And Crescent Eclipse formed in his hands.
The scythe-sniper hybrid felt wrong and right at the same time—too heavy, too long, too much.
Derpy swallowed. “I’ve never used this weapon yet.”
Riven’s eyes tracked the blade.
Derpy shifted his grip, awkward.
“I’m so used to Frostburn,” he admitted. “The ice gauntlets. I haven’t had much practice with this.”
Riven stepped closer, sword angled, shield ready.
“Then learn,” she said.
Footsteps approached.
Lenora’s voice cut through the trees.
“Derpy.”
Derpy’s head snapped toward the sound.
Lenora and the group emerged into the clearing—Vespera’s gaze sharp, Vemi trailing behind, Lewd hovering near Lenora like she didn’t know where to stand.
Lewd spoke fast, like she needed to justify herself. “He found her. They’re— they’re sparring.”
Lenora’s eyes flicked from Crescent Eclipse to Riven’s weapons.
Her expression tightened.
“This is a bad idea,” she said.
Derpy’s grip tightened. “It’s practice.”
Vespera’s rings glinted faintly. “Practice becomes blood quickly with calamities.”
Riven blinked at them, unbothered.
Derpy swallowed. “I’ll be careful.”
Celica’s voice murmured in his mind.
You don’t know how she reacts.
Derpy’s stomach twisted.
Riven moved.
Fast.
Her sword flicked in a clean line.
Derpy tried to block with the scythe.
His timing was off.
The long haft caught awkwardly.
The impact rattled his arms.
Lenora’s eyes narrowed.
“He’s clumsy with it,” she muttered.
Derpy’s face burned.
He adjusted.
He stepped back.
He used his tail to steady.
He used his wings for a half-glide to shift position.
Riven pressed.
Absorbing blade.
Reflecting shield.
Derpy’s Frostburn instincts kept trying to take over.
But Crescent Eclipse demanded different rules.
Distance.
Angles.
Control.
Derpy ground his teeth and held his own anyway.
Not winning.
Not losing.
Learning.
Somewhere far away—so far it might as well have been another world—two shapes cut through the sky.
Ace and Queen.
They flew lower than they wanted to.
They kept their power tight.
No wasted lightning.
No show.
Because they didn’t know what waited ahead.
Queen’s eyes narrowed at the horizon. “Do you miss her?”
Ace’s mouth tightened. “I do.”
Queen’s voice softened a fraction. “Then why not go to her?”
Ace’s gaze stayed forward. “Because if we cross paths now, it becomes conflict.”
Queen’s jaw clenched. “She chose a human.”
Ace didn’t answer.
A strange sensation brushed their senses.
A shift.
Like dragon.
But not.
Queen’s eyes sharpened. “Did you feel that?”
Ace nodded slowly. “Yes.”
Queen’s voice dropped. “Caution.”
Ace’s wings angled. “We’ll walk the last stretch if we have to.”
Queen exhaled, irritated. “Five days.”
Ace’s eyes stayed cold. “Five days alive is better than one day dead.”
They banked, conserving power, moving with care.
Back in the clearing, Riven’s sword snapped forward again.
Derpy tried to swing Crescent Eclipse like Frostburn.
It punished him for it.
The haft slipped.
The blade went wide.
Riven’s shield slammed into the weapon with a clean, brutal strike.
Crescent Eclipse flew out of Derpy’s hands.
It hit the ground with a heavy thud.
Derpy froze.
His palms stung.
His chest heaved.
Riven tilted her head.
“Again?” she asked.
Lenora’s eyes narrowed.
The night air felt suddenly colder.