Plop… plop…
Dylan stirred. Still half asleep, lips faintly purple, body sh aking from the cold.
Another drop hit his cheek.
He frowned in his sleep, shifting slightly—confused more than awake.
Then—
A warm breath brushed across his face.
His mind snapped. The memory came instantly: the Skindrifter leaning in close, too close, with its hollowed eyes and razor-sharp teeth.
Dylan jolted awake. Eyes wide. Fear hit before thought.
And for a second—he couldn't move.
Something was in front of him.
The serpent loomed over him, head lowered, eyes locked onto Dylan with unnerving focus. A low hiss slipped through his throat.
Dylan's breathing slowed as recognition replaced panic. "…Nierven?" His voice cracked slightly. "Is that you?"
Nierven didn't answer. He only stared. Unblinking. Studying him like something half-known, half-remembered.
Dylan exhaled shakily, forcing himself to sit up. His body trembled from cold and exhaustion. The cut on his cheek oozed with pus, its foul odor sharp against the damp air.
He hesitated, then reached out. Carefully. His hand touched Nierven's snout.
The serpent flinched immediately. A sharp sneeze-like expulsion of air burst from him, body recoiling slightly from the contact. Then his tongue flicked across his snout in an involuntary, settling motion.
Dylan blinked. "…Yeah, alright," he muttered weakly.
Nierven leaned closer to Dylan, nostrils flaring as he studied the wound on his cheek. He exhaled slowly through his nose.
Then, carefully, he coiled around Dylan, not tight, not constricting, just enough to anchor him against the cold, a heavy, living barrier of warmth in the cold damp air.
Dylan tensed at first, then slowly eased, still trembling.
Nierven turned his head back toward him. A moment passed. Then his tongue flicked out, brushing lightly against Dylan's cheek.
Dylan winced immediately. "Ow."
Nierven paused. Then licked the same spot again, slower this time, as if testing.
Dylan raised a hand and pressed gently against Nierven's side. "Stop."
A low hiss followed—not aggressive, but irritated, almost questioning.
Dylan exhaled, defeated. "…Thanks, bud. Appreciate it."
Nierven stayed still. Watching. Unblinking.
Dylan said, "How'd you find me?"
Nierven tilted his head slightly. A slow exhale left his nostrils, heavy and deliberate.
Dylan narrowed his eyes. "Yve send you?"
Nierven didn't respond. He only stared—unblinking.
Dylan swallowed. "Does she know… she know it's not me?"
Still nothing. Just that same steady, unreadable gaze.
Dylan exhaled shakily. "We gotta go. She can't be alone with it."
He tried to stand fully, using Nierven's body for support. His knees buckled halfway up, strength giving out. He dropped, catching himself against the serpent's side.
Nierven shifted slightly but didn't move away.
Dylan stayed there for a moment, breathing hard, then forced himself up again. "We gotta go."
This time, Nierven slowly uncoiled. He rose, towering, massive in the dim forest light—then turned and began to move ahead through the brush, silent and certain.
Dylan crouched down, grabbed his stick and bag, and slung it over his shoulder. His legs still shook, but he followed. "Lead the way, buddy," he muttered.
They spent the next two hours moving through the forest.
Nierven led the way, glancing back every so often to confirm Dylan was still behind him.
Dylan struggled to keep pace. More than once, he stumbled over uneven roots and loose ground. When his strength gave out, he dropped onto fallen logs just long enough to catch his breath.
Nierven never left him behind. He would circle back, nudging Dylan forward with his snout—firm, insistent, impatient in a way that wasn't cruel, just certain.
At one point, Nierven stopped entirely. He planted himself across the path.
Dylan frowned, trying to push past him. "What…?"
Nierven didn't budge, he only growled and hissed.
Dylan tried again. Still nothing.
It took him a few attempts before he realized—Nierven wasn't letting him go forward.
Silence settled between them.
Dylan exhaled slowly, looking past the serpent into the blocked path. "…Alright," he muttered, adjusting his grip on his stick.
Nierven shifted, then turned, leading him in a different direction.
Then they came across a handful of shriekers. The first one let out a piercing shriek—high, raw, splitting through the forest like a blade.
Dylan reacted on instinct. Adrenaline surged through his exhausted body. He pulled the revolver from the bag and fired.
Two shots dropped the first two as they lunged.
He tried to fire again.
Click.
The trigger jammed.
"Shit—"
A shrieker burst from the side, fast—too fast.
Dylan barely had time to twist away.
Then Nierven struck. The serpent swept in like a shadow given form, jaws snapping down hard. The shrieker vanished between his teeth—then split with a brutal tear.
Another shrieker lunged at Dylan.
Nierven's tail whipped through the air.
The impact sent it slamming into the ground, bones cracking under pressure. He coiled immediately after, tightening around it until it stopped moving entirely.
The forest went briefly silent.
Dylan stood frozen for a second, chest rising hard, breath sharp.
Then Nierven began feeding. Slow. Methodical. Unbothered. The remains of the shriekers were consumed one after another, swallowed without hesitation.
Dylan backed against a tree, catching his breath, sweat cold against his skin. His grip on the revolver loosened slightly as the adrenaline faded.
When he finally looked up, Nierven was watching him.
Dylan gave a small nod.
Nierven blinked once. Then he moved closer. Slowly.
Dylan didn't move.
Nierven tilted his head, studying him, then made a low, strange gurgling sound deep in his throat.
Dylan frowned. "What—"
Nierven suddenly vomited. A heavy, wet mass dropped onto the ground right beside Dylan's feet.
A torso. Still steaming.
Silence.
Dylan stared at it. Then at Nierven.
Nierven stared back, completely calm.
A beat passed.
Dylan pointed at it slowly. "Nuh uh."
Nierven blinked.
Dylan shook his head harder. "No."
Nierven hissed softly, like a confused protest.
Dylan stepped back. "No. No, no, no."
Nierven nudged it slightly closer with his snout.
Dylan immediately raised a hand. "Don't. Don't do that."
Nierven tilted his head again.
Dylan pointed at the torso. "That is not—no. That's yours. Keep it."
Nierven made a low rumble, as if disagreeing.
Dylan backed up another step. "I ain't eatin' that."
Nierven huffed. Then, finally, he turned away and began to slither forward again, leaving the "gift" behind.
Dylan watched him go for a second. "…Yeah. Good call," he muttered, following quickly.
~~~
Back at the burned-down manor, Duncan groaned and dropped onto his back, staring up at the sky through the broken frame of what used to be a ceiling. "Dude," he muttered, "if we spent all these hours looking for David, we might've already found him. Dead or alive."
Darnell didn't look up from the debris he was sorting through. "Hang in there, woman. We're almost done."
Duncan exhaled sharply. "We still don't even have a way of powering this hocus-pocus contraption."
Darnell finally glanced at him. "You sound like you're not an Artificer."
"I'm just saying," Duncan said, pushing himself upright, "without power, this thing will not work."
"Maybe," Darnell replied, "if you spent less time complaining and more time helping, I might've already figured it out."
Duncan rolled his eyes. "Fine. But at least let's eat first. We've been up all night."
Darnell paused, then sighed. "Fine. If it shuts you up."
"Great."
Darnell stood and stretched his shoulders. "You guard the Pegacampus. I'll get food."
Duncan immediately shook his head. "No. We can't split up. Yve said we should always stick together."
Darnell looked at him with a flat stare. "What are you, her lover? You're always doing what she says."
Duncan scoffed. "No. I'm just saying it's dangerous. And it's scary out here."
Darnell smirked. "Aww. You poor fish. Maybe you should crawl back into your shell."
Duncan pointed at him. "Don't push me, man."
Darnell raised both hands slightly. "Fine. We'll hide the Pegacampus. Even if there are fewer humans now, it's not worth the risk."
Duncan nodded once. "Good idea."
They led the Pegacampus toward the back of the manor and secured its reins to whatever sturdy structure was still standing—half-burned stone pillars and warped ironwork that had survived the fire by sheer luck.
The creature shifted uneasily but settled once tied.
Darnell rolled his sword in his hands, eyes scanning the tree line beyond the ruins. "Where are we supposed to get food?" he asked.
Duncan exhaled through his nose. "Ysa used to hunt deer in the woods around here."
Darnell looked at him. "Then lead the way. You're the one who's been living here for the past couple of months."
Duncan gave a short nod. "Yeah… but I don't think there's much animal life left near here. Still," he added after a pause, "won't hurt to check."
Without another word, they moved toward the broken gates of the manor.
The iron bars were twisted open like snapped ribs, hanging loosely from their hinges.
Beside the manor, the forest stretched out—dark, dense, and unnervingly quiet.
They stepped through.
~~~
Back at Havenwall, Yve knocked lightly on the side of the car.
Dylan looked up from the open hood, hands still working around the exposed machinery. "What?"
Yve tilted her head. "You wanna come with me?"
"Where?"
"The river," she said. "I'm gonna go swim."
Dylan straightened slightly. "Why not just use the tidecrafts?"
Yve gave him a look. "Because they're not built for swimming. And I want to swim."
He paused, then closed the hood with a solid thud. "Fine."
Yve smiled immediately. "Perfect."
They started walking toward the gates.
As they moved through Havenwall, Yve glanced sideways at him. "We had a great talk last night, huh?"
Dylan kept his eyes forward. "Yeah. Was fine."
Yve's smile faded slightly. "But what do you think?"
"'Bout what?"
"Everything."
Dylan shrugged. "Okay, I guess…"
Yve stopped half a beat, then caught up again. "Okay? That's it? I gave that whole speech and it's just… okay to you?"
Dylan frowned slightly. "What do you want me to say?"
They passed through the gates and stepped into the forest path beyond. The air shifted immediately—cooler, quieter.
Yve let out a small scoff. Her shoulders dropped a little. "Well… that's disappointing."
Dylan glanced at her. "Why? I ain't done anythin'."
Yve didn't answer right away. She just lowered her gaze for a moment, then spoke more softly. "Do you like me, Dylan?"
That made him pause. He looked at her like he wasn't expecting the question at all. "Sure," he said after a moment.
Yve blinked. "Sure? What kind of answer is that? Do you like me or not?"
Dylan hesitated again, then exhaled. "Sure… I like you."
Yve looked away, letting out a quiet, tired sigh as she shook her head slightly.
Back with Nierven, they finally reached the road leading toward Havenwall.
Dylan squinted ahead through the haze. "Just up that hill… we're almost there."
Nierven stayed close beside him, letting out a low hiss as Dylan kept limping forward, sweat already beading along his brow.
Dylan exhaled sharply. "You should go ahead. Warn Yve."
Nierven answered only with a guttural growl.
Dylan shook his head slightly. "Go. You should… go." He gestured forward, but his arm barely had strength behind it. His breathing was uneven now, every word dragged out of him.
Nierven didn't move.
Dylan let out a rough breath. "You stubborn, ain't ya?"
Nierven turned his head toward him. Pupils narrowed—focused. Then, instead of leaving, he nudged Dylan's back with his snout. The pressure was firm, steady, guiding.
Dylan stumbled forward a step.
Nierven stayed pressed behind him.
And so they moved together.
Each step up the hill came slower than the last, but Dylan didn't fall. Nierven's presence kept him upright more than his own strength did.
At last, the gates of Havenwall came into view in the distance.
Dylan's pace tightened. He pushed harder. His breathing broke into shallow, strained bursts, exhaustion dragging at every muscle, every joint—but something in him refused to stop now.
On the roof of the RV parked sideways near the gate, Derek spotted movement. He dropped into a crouch, bringing his sniper scope up in a slow, practiced motion.
At first, it was just shapes through the haze—one staggering figure, and something long moving behind him.
Then the focus sharpened.
Derek frowned. "…Dylan?"
He adjusted slightly. The image cleared further.
Dylan.
Battered. Unsteady. Barely upright. Dragging himself forward with pure stubborn will, a stick clutched in one arm. Behind him—Nierven, coiled and silent, keeping pace like a shadow made of bone and muscle.
Derek lowered the scope. "What the hell…"
He didn't hesitate. He slid down from the RV, boots hitting the ground hard, and moved fast to the gate. He cracked it open just enough, then stepped through and broke into a run.
Dylan saw him first. "Derek…" Dylan's voice cracked as he staggered closer. "Derek… where's Yve?"
Derek grabbed him by the shoulders instinctively, steadying him. "What? What are you talking about? What happened to you, son?"
Dylan shook him off slightly, breath ragged, eyes wide. "Where is she? Where are they?"
Derek blinked. "I don't understand. You went with her to the river, didn't you?"
Dylan's head snapped side to side immediately. "No. No—no, no, no." His grip slipped from the stick. It fell to the ground.
Before Derek could stop him, Dylan pushed past—breaking into a broken run straight toward the forest.
"Dylan!" Derek shouted after him. "Where are you going?!"
But Dylan didn't answer. Didn't even look back. He forced himself forward through the pain—chest burning, muscles screaming, breath tearing at his throat—pushing everything down just to keep moving.
He vanished into the trees.
Derek stood frozen for a second, confused, trying to process it all. Then his eyes shifted.
Nierven was still there. The towering serpent paused at the edge of the treeline, hissing low as it watched the direction Dylan had gone.
Derek instinctively took a step back. "…Hey," he muttered. "It's you."
Nierven didn't respond. He simply turned—and followed Dylan into the forest.
Derek hesitated, then reached for his radio and keyed it open. "Lucas, this is Derek at the gate. Come in. Over."
Back with Yve, they finally reached the river.
The water moved steadily through the rocks, dark and clear under the rays of light. The sound of it filled the silence between them—constant, unbothered, alive.
Yve tilted her head slightly. "Listen to that…"
Dylan stood a step behind her. "It's nice."
Yve didn't look back. "Look deep within your heart… does Dylan love me?"
Dylan's brows knit together. He stared at her, confused. "What?"
Yve crouched slowly at the riverbank and extended her hands into the water. The current broke softly against her skin, cold and steady, like it had been there long before either of them.
For a moment, Dylan didn't answer. Then he spoke again. "What do you think?"
Yve exhaled quietly. "I honestly don't know…" Her fingers moved through the water. "He's hard to read."
Dylan's expression tightened. "You talk like I'm not here."
Yve kept her gaze on the river. "Because he isn't."
The air shifted instantly.
Dylan went still.
A subtle change ran through his posture—too precise, too controlled. His hands moved behind his back, and his fingers flexed. Claws slid out slowly, sharp and deliberate, hidden just enough not to catch the light.
Yve felt the shift but she didn't react.
Instead, she continued, almost gently, as if nothing had changed. "Since you can mimic everything that he is… I thought maybe you could also read his heart." Her hand closed slightly in the water.
Deeper beneath the surface, something metallic shifted—silent, waiting. Her sword formed under the river's skin, concealed from sight, the current breaking around it like it refused to acknowledge its presence.
Behind her, Dylan began to change.
The illusion unraveled. Skin warped, edges breaking apart like a reflection cracking under pressure. The familiar face melted away, replaced by something wrong, something that never belonged in Dylan's shape.
A slow grin spread as the Skindrifter fully emerged.
Yve didn't turn. She stayed crouched at the river, hand still in the water. "I forgot to tell you one thing yesterday," she said calmly.
The Skindrifter's voice came behind her, smooth and amused, still wearing Dylan's tone like a borrowed coat. "What is it?"
Yve's fingers tightened slightly around the hidden hilt beneath the river.
Silence stretched. The water kept moving.
Then Yve chuckled. "You smell like shit." She turned sharply, sword already in motion.
The blade cut through the air where the Skindrifter had been a fraction of a second earlier.
It wasn't there anymore.
A distortion snapped sideways—too fast, too wrong for human movement. The Skindrifter slipped out of the line of attack like reality had failed to keep up.
Yve didn't pause. She followed through, pivoting low, driving another strike upward.
CLANG!
Claws met steel.
The Skindrifter caught the blade barehanded, its fingers locking against the edge with a screech of metal. It pushed back with equal force, not staggering, not yielding.
Yve's eyes narrowed and she just grinned, her predator eyes focusing, glowing faintly against the sunlight.
The grin didn't leave her face. It just sharpened. With a flick of her wrist, she twisted the blade, the edge grinding against the creature's claws. The Skindrifter hissed, a sound of grinding stone and tearing metal, and finally let go.
It didn't retreat. It lunged.
Its form became a blur of motion, a streak of wrongness that closed the distance in a heartbeat. Yve brought her sword up in a defensive arc, but the Skindrifter wasn't aiming for the blade. It ducked under her guard, its shoulder slamming into her stomach.
The air burst from Yve's lungs. It wasn't a simple shove; it was a freight train of unnatural force. Her feet left the ground. For a moment, she was airborne, the world a spinning mess of green and brown.
CRACK.
Her back slammed into an ancient oak. The impact was a bone-jarring explosion of pain that radiated through her entire body. The trunk groaned, splintering from the force. Yve slid down the rough bark, her vision blurring, and landed hard on one knee. She gasped, forcing air back into her bruised lungs, her sword hand trembling.
The Skindrifter stood over her, a silhouette of predatory triumph. It tilted its head, a mockery of curiosity, and took a slow step forward.
Yve's gaze snapped up, the pain in her eyes replaced by pure, cold fury. Without rising, she drew her arm back and threw her sword.
The blade spun through the air, a silver disc aimed at the creature's chest.
But the Skindrifter was already moving. It flowed sideways with an impossible, liquid speed, a barely perceptible shift that was just enough. The sword whistled past its shoulder, missing by inches, and thudded deep into the trunk of another tree.
A low, guttural chuckle rumbled in the Skindrifter's throat. It had won.
Yve's lips curled into a snarl. She raised a single, trembling hand, her fingers curling into a claw.
The sword embedded in the distant tree shuddered. With a screech of protesting wood, it ripped itself free, turning in mid-air. It didn't fly back in a simple arc. It shot forward like a bullet, the flat of the blade spinning horizontally.
The Skindrifter's head whipped around, its expression widening just as the blade reached it. It tried to dodge, but it wasn't fast enough this time. The sharpened edge sliced clean through its shoulder.
A wet, tearing sound ripped through the forest.
The Skindrifter threw its head back and screamed. It wasn't a human scream of pain. It was a high-pitched, predatory shriek of pure, shocked outrage, a sound of a hunter that had suddenly become the prey.
The sword, having completed its deadly arc, spun once and flew back to its master. Yve's hand snapped up, her fingers closing around the familiar hilt as it slapped perfectly into her palm.
She rose slowly from her knee, the pain in her back forgotten, her grin returning. It was wider this time, and far more dangerous.
Angered, the Skindrifter rose again, not backing down. It snarled and growled, lifting its hands. With a sheer force, it directed its command through the forest.
The ground at Yve's feet erupted. Thick, thorny vines shot from the soil, coiling around her ankles like vipers. Yve reacted instantly, her sword a silver blur.
SHING. SHING.
The severed vines fell to the ground, but another whip-fast tendril slid around her sword-wrist, locking the blade in her grasp.
The Skindrifter grinned, a vicious, triumphant sneer.
Yve didn't even flinch. With her free hand, she made a sharp, pulling gesture. The sword flew from her trapped hand, and into her freed hand. She tore the remaining vine free and sliced it to ribbons.
She ran forward, but the world fought her. With every step, the soil beneath her feet softened, turning into grasping, sucking mud. It was like running in quicksand, each move a desperate struggle.
She pushed through the resistance, gathered her strength, and launched herself into a final, powerful strike.
The Skindrifter flowed aside, a ghost in her periphery, dodging the attack with impossible ease. Yve's momentum carried her past, her sword biting deep into the trunk of a nearby tree.
The wood groaned in protest. With a deafening crack, the massive trunk tilted, shuddered, and then dropped, crashing to the forest floor.
In that split second of distraction, the Skindrifter acted. It lunged, its clawed hand clamping down around the hilt of her embedded sword. With a heave, it wrenched the blade free. Then it commanded again, and this time, thick, ropy veins burst from the ground, wrapping around Yve's feet and ankles, pinning her in place.
Losing her mobility, Yve could only watch as the Skindrifter turned, her own sword in its hand. With a contemptuous flick of its wrist, it threw the blade. It sailed through the air in a glittering arc and vanished into the river with a distant splash.
Smart as a whip, Yve didn't waste a second. She dropped low, dodging a sweeping claw that slid through the air where her head had been. Her own claws shot out, and she sliced through the veins binding her ankles, tearing herself free.
She launched herself at the Skindrifter.
They met in a whirlwind of brutal, close-quarters fury. No more swords. No more tricks. Just fists and claws. They were a blur of motion, a storm of snarls and the wet, tearing sounds of claws raking across flesh. Each fought not like a human, but like the predators they were. Unnatural, vicious, and utterly without mercy.
The clash between them didn't slow.
It escalated.
Every strike came heavier now. The Skindrifter drove forward with brutal precision, claws snapping in tight arcs that Yve barely redirected in time.
Yve answered with short, efficient counters—elbows, knees, palm strikes that hit like impacts rather than attacks.
Then—
"YVE! YVE!"
Dylan's voice cut through the forest.
Yve's focus broke for half a second.
It was all the Skindrifter needed.
Its claws tore through her arm, a searing line of fire. Blood welled up, seeping into its own veins as it withdrew.
"Ow!" Yve winced, more in annoyance than pain, and immediately retaliated. They crashed together again, a brutal storm of fists and claws. Strikes landed harder and harder, their sheer strength matching perfectly, a stalemate of monstrous force.
Then Dylan finally broke through the forest. He stopped in his tracks, his breath catching in his throat.
There, locked in combat, rolling on the ground, were two Yve's.
He hoisted his revolver, his hand unsteady.
The two figures broke apart, rising to their feet. One stood with a wary, tense posture. The other's face broke into a mask of desperate relief.
"Dylan?" the first Yve said, her voice low and guarded.
"Dylan! Thank the heavens, you're alive!" the second Yve cried, her voice thick with emotion.
Confused, Dylan aimed at both of them, the gun wavering back and forth between them. "Damn it," he panted, his body screaming in protest.
"Dylan it's me," the first insisted.
"Don't listen to it. I'm Yve," the second pleaded.
Dylan's mind was a fog of pain and exhaustion. He kept the gun moving, his hands shaking, his vision starting to blur at the edges as his body couldn't keep up anymore.
The first Yve took a step forward, trying to get close to him.
BANG!
Dylan fired a shot, kicking up dirt just inches from her foot.
Yve froze. "Dylan..."
"Shoot it, Dylan. It's the skindrifter," the other urged, her voice firm and certain.
"No I'm not," the first said, her voice strained. "Look. It scratched me and got my DNA." She held up her arm, showing a fresh, bleeding scratch.
"It made that up," the other countered instantly. "Look." She held up her own arm, revealing an identical scratch, same length, same angry redness.
Dylan shook his head, trying to clear the swimming dizziness, trying to remain conscious.
"Dylan... please," the other whispered, her voice cracking.
He looked at her, then at the other. The similarities were a nightmare. The way both called out his name, the look in both of their eyes. For a human like him, it was impossible. It was a choice with no right answer.
"Dylan..." the other said again, her voice barely audible.
He looked at her. She breathed softly, a familiar, weary sound.
"Hey... Dylan... look at me," the other said, her voice pulling at him.
His eyes darted to her. Then back to the other. Both of them were speaking at once now, their voices weaving into a torturous tapestry.
"Dylan... it's me. Dylan."
"Dylan, please, it's me. Remember at the dock?"
"Dylan... its me. Don't listen to it. It can copy your memories."
He turned the gun, his trembling hands cocking the hammer. Time seemed to slow down, the forest fading into a tunnel with the two Yve's at the end. His mind swayed, his heart thudding loudly in his chest. A single tear slipped free from his cheek, tracing a path through the grime and sweat.
And then...
BANG!