As they crested the hill, the village revealed itself below.
It was small and quiet. Smaller than Atlas expected. The fields around it looked uneven, strips of earth left unfinished where work had stopped partway through. A wooden fence ringed the outer homes, fresh but poorly made. It looked like it had been built in a hurry, by people who hadn't known how much time they had.
Atlas slowed without realizing it.
The village should have been alive at this hour. He knew that much, even at his age. There should have been smoke rising straight from chimneys, voices drifting across the fields, animals shifting in their pens. Instead, the air felt heavy and still, as if the land itself were holding its breath.
Atlas' gaze lingered on the fence longer than he meant to. His chest felt tight.
The memory came back to him.
He was younger again, standing on the high cliffs of the north, wind tearing at his clothes as fire roared through the sky. A wyvern's shadow swallowed the land beneath it, wings stretching wide enough to blot out the sun. He remembered the heat, the way it stole his breath, the fear that had rooted him in place.
And Boreas.
Calm. Focused. Moving through flame as if it were nothing more than weather.
Atlas had watched his brother strike the creature down and had believed, with the simple certainty of a child, that this was what strength looked like.
The memory slipped away as quickly as it came.
This was different, he told himself. A small village. A water wyvern. Slower. Weaker.
Manageable.
Near the entrance, a guard post stood abandoned. One of its timbers was split clean through, dark stains pressed deep into the dirt below. The damage looked sudden. Violent.
The wind shifted, carrying the scent of damp earth and smoke. Not the clean smell of cooking fires, but something heavier, older. Something that did not belong.
Atlas swallowed.
As they continued down the road, the silence pressed in around him, broken only by the sound of boots against dirt. He kept his eyes forward, but the image stayed with him.
This wasn't what he had imagined.
Atlas straightened, jaw setting. Whatever unease stirred beneath the surface, he pushed it down, burying it beneath resolve.
He had asked for this.
And as the village gates loomed closer, the weight of that choice settled fully onto his shoulders.
Gramps broke the quiet.
"You're walking differently," he said.
Atlas glanced up. "Am I?"
Gramps nodded once, eyes forward. "You usually rush ahead."
Atlas frowned, unsure how to answer. He hadn't noticed. After a moment he said, "I just… want to see it properly."
Gramps studied him from the corner of his eye. He didn't respond right away.
"You asked to come here," he said instead.
"I thought I could help." The words came out faster than he meant them to. "I've been training. I'm stronger than I was."
Gramps slowed his pace, just enough that Atlas had to do the same. "Stronger than when?"
Atlas hesitated. The cliffs came to mind. The fire. The moment he hadn't moved.
"Than before," Atlas said finally.
Gramps hummed quietly, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. "You've been watching your father and brother a lot lately."
Atlas' jaw tightened. "They never seem to struggle like I do."
Gramps stopped.
Atlas took one more step before realizing, then turned back. Gramps hadn't followed. He remained where he was, posture steady, the broad shape of the sword on his back catching the light.
"You're not them," he said. "And that's not a weakness. Struggle's how strength is made boy. Your father and brother had theirs too, you just didn't see it."
He started walking again. "Learn from it. Make it yours."
Atlas opened his mouth, then closed it again. He fell in beside Gramps. For a while, the only sound was their footsteps.
"Do you remember why we train the way we do?" Gramps asked.
Atlas nodded. "So we don't lose control."
Gramps glanced at him. "And why does that matter?"
"So we don't hurt the wrong people."
Gramps gave a small nod, satisfied. "Good."
They reached the edge of the village road. Ahead, the guards were visible now, relief flickering across their faces at the sight of the older man.
Gramps slowed, then rested a hand briefly on Atlas' shoulder.
He didn't squeeze. He didn't give instructions.
"Stay aware," he said quietly.
Then he stepped forward, leaving Atlas standing there with the weight of those words settling slowly into place.
The guards at the entrance straightened the moment they were noticed.
The one in front stepped forward. He was broad-shouldered, armor scratched and dulled by use, his helmet tucked beneath his arm. Dirt streaked his cheek where sweat had carved clean lines through the grime.
"Lord Magnus," he said, bowing his head. "Thank you for coming."
Gramps raised a hand before the title could settle.
"At ease," he said. "We're all just warriors today"
The guard hesitated, caught off guard by the simplicity of it, then straightened a touch too quickly.
"You've done well to keep the people safe for this long" Gramps added, his tone steady but sincere.
The guard blinked, then nodded once. "We did what we could."
The words landed heavier than he meant them to. For a brief moment, his gaze dropped to the ground between them.
"Two nights ago it came in from the lake. Took cattle first. Then one of my men moved to turn it away from the homes."
His jaw tightened. "He didn't make it back."
Atlas' gaze drifted past him before he could stop himself.
There was the guard post again. But now he noticed what he hadn't before. The churned earth. The boot marks, pressed deep and uneven.
One set closer to the post than the others.
The guard followed his line of sight and shifted, stepping slightly to block the worst of it.
Gramps nodded once. "His name?"
"Cato," the guard said, voice low.
Gramps inclined his head. "Then he faced it so the others didn't have to. Takes more heart than most will ever know."
The guard nodded slowly. "He'd have been proud to hear you say that sir."
For a moment, neither spoke. The quiet between them felt heavy but not empty.
Atlas' eyes stayed on the post where the earth was churned. He didn't know Cato, but he understood the choice he'd made.
Around them, the village remained sealed tight. Doors were barred even in daylight. Windows stood dark, shutters drawn. No children watched from corners. No voices carried on the air. Even the animals were gone, pens standing empty or half-broken where something large had pushed through.
Atlas became acutely aware of himself then, of the spear on his back, of his size, of the fact that someone trained, someone trusted, had already tried and failed.
This wasn't a story told by a fire. This was real life.
Gramps finally broke the silence. "Where did it go?"
"Back toward the lake," the guard said. "It comes and goes. Never stays long. Like it knows we can't follow."
Gramps turned slightly, his gaze sweeping the treeline beyond the village. "We'll handle it," he said. "Keep the villagers inside until we know it's safe."
The guard hesitated. "Sir-"
Gramps met his eyes, calm but firm. "You've done your duty well. That's enough. Let us handle what comes next."
The guard held his gaze for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, sir."
As the guards moved back toward the village, Atlas remained where he was, taking one last at the damaged post and the earth around it.
He tried to imagine standing his ground there.
The thought didn't sit right.
Gramps rested a hand briefly at the center of Atlas' back, not guiding him, just anchoring him there for a heartbeat. "Stay with me," he said quietly.
Atlas nodded, though his thoughts were already pulling northward, toward the trees. Toward the lake.
Toward whatever had done this.
—
The trees swallowed the road faster than Atlas expected.
One moment the village lay behind them, tense and sealed, the next it was gone entirely, hidden by trunks and brush. The air shifted as they passed beneath the canopy, cooler and damp, carrying the scent of moss and stagnant water.
Atlas listened.
The forest should have been loud. Birds, insects, the constant small movements of life between branches and undergrowth. Instead, there was only the sound of their steps and the distant drip of water somewhere ahead.
Gramps slowed.
Atlas adjusted without thinking, every sense tightening. He felt it then, a pressure in the air that had nothing to do with weather. The forest felt… watched. Not by eyes, exactly, but by presence, like stepping into water deep enough that it pressed back.
Gramps lifted a hand and stopped.
Atlas froze.
Gramps turned slightly, angling his body toward a narrower path that cut away from the lakeshore. He didn't look back as he stepped off it, his footsteps fading almost immediately into the undergrowth.
Atlas swallowed. They had reached that point.
He stayed on his path towards the lake. The space beside him felt suddenly empty, the silence heavier for it.
He was on his own now.
The lake announced itself before it appeared.
The smell came first. Wet earth and rot, heavy and sour. The ground grew soft beneath Atlas' boots, each step threatening to give way.
Through the thinning trees, water finally came into view.
The lake stretched wide and unnaturally still, its surface broken only by slow ripples that spread without any visible cause. Mist hovered above it, obscuring the far shore. Reeds near the edge lay flattened, bent outward as if something large had pushed through them again and again.
Atlas crouched near the treeline, heart pounding.
He scanned the shoreline, measuring distance without fully realizing he was doing it. His spear felt heavier now.
Minutes passed.
Then the silence broke. The wyvern dropped in from above skimmed low over the lake, wings slicing through the mist. It stopped abruptly above the water, massive body suspended as its wings beat to hold it still. With a single powerful thrust, it flew toward the shore, talons landing deep in the mud, sending water and debris spraying outward.
Atlas froze, eyes locked on the creature.
It was bigger than he had imagined. Bigger than the one he remembered.
Its scales shimmered in layered blues and greens, water streaming down its sides. Its chest rose and fell slowly, deliberately, each breath controlled. When it lifted its head, glowing eyes swept the treeline, unhurried.
Hunting.
Atlas sank lower, heart thudding in his ears.
So this was it.
This was what had broken the village's defenses. What had taken a trained guard and left nothing behind but silence and fear.
For the first time since they had left the road, the thought crept in uninvited.
Even young, Boreas had moved with a skill Atlas was only beginning to understand.
Atlas tightened his grip on the spear, forcing the thought aside. The wyvern hadn't seen him yet. Its attention remained on the lake, wings flexing slowly as it gathered itself.
An opening.
Atlas steadied his breathing, narrowing his focus until the world shrank to the creature's broad flank.
This was what he had asked for.
Atlas drew back the spear. For a brief, fragile moment, everything felt still. The wyvern's head turned slightly, attention still fixed on the water, unaware of him.
This was it.
Atlas stepped forward and threw. The spear cut through the mist and struck the wyvern's flank with a dull, wet impact. Not the heart. Not deep enough.
The creature's shriek tore through the forest. Wings snapped open in a violent rush of air, scattering mist and leaves. The wyvern reared, twisting toward the treeline, glowing eyes locking onto Atlas with sudden, focused fury.
Atlas' stomach dropped. He ran.
The ground was slick beneath his boots as he sprinted toward the nearest tree, hands scraping bark as he hauled himself upward. Behind him, the forest exploded into motion. Roots tore free, trunks cracked, and branches shattered as the wyvern barreled forward, its bulk smashing through the undergrowth without slowing.
Atlas climbed hard, breath burning in his chest. He reached the lower canopy and leapt, barely catching the next branch as it bent under his weight. Leaves tore loose, raining down as he pushed himself onward.
He didn't stop. Tree to tree. Branch to branch. Each landing sent a jolt through his arms, each leap a gamble. Below him, the wyvern thundered through the forest, wings snapping open and folding tight as it surged forward, carving a path of destruction.
Atlas angled for higher ground, spotting a thicker trunk ahead. He gathered himself for the jump- and the wyvern lunged.
It shot upward between the trees, wings tucked close, body moving faster than something that large should have been able to move. Atlas had only enough time to register the blur of scales before it came crashing down on him midair.
Pain exploded through his side. He spun wildly, crashing through branches before slamming hard into the base of a tree. The breath was knocked from his lungs in a sharp, panicked gasp. White flashed across his vision.
A split second later, a surge of pressurized water tore through the ground where he'd been moments before. Atlas rolled aside just in time. The wyvern followed through, landing heavily, talons sinking into the mud.
Atlas' eyes snapped to the spear. It still jutted from the wyvern's side. He moved before fear could catch him. Atlas lunged, grabbing the shaft with both hands. Blood slicked the wood as he braced his foot and dragged the spear downward, forcing it deeper along the creature's flank.
The wyvern screeched, its body convulsing. A wing snapped out, slamming into Atlas with crushing force.
He was thrown clear. Atlas hit the ground hard, the world spinning as pain flared through his arms and back. The spear tore free from his grasp, skidding across the dirt.
The wyvern reared again. Atlas saw its throat swell.
"No-"
The wyvern's water tore toward him. Atlas sprang upward toward the trees, but the stream caught one of his legs from the knee down. The force ripped his boot clean off, skin and flesh with it.
Agony lanced through his leg, sharp and blinding.
He bit down hard, choking back a scream as he pulled himself into the leaves.
The smell of scorched flesh and wet earth filled the air. Atlas dragged himself higher, hands shaking as he pulled into the branches. His leg throbbed violently. Blood soaked through his torn pants and ran warm down his ankle.
He knew he couldn't take another hit like that. He had misjudged it, badly. The thought settled heavy in his chest as he clung to the trunk, fingers digging into bark. One more clean strike and it would end here. He tightened his grip, forcing himself to stay upright. It couldn't end here.
Below him, the wyvern lashed out in fury, firing bursts of water blindly into the trees. Branches shattered. Leaves fell in thick showers. Each blast sent tremors through the trunk Atlas clung to.
He forced himself to breathe. Forced himself to watch. Every time it fired, the wyvern paused. Just a moment. A breath drawn in. A gap.
Atlas' gaze snapped to the ground. His spear lay there, half-buried in mud, close to the beast's forelimb.
An idea took shape, sharp and dangerous.
His hands trembled as he shifted his weight, testing the branches. Pain flared through his leg, but he ignored it, locking his focus on the wyvern's chest.
When the creature inhaled again, Atlas moved. He darted sideways through the branches, grabbing one just ahead and letting it pivot his weight. The wyvern tracked him, aiming its next blast where it thought he'd gone. In the same heartbeat, Atlas twisted, letting the branch arc downward, and dropped out of sight just as the water tore through the canopy behind him.
He hit the ground hard, rolled once to absorb the impact, and came up with the spear in his hands. He drove it upward.
The blade punched through the underside of the wyvern's snout, tearing out through the top with a sickening crunch. The creature howled, reeling back, thrashing its head violently.
Atlas didn't stop. Limping badly now, he drew the knife from his belt and went for the exposed underbelly, stabbing once, twice, three times.
The wyvern's tail whipped around and struck him full-on. Atlas flew backward, the world spinning as he slammed into the dirt. He barely managed to catch himself on one knee, vision blurring as pain screamed through his body.
He looked up. The wyvern was already drawing in water again.
Atlas' heart pounded wildly. He reached behind him, fingers closing around the rim of his shield. He dragged it free and raised it just as the beam struck.
The impact was devastating. The force hurled him backward through the last line of trees and into the open ground beyond. He crashed onto the ground at the edge of the village clearing, his shield cracking under the pressure as his body skidded to a stop. His breath was ripped from his lungs in a raw, burning gasp.
Shouts rang out from the village edge. Atlas struggled to his feet, bloodied and shaking, his injured leg barely holding him upright. He turned toward the guards, voice raw.
"Run!" he shouted. "Get out of here now!"
They froze.
Behind him, the forest exploded again as the wyvern charged. Atlas turned back to face it, hands trembling around the broken shield. He knew, with sudden, absolute clarity, that he couldn't win.
But he raised it anyway.
The wyvern roared and lunged. It crossed the distance faster than Atlas expected, wings flaring wide as water streamed from its scales. The ground shook beneath its charge, each step driving deep into the earth.
Atlas held his ground. His leg screamed in protest. His arms trembled as he raised the cracked shield again, knowing it wouldn't hold. Knowing it didn't matter.
Behind him, the village lay exposed. He set his feet anyway.
The wyvern drew in a massive breath. The air pressure changed. Atlas felt it in his chest, in his teeth, in the way the world seemed to tighten around that single point.
Then- The sky cracked.
A blur dropped from above, striking the ground between Atlas and the wyvern with a force that sent dirt and debris spraying outward. The impact drove a shock through Atlas' bones, knocking him backward a step.
He barely had time to register the shape before it moved. Gramps stood there, cloak snapping once before settling, his massive sword already in his hands. He hadn't drawn it in haste. There was no rush, no wasted motion.
Gramps stepped forward and swung. There was no roar. No clash of elements. Just the sound of steel cutting cleanly through scale and bone.
The wyvern split apart mid-lunge, its body collapsing in two heavy halves that slammed into the ground with a wet, final thud. The momentum carried them forward another few paces before they slid to a stop.
Silence rushed in. Mist drifted slowly across the clearing, disturbed only by the settling of leaves and the fading echo of the impact.
Atlas stood frozen, chest heaving, staring at what remained of the beast.It was over.
Gramps rested the sword against his shoulder, blade darkened with blood. He turned his head slightly, checking the treeline, the lake beyond, the village behind them. Only once he was satisfied did he look at Atlas.
"Still standing," he said.
The words were simple. Not praise. Not judgment.
Atlas let out a shaky breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His knees threatened to buckle now that the danger had passed, but he stayed upright, forcing himself to meet the old man's gaze.
Gramps stepped closer and placed a steady hand on Atlas' shoulder. The weight of it was grounding. Real.
"You held the line," Gramps said quietly.
"I almost didn't," Atlas admitted. "If you hadn't—"
Gramps shook his head once. "If I hadn't, the village would have fallen," he said. "That's why I was here."
Atlas looked past him, toward the shattered remains of the wyvern, then back at the village beyond.
"So… I failed," Atlas said, voice rough.
Gramps considered him for a long moment. "You learned," he said. "And no one behind you was hurt."
The words settled slowly.
In the distance, voices began to rise as the guards emerged from the village, awe and disbelief clear in their shouts. Boots pounded against the earth as they rushed toward the clearing.
Atlas barely heard them. His eyes were still on the place where he had stood, shield raised, knowing it wouldn't be enough.
Gramps' hand remained on his shoulder as the guards arrived, steady and unyielding. Atlas didn't pull away.
The guards reached them at a run. They slowed as they took in the scene, boots skidding in the dirt, eyes wide as they stared at the two halves of the wyvern lying where it had fallen. Water pooled around the body, already darkening with blood. Steam rose faintly from the split flesh as the mist thinned.
For a moment, no one spoke. Then the lead guard stepped forward, helmet tucked beneath his arm, disbelief plain on his face. "It's… it's dead."
Gramps gave a slight nod. "It won't trouble you again."
A breath seemed to leave the group all at once. One guard laughed softly, another sank to his knee where he stood.
The lead guard looked from the wyvern to Gramps, awe creeping into his voice. "Sir… that was-"
The guard hesitated, unsure how to put the feeling into words.
Gramps looked at the group "We all did what we had to. That's how it's done, together."
The guard's shoulders squared, voice low but firm. "Thank you, sir. We… we couldn't have done it without you."
Gramps nodded once, "Now see to the people. Let them leave their homes. Let them live again."
The guard's lips pressed into a small, respectful smile. "Aye, sir. We'll make it right."
Atlas remained where he was, the adrenaline slowly bleeding out of him now that it was over. His injured leg throbbed in time with his heartbeat. He leaned slightly into the weight of Gramps' hand without realizing it.
"You should rest," Gramps said.
"I'm fine," Atlas replied, already shifting his weight.
He took one step and his injured leg buckled. Gramps caught him before he hit the ground, one arm hooking around Atlas' shoulders with practiced ease. Atlas sucked in a sharp breath as the world tilted, then steadied as Gramps hauled him upright.
"You don't have to prove anything now," Gramps said, guiding him back. "Rest is part of the work too, boy."
The guards dispersed quickly, the clearing emptying until only the two of them remained with the fallen beast. The forest felt different now. Not peaceful, exactly, but no longer tense. As if something heavy had been lifted and the world was cautiously testing the space it left behind.
Atlas looked at the wyvern again. Up close, it was even larger than he'd thought. The scales were thick, layered like armor. The head alone was wider than his chest. He traced the line where Gramps' blade had passed through it, clean and final.
He thought of the guard who had stood against it. He thought of the moment he'd raised his shield, knowing it wouldn't hold.
"I really thought I could do it," Atlas said quietly. "Stop it on my own."
Gramps followed his gaze. "You tried."
"That's not the same."
"No," Gramps agreed. "It isn't."
Atlas looked away. The admission stung more than he expected.
After a moment, Gramps spoke again. "You didn't run."
Atlas frowned slightly. "I couldn't."
"You could have," Gramps said. "You chose not to."
The words settled between them. Atlas looked back toward the village, where doors were beginning to open at last. A few figures stood cautiously at the edge of the road, peering out, their fear slowly giving way to disbelief.
A weight settled in his chest. Not pride or shame.
Just the understanding that this had been dangerous in a way he hadn't fully grasped before.
"I… I think I understand now," Atlas said, voice tight.
Gramps glanced at him. "Do you?"
Atlas nodded slowly. "I just… need to get stronger," he said. "Like you."
Gramps's eyes returned to the treeline, calm and steady. "Our power isn't for pride, Atlas. It's for protecting those who can't protect themselves. Remember that, and you'll become more than just strong."
Atlas didn't answer. He didn't need to. The truth of it settled in his chest, heavier than any spear, sharper than any blade.
They turned back toward the village as the sun dipped behind the trees. The wind carried away the last of the mist, and with it, the lingering sense of danger.
Atlas thought about his brother. About his father. About what he'd seen today, and how far he still had to go.