Chapter 22: The Forest Between
They didn't march so much as drift.
The forest swallowed the caravan in uneven steps and ragged breathing. No one spoke loudly. No one joked. The noise of the collapsing Hollow still seemed to hang in the air behind them, echoing in bones and memory.
Aiden walked with his hand buried in the pup's fur, more for his own balance than its comfort. The little wolf rode in the crook of his arm like it belonged there, head tucked against his chest, ears flicking every time a branch scraped overhead.
Lightning still sparked faintly along its spine, but the light was tired now. Fading.
"Tell me if you feel like you're going to fall," Myra said quietly beside him.
"If I tell you," he said, "you're going to yell at me about it."
"Yes," she agreed. "That's what friends do."
Nellie trudged on his other side, clutching the strap of her satchel so tightly her knuckles were white. Her curls had collected leaves and bits of grit somewhere in the chaos, and she hadn't noticed.
A hunter passed them, helping an older man limp along. Someone further back coughed weakly. A baby cried for a moment, stopped, then started again with a tired, hiccuping sound. The noise made Aiden's throat tighten.
We made it out, he told himself. Most of us.
Most wasn't everyone.
His shoulders ached. His legs felt like they'd been traded for someone else's—the someone who had already run ten miles in full armor. Every time his boots found a root wrong, his vision flickered.
But the storm inside him had mostly curled up again, quiet and heavy. Only occasionally did it shift, reminding him it was still there.
They walked until the path began sloping gently upward, away from the marsh-wet air. The ground grew firmer, less mud, more leaf-litter. The trees here were taller and older, thick trunks wrapped in moss and threaded with hanging vines that caught the fading daylight in soft green veils.
Garrik finally raised a hand.
"Here," he said. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried. "We stop here."
No one argued.
The caravan sagged more than halted, collapsing inward into a loose, weary cluster. Packs were dropped. People sat wherever their knees gave out. A boy slapped half-heartedly at a beetle crawling up his trouser leg, then left it alone when it refused to take the hint.
"No fires," Garrik reminded them, again. "Eat what you have that doesn't need cooking. We move as soon as it's safe."
"What does safe look like?" someone asked hoarsely.
Garrik's jaw tightened. "Not this."
He turned away, pacing the perimeter, eyes sharp despite the exhaustion in the lines of his face.
Myra helped Aiden sit with his back against a broad tree. As soon as he was down, his body tried to melt into the roots. He forced himself to stay upright. If he closed his eyes for longer than a blink, he wasn't sure he'd open them again.
Nellie set her satchel in front of them and sank to her knees. Her hands shook as she rummaged through it.
"You need something to eat," she muttered. "We all do. And water. And probably sleep. But we're not getting that part."
She pulled out a wrapped bundle and opened it—inside were slices of dried meat, already a little frayed at the edges from travel, and a handful of flatbread. She tore the bread into uneven pieces and held one out to him.
"You first," she said.
"You treated half the caravan," Aiden answered. "You first."
She frowned, then broke the piece in half and shoved one portion against his chest. "Fine. We both first."
He didn't argue.
The food tasted like dust, but it steadied him. The pup sniffed at the meat, then took a tiny bite, chewing with small, careful motions. Its fur brushed his arm with every movement, and a faint tingle ran up his skin each time.
Myra leaned her head back against the tree trunk and stared up through the canopy.
"This day," she said, "has been too long."
"You say that like the next days are going to be short," Aiden murmured.
She made a face. "Don't curse us."
They ate in silence for a while.
The forest watched.
That was what it felt like, anyway. Aiden had grown up around woods, but not like these. The trees at home had been small and scrappy, clinging to rocky soil. These ones were ancient. Their roots crisscrossed under the surface like buried bones, their branches knit tight enough to make a second ceiling over everyone's heads.
Light filtered down in muted, green-yellow shafts, catching on the faint remaining fog that clung to their clothes.
The System lay quiet.
No windows. No chimes.
He was almost grateful.
Almost.
Nellie finished her small share of bread and wrapped the rest carefully back up. "Do you think it's… really gone?" she asked softly.
"The monster?" Myra said.
Nellie nodded.
Aiden swallowed. "The Hollow collapsed. Unless it tunnelled out somehow, it's stuck for a long time."
"That's not an answer," Myra said under her breath.
"No," he agreed. "It's not."
He kept seeing those molten eyes. The way they'd locked onto him, cutting through stone and fog and chaos.
The way the fog-entity had looked at him too.
Found you.
He didn't tell them about that part.
Not yet.
Garrik made another slow circuit, then walked back to their tree and stopped there, as if he'd been choosing who to talk to and ended up with the ones least likely to yell at him.
He looked at the pup first.
Then at Aiden.
"If the Academy asks," he said, "they'll want details."
"About what?" Aiden asked, as if he didn't know.
Garrik's expression didn't shift. "About why a boy from a marsh village is throwing lightning like a half-trained war-mage. About why a beast like that wolf listens to him. About why the Hollow of Broken Teeth broke on the same day he passed through it."
"This wasn't my fault," Aiden said quietly.
"I didn't say it was," Garrik answered. "But people will still look at you and see cause, not coincidence."
Nellie bristled. "He saved everyone."
"Not everyone," Garrik corrected. The words were blunt, not cruel. "Enough. More than we would've without him. That's exactly why they'll be interested."
Myra narrowed her eyes. "Interested how?"
"Interested in who trained him. Who owns him. Who thinks they own him." Garrik's gaze shifted back to Aiden. "Interested in whether he's an asset… or a problem."
Aiden's stomach twisted.
He thought of his mother's hands on his face the morning he'd left. His father's awkward clap on the shoulder. Their fear hidden under pride. They'd thought the Academy would make his life safe. Guarded. Important, maybe.
They hadn't meant this.
"I didn't ask for any of it," he said.
Garrik let out a breath. "Most people who matter in the world didn't. Doesn't stop the world from noticing."
He looked like he wanted to say something else. Instead, he nodded once and turned away.
"Rest while you can," he said over his shoulder. "We push hard tomorrow. If we're not at the Academy before the next storm hits, we're in trouble."
Myra waited until he was out of earshot before talking again.
"Okay," she said. "New rule."
Aiden looked at her. "I'm getting a lot of those lately."
"This one's for all three of us," she said. "Anything weird that happens around you"—she pointed at his chest—"we talk about it. You don't try to handle it alone. Not with that thing in your bones. Not with that pup."
The wolf flicked an ear, as if offended at being grouped under "that pup."
Nellie nodded instantly. "I like that rule."
"It's very selfish of you," Myra added.
"How is that selfish?" Nellie protested.
"Because," Myra said dryly, "I would like to know in advance if I'm about to be fried by friendly lightning."
Aiden managed a faint smile.
"Deal," he said.
The pup yawned, sparks popping at the corners of its mouth, and wriggled around until it was sprawled across all three of their legs like they were a single oddly-shaped bed.
Nellie's eyes softened. "We should give it a name," she whispered.
Aiden froze.
Something in his chest resisted that.
Names meant permanence. Names meant responsibility. Names meant admitting this wasn't temporary, that this crackling little creature tied to his soul wasn't going to just trot off into the marsh one day and leave him normal again.
Myra felt the hesitation.
"We don't have to do it now," she said softly.
The pup opened one eye and looked up at him. Electricity flickered there—curious, patient.
Not yet, he thought at it, stupidly.
It blinked.
Closed its eye again.
The forest slowly shifted as the worst of the adrenaline drained from everyone. The crying quieted. Some people dozed sitting up. Hunters sat with their backs to trees, weapons balanced across their knees, eyes half-lidded but never fully closing.
Time slipped, measured in the lengthening of shadows.
Aiden's body began to remember that it was tired enough to fall apart. Every heartbeat felt like it was dragging something heavy along with it.
The System stirred.
Just a flicker. A soft chime in the corner of his vision.
He stiffened, then forced himself not to jerk. Myra and Nellie didn't seem to notice.
A small, discreet line of pale blue text unfolded in front of his eyes.
[Emergency Combat Event: Complete]
[Survival Rating: Above Expected]
[Instinct Utilization: 71%]
[Bond Thread: Stabilizing]
More lines followed, slower, like the System was thinking.
[New Feature Unlocked: BASIC BESTIARY]
[New Feature Unlocked: BOND STATUS]
A faint, translucent icon appeared—a small stylized wolf's head made of light.
It pulsed once.
[Would you like to view BOND STATUS now?]
[Yes / No]
His thumb twitched.
He wanted to press yes so badly his fingers ached with it.
But Myra's rule was less than a minute old.
Anything weird, we talk about it.
He exhaled slowly. "Myra. Nellie."
They both turned toward him at once.
He nodded toward the pup, still sprawled asleep across their legs.
"The System just… changed something," he said quietly. "Because of it. And because of the Hollow."
Myra straightened. "Changed how?"
"It unlocked something called 'Bond Status' and a bestiary," he said. "It wants me to open it now."
Nellie's eyes went round. "Like a… like a creature guidebook?"
"Probably," he said.
Myra chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. "If you open it and it does something loud, Garrik will have a heart attack."
"True," Aiden said.
"Can you… check it without casting more lightning?" she asked.
"I think it's just information," he said. "Menus. Not… storms."
"Then." Myra drew in a breath. "We look. Now. Together."
He nodded.
The System patiently waited.
[Would you like to view BOND STATUS now?]
[Yes / No]
Aiden focused on the word Yes.
The world didn't explode.
The text shifted.
[P r o v i s i o n a l B o n d : U n n a m e d L i g h t n i n g C u b]
[Species: ???]
[Bloodline: Obscured]
[Current Rank: F]
[Bond Depth: 17%]
[Emotional Link: Unidirectional → Beast → You]
[Shared Instincts: Danger Sense (Weak), Flee (Active)]
Underneath, smaller lines formed.
[Bond Effects (Current):]
– Slight increase to reaction speed when beast is nearby.
– Slight resistance to lightning damage.
– Instinct spikes may occur in high-threat situations.
[Warning:]
– Beast's growth will accelerate if Bond Deepens.
– Threat Potential: Catastrophic if left unmanaged.
Myra read the floating text as it reflected faintly in his eyes. Her face went from curious to fascinated to deeply, deeply concerned.
"Catastrophic," she repeated. "That is not a small word."
"It's still F-rank," Nellie whispered. "That's… bottom tier, right? That's nothing."
Aiden swallowed. "For now."
He flicked through the overlay, pulling up the new bestiary with a thought. The first page showed only three faint entries: Fangback Marsh Lurker, Hollow Aberration (redacted), and the pup—listed only as:
[??? — Lightning-Adapted Juvenile]
[Information Locked. Increase Bond, Observe Behavior, or Survive Further Encounters to Unlock More Data.]
"That thing in the Hollow," Myra said slowly, "is on your list too."
"Partially," he said. "It doesn't even give it a name."
"That somehow makes it worse," she muttered.
Nellie hugged her satchel closer, as if it could shield her from System text. "Do you… regret it?" she asked, so quietly the words almost didn't make it out. "Saving the pup? Bonding with it?"
He thought of the way it had screamed lightning at the monster. The way it had thrown itself between them and teeth many times too large. The way it had nuzzled into his cloak afterward, shaking.
He thought of the subway tracks in another world, another life. Of a child's small wrist slipping in his hand.
"No," he said. The answer came easier than he expected. "I don't regret it."
Myra's expression softened.
"Good," she said. "Because I'd be very cross with you if you regretted being alive with us."
The pup shifted, pressing its head tighter under his hand. A tiny arc of static snapped against his palm—more affectionate than painful.
The System flickered one more time.
[Bond Depth: 18%]
Nellie saw that number tick upward and gave a strangled little laugh. "It likes you."
"Terrifying," Myra said. Then, grudgingly: "And sort of… nice."
Aiden let himself breathe, just for a moment, as the forest watched and did nothing worse than rustle.
Maybe, he thought, the worst of today was behind them.
A distant rumble answered the thought.
Not thunder.
Not the monster.
Hoofbeats.
Dozens of them.
Garrik's head snapped toward the sound. Hunters jerked upright. The pup's eyes flew open, fur bristling as it twisted toward the noise with a low, warning growl.
Through the trees ahead, between thick trunks and hanging vines, something metallic flashed in the dim light.
Helmets.
Spears.
A line of mounted riders in armor the color of stormclouds and iron, sigils gleaming on their breastplates—the Academy's crest picked out in dark blue and silver.
They were riding straight toward the battered caravan.
And none of their weapons were lowered.
The pup's growl deepened.
The System pulsed once, sharp and cold.
[New Threat Category Detected]
[Target Type: Human]
[Danger Level: Currently Unknown]
Aiden's fingers tightened in the pup's fur as the first of the riders reined in at the edge of the clearing, visor hiding their eyes.
"By order of the Academy of Valesreach," the lead rider called out, voice ringing through the trees, "this caravan is to submit to inspection."
The pup's hackles rose.
And the storm inside Aiden woke up again.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Alright, real talk for a second.
WebNovel rejected Reborn with the Beastbinder System.
Yeah. They said it "wouldn't make money."
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