The scene before them was nothing short of nightmarish.
What once must've been a village was now a charred scar across the volcanic plains—ashen ground and a massive crater carved into the earth like a wound that would never close. Not a single ember flickered. Not a corpse remained intact. Only silence. The kind that pressed on your ears.
Eryndor exhaled sharply, his voice low but edged.
"Raxor… you told me the Cat Tribe had the weapon—and used it to destroy one of your villages. Explain this."
Raxor's throat bobbed.
"Apparently… not. The Elder was—probably mistaken."
His voice cracked in a way that made it clear he didn't believe his own words.
Xaren crossed his arms.
"Or the Cat Tribe is tearing itself apart. Infighting. Sabotage. This could be the result."
Eryndor opened his mouth to answer but froze.
So did Xaren.
Because something… flickered inside the fog around them.
A faint life presence.
Toad stirred inside Eryndor
"Familiar… something's familiar… but what is it?"
Elara sensed it too. Her eyes twitched toward the east—just for a second—before she forced her expression back into calm neutrality.
Xaren turned his head.
"You feel that, right?"
"Yeah," Eryndor replied.
They ran.
Across the ashen field, past broken earth and scorched stones, until they reached a collapsed slab of blackened rock.
There, half-buried, lay a ratfolk man—skin pale gray, fur burned away in patches, bones visible through torn flesh. His breathing was weak, wet, and fading.
Eryndor knelt beside the dying ratfolk.
"What happened to your village?"
The ratfolk's lips barely moved.
"...Snake… k—king…"
Blood bubbled at the corner of his mouth.
"…beast…"
Eryndor's eyes widened.
"Elara—heal him. As much as you can."
Elara nodded, placing glowing hands over the wounds.
"Krog, Xaren—help her. If he dies, we lose everything."
While they worked, Eryndor stepped back, thinking.
A Snake King?
A beast strong enough to erase an entire village with a single attack?
He had never heard of such a creature.
But the destruction around him…
It wasn't something any small monster could achieve.
Hours passed. Slowly, the ratfolk's breathing steadied. His eyes fluttered open—clouded, trembling, but alive.
Eryndor leaned closer at once.
"Tell me again. What happened here?"
The ratfolk swallowed, voice raw.
"A… gigantic snake… a beast king…"
He shuddered violently.
"Eyes… magic… he looked at the village—and it exploded… vanished…"
Eryndor's tone sharpened.
"Do you know where he went?"
A flicker—something unreadable—crossed the ratfolk's expression.
"Yes," he rasped.
"I know exactly where. And after using such a spell… he must be weakened now. Vulnerable."
His breathing quickened, emotion flaring.
"This is the perfect moment to kill him. To avenge everyone."
Eryndor's eyes hardened.
A chance to eliminate a monster capable of this level of destruction?
He couldn't ignore it.
But while Eryndor's determination sharpened—
Elara's eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
Snake King? Eye magic? That's… strange. Does a beast like this even exist?
Still—she kept her face calm, her breathing slow, her suspicions buried deep.
On the other side of the cart, Krog stared at the ratfolk survivor with a different kind of scrutiny.
That story doesn't make sense… but this is the Netherworld. Impossible things crawl out of the ground every day."
He kept silent.
Both were suspicious.
Both hid it.
Neither shared their doubts.
Eryndor didn't notice.
He tightened his grip on his sword
He would not let another village fall.
If a beast king was behind this, then it would die. Today.
Behind him, Raxor—who had been silent until now—stepped forward.
The hound prisoner's usually defeated eyes held something new.
Resolve.
"Master," he said, voice low but steady, "please… allow me to help."
He bowed his head deeply.
"My village was destroyed. My people slaughtered. If this serpent monster did it, then I—I must be part of the fight. I must avenge them."
Eryndor studied him quietly.
Raxor's hands trembled.
Not with fear—
With purpose.
"…Very well," Eryndor said.
He released Raxor and the other hound prisoners from their chains.
"We need every capable fighter we can get for this."
Raxor nodded fiercely.
"Thank you… I won't waste this chance."
Eryndor turned back to the injured ratfolk survivor, who was now stable enough to sit upright.
"What is your name?" Eryndor asked.
"Nyko," the ratfolk whispered.
"Nyko," Eryndor continued, "show us where this Snake King is."
Nyko's hand shook slightly as he pointed to Kern's old map.
But his voice… his voice carried a strange certainty.
"There," he said, tapping an area marked with vague lines and symbols.
"A deep underground crystal-mining cavern. He lives in the lowest pit… surrounded by glowing crystals."
Xaren raised a brow.
"That far down? That's hours of walking."
Nyko nodded.
"Yes… and by now, he must be dormant."
He leaned forward, eyes gleaming with a hint of something—urgency? desperation?
"Listen carefully," Nyko said.
"The entrance leads through narrow tunnels. Very tight. Perfect for setting explosive traps."
Eryndor frowned.
"Explosives?"
"Yes," Nyko replied.
"We used them in the mines. They're still there. If we detonate the charges as the beast sleeps, we can bring down the ceiling."
Nyko continued, undeterred.
"The cavern roof is lined with massive jagged crystals. If we can collapse them… they'll fall like spears. Piercing his back. Pinning him."
He clenched his fist tightly.
"With that… even a beast king can be killed."
Eryndor nodded slowly.
"A sound plan."
But behind him, Krog's expression darkened.
How does he know all this?
How does a dying survivor know the structure of the inner caverns?
This is too detailed… too prepared.
Elara had the exact same thought.
He's not just a survivor… he's involved somehow.
But neither spoke.
Not yet.
Nyko lowered his head dramatically.
"Please… help me kill this monster. Help me avenge my people."
Eryndor placed a hand on Nyko's shoulder.
"You have my word. We end this nightmare today."