The walk back to Ashfall Crossing felt longer than the climb up. Much longer. By the time Cyrus and Kina crossed the wooden bridge into the outskirts of town, the late afternoon sun was already sliding behind the rooftops, staining the sky a dim copper.
Kina had barely spoken the entire descent.
Cyrus wasn't sure if she was angry, scared, or both. He didn't feel particularly talkative either, since his thighs still burned from sprinting downhill while imagining a titan-sized dragon slug slurping him like a jelly bean.
Growlithe padded beside Kina, tail stiff. Sliggoo rode half-hidden in her hood, repeatedly glancing back at the mountain with wide, worried eyes.
Ditto, shaped once again as a scarf, clung so tightly around Cyrus's neck it might as well have been choking him.
The town streets were quiet—too quiet. Lanterns glowed behind closed windows. The plaza was empty. Even the wind sounded muted.
Finally, Kina broke the silence.
"Cyrus."
"Yeah."
"We can't go back up there unprepared."
"I know."
"We can't ignore it either."
"I know."
She squinted at him. "You're doing the thing again."
"What thing?"
"The deflecting thing."
He sighed. "Kina, we just stood next to a crater that smelled like rotting plasma while the ground moved underneath us. Forgive me if my brain feels like mashed potatoes."
That earned the smallest huff from her.
Better than nothing.
They pushed through the inn doors. A small iron bell rung overhead. Warmth washed over them—fireplace heat, stew aroma, the faint buttery smell of bread. The kind of things that should've made Cyrus feel safe.
Instead, his chest just felt heavier.
The innkeeper glanced up from wiping mugs. "You two look like you climbed through a war zone."
"We did," Cyrus muttered.
Kina nudged him aside. "We need a quiet table. And whatever hot food you have."
The innkeeper nodded and gestured toward the far side of the dining hall—empty, lanternlit, long wooden tables stretching beneath the rafters. A few townsfolk sat scattered near the entrance, hunched low, whispering to each other with anxious eyes.
None of them looked toward the windows facing the mountain.
Cyrus picked a corner booth.
Kina sat opposite him, dropping her pack beside the bench. Growlithe immediately curled under the table, resting its head on her boots. Ditto loosened slightly around Cyrus's neck, melting into a draped shawl instead of a panic boa constrictor.
A bowl of stew arrived.
Cyrus stared into his.
Kina pushed hers away after two bites.
"We need to start with what we know," she said.
Cyrus rubbed his temples. "Okay. Let's see… we know the mountain is hemorrhaging wildlife like a sinking ship."
"Yeah."
"We know Bloodmoon Ursaluna are fighting something uphill."
"Right."
"And we know a giant sludge dragon just rumbled under a crater like it was waking up from a billion-year nap."
Kina exhaled sharply through her nose. "You're being dramatic."
"Am I?"
She paused. "…No."
Cyrus leaned back in the seat. "Let's assume that was a Hisuian Goodra. Not a regular one. A giant lineage. Something old enough that people carved warning signs about it centuries ago."
Kina twirled one finger around the rim of her mug. "Goodra are usually gentle. Protective. They avoid conflict."
"Yeah. The opposite of whatever that crater felt like."
Sliggoo poked its head out of Kina's hood and gave a worried gurgle.
Kina stroked its head. "You felt it too?"
Sliggoo shivered.
Cyrus drummed a hand on the wooden table. "Okay. Hypothetical. If the Goodra is active again… why now? Why after so long?"
Kina shrugged weakly. "Environmental changes? Territory issues? Disturbance underground?"
"Maybe." Cyrus leaned forward. "Or something woke it up."
"Something," she repeated. "Like what?"
He stared at his hands.
"There was damage."
Kina blinked. "Damage to what?"
"To the den. The crater. The soil. The trees. It all felt like one big… wound." He rubbed his jaw. "What if something shattered its shell? Or whatever Goodra use as armor?"
Kina considered that. "Goodra shells regenerate. Slowly. But they're permanent structures. Cracking it would mean unimaginable force."
"Exactly."
Her brows pinched. "What could even do that?"
Before Cyrus could answer, a heavy set of footsteps approached.
Harlan—the exhausted ranger from the day before—stood beside the table. His Noctowl perched on his forearm this time, wings tucked tight. Its feathers drooped like wet cloth.
"You two made it back," he said, voice rough.
Kina nodded. "We saw… something."
Harlan's jaw twitched. "The mountain's been wrong for weeks. But the last few days? Worse."
Cyrus pushed his bowl away. "We need information. Real information. Anything your archives have on the Elder Goodra."
Harlan rubbed the back of his neck. "Figured you'd ask. I actually came to talk to you about that."
Kina straightened.
Harlan reached into his coat and pulled out a folded, yellowed sheet of paper. He laid it on the table carefully, like it was a wounded bird.
"Found this years ago in the ranger lodge," he said. "Copied from an older text. We keep it for reference because… well… it's weird. And nobody ever thought it mattered until recently."
Cyrus unfolded it.
Old ink.
Old handwriting.
And a single heading across the top:
---
THE SHELL THAT ONCE SHIELDed THE MOUNTAIN
The Elder Titan was not born of violence. It became violent after the Breaking.
Long ago, the shell that protected the Titan's body was shattered by a force unknown. Some say it was a battle with the Bloodmoon bear. Others say an earthquake split its den and cracked its armor.
Records show that prior to the Breaking, the Titan Goodra defended these lands. After the Breaking, each time it awoke, its pain echoed across the region. It lashed out. It poisoned the earth. It hunted without cause.
Each awakening grew worse.
But the Titan always returned to slumber—until the shell could repair.
When its armor was whole, the rage faded, and peace returned.
Cyrus looked up, pulse quickening. "So… if it woke up now…"
Harlan nodded grimly. "Its shell isn't healed. Or something damaged it again."
Kina leaned forward, eyes sharp. "How do you fix a Goodra shell?"
Harlan laughed bitterly. "If we knew that, we'd have done it centuries ago."
Cyrus dragged both hands over his face. "So let me get this straight. We've got a mountain-sized slug in agony, leaking corrosive sludge everywhere, driving off predators, and turning Bloodmoon Ursaluna into panic machines—"
"—and we have no idea how to make it stop," Kina finished.
Harlan gestured helplessly. "I wish I had better news. But the old texts don't say how the shell healed. Only that it eventually did."
The table fell quiet.
Cyrus stared at the wooden surface, mind spiraling.
Kina reached across—not touching him, but nearly. "Cyrus."
He looked up.
Her expression was calm.
Grounding.
"We're not going to solve this tonight."
"No," he agreed. "But if we don't start planning now… the thing under that den might not wait until morning."
Harlan winced. "Actually… about that."
"What now?" Cyrus asked.
The ranger hesitated. Noctowl shifted, sensing his tension.
"There's been… movement," Harlan said slowly. "On the upper ridge. Some of my scouts reported new tracks. Deep ones. Heading downslope."
Cyrus felt a chill. "How far downslope?"
"Farther than anything that size should be traveling."
Kina's voice softened. "You think it's coming this way."
Harlan didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
Cyrus sat back, heart pounding a little too fast. Ditto squirmed around his neck, sensing the spike of anxiety.
The inn suddenly felt smaller.
Tighter.
Like the mountain had followed them down.
Sliggoo let out a small, frightened trill.
Cyrus exhaled slowly. "Okay. So. Options."
Kina folded her arms. "We can evacuate the town."
Harlan shook his head. "People won't leave unless they see the danger. And by then it'll be too late."
"Great," Cyrus muttered. "Okay, next idea: we fight it."
Kina gave him a flat stare. "We would die."
"Yup. Just checking. That's off the table."
Growlithe let out a worried woof, as if agreeing.
Sliggoo hid completely in Kina's hood.
Cyrus tapped the table, thinking. "If the shell is the key… maybe we don't need to fix it. Maybe we just need to stop whatever's irritating it."
Kina raised a brow. "The entire mountain is irritating it."
"Yeah, but something woke it," Cyrus said. "Something set it off. We saw the crater. That wasn't new damage, but something stirred the den recently. Something triggered the rage cycle."
Kina tapped her chin. "So you think something provoked it."
"I think," Cyrus said, "that we walked right into the aftermath of a massive territorial fight. And whatever fought the Titan either wounded it or shattered part of its den."
Harlan's expression darkened. "What could fight that thing?"
Cyrus's gaze slid toward the window overlooking the foothills.
"Bloodmoon Ursaluna," he said softly.
Kina's eyes widened. "You think the Bloodmoon lineage fought the Titan?"
"Look at the tracks. The direction. The density. They weren't hunting. They were charging."
Harlan rubbed his jaw. "We have had unusually high Bloodmoon aggression lately…"
"Exactly," Cyrus said. "They're reacting to something. Protecting something. Or getting pushed out by something bigger."
Kina leaned back against her seat, processing. "So if we want to help the Titan…"
"…we need to understand what broke its shell," Cyrus finished.
Silence settled again.
Eventually Kina asked, "Do you think the Titan even wants help?"
"Goodra aren't violent by nature," Cyrus said. "If it's in pain, the rage isn't intentional."
Harlan nodded softly. "The texts said the Titan once kept this valley safe."
Cyrus stared toward the window, watching the faint outline of Bloodmoon Mountain against the dusk sky.
"Then we help it," he said. "Somehow."
Kina stared out the window contemplating the days ahead.
Growlithe nudged her leg.
Sliggoo peered out again.
Harlan cleared his throat, breaking the tension. "I'll gather what records I can. You two should get some rest tonight. Tomorrow, you start climbing again."
Cyrus stood. "We'll figure this out."
"I hope so," Harlan said. "Because if the Titan decides to come down that slope… this town won't stand a chance."
He walked away.
Cyrus let out a long breath.
Kina stood too, hands clasped behind her back, posture wound tight.
"You good?" Cyrus asked softly.
"Not even close," she murmured. "But I will be."
Cyrus gave a small nod. "Tomorrow we will go, but with back up."
"Yeah."
"Together."
A long moment passed.
Kina's eyes flicked up to meet his.
"Don't run into gunfire again."
"No promises," Cyrus said.
Ditto squeaked around his neck.
Kina almost smiled.
Almost.
Then the floor trembled softly beneath their boots.
Just once.
Far away.
But not far enough.
They both turned toward the mountain.
The Titan was moving.