He'd made it through the night.
He was alive.
And he was never, ever telling anyone about the accidental rejection.
Revvyn lay flat on the silver moss, his cheek pressed against the cool, damp earth. The silence of the Moonlit Garden was no longer a heavy, suffocating weight; it felt like a reprieve. Above him, the silver canopy began to thin, the oppressive magical darkness of the forest was losing its grip as the first light of dawn filtered through the bone-white branches.
He felt the change before he saw it. A deep, thrumming warmth began to radiate from the center of his chest—the heart of his mana core.
[D-RANK REACHED: Physical Reconstruction Initiated]
It wasn't the violent, jagged knitting of the Moonflower's fire. This was different. It was a slow effect that felt like warm honey pouring into the cracks of his bones. He heard the faint, muffled thrum-click of his ribs sliding back into their natural alignment. The agonizing friction of shattered bone on raw muscle eased, replaced by a dull, manageable ache.
He let out a long, shuddering breath. "Fuck yes," he croaked, his voice a dry rasp.
He stared up at the fading stars, a jagged, delirious grin spreading across his face. He had killed a Guardian. He'd survived the Nymphs, the lake, and the crushing coils of a Level 20 nightmare. He'd stared into the throat of death and shoved a rusted piece of iron down it.
"I beat it," he whispered, his eyes stinging. "I beat death again."
A soft, watery chirp sounded right by his ear.
Revvyn turned his head. Syll was there, a quivering, translucent puddle of pale violet. The slime looked exhausted, his edges ragged and his color washed out, but he was pulsing with a rhythmic, healthy light.
"We did it, Syll," Revvyn said, reaching out a trembling hand to let the slime flow over his palm. "We're D-rank. We're actually D-rank."
He thought about the lost Serpent Essence for a fleeting second—the silver light he'd accidentally swiped away. Pain of regret twitched in his gut, but he shook it off. There were other beasts in this world. Other powers to steal. This was just the beginning of the map, and he was finally strong enough to start drawing the lines.
He pushed himself up. His ribs gave a sharp, warning jab, reminding him that "healing" wasn't the same as "healed." He hissed through his teeth, clutching his side as he sat upright.
"I'm getting that flower to my father," he muttered to the empty garden. "I'm getting home. I'll buy Lily the prettiest dress in the village—one of those ones from the city, the ones that'll show off... well, everything." He felt a flush of heat in his cheeks that had nothing to do with the healing process. "And then I'm going to the Academy. Let Lucien try to look down on me then. We won, Syll! We fucking won!"
He threw his head back and yelled the words into the trees, a raw, triumphant shout that startled a flock of glowing birds from the silver branches.
Syll let out a series of rapid, rhythmic chirps.
Revvyn looked down at the slime, squinting. "What? I never had any doubts. Not for a second."
Syll gave a long, flat, vibrating chirp that sounded suspiciously like a scoff.
"Oh, shut up. You were terrified too," Revvyn grumbled, wiping a smudge of blood from his forehead. "That's a lie and you know it."
The slime chirped again, a mocking sound, before sliding into Revvyn's pocket to rest.
Revvyn began to gather his things. He moved slowly, his body still feeling like a fragile piece of pottery held together by tape. He reached for the Midnight Flowers growing in a stone by the fountain, their translucent petals shimmering in the morning light. He tucked them carefully into a padded pouch in his bag.
I'm going to make a fortune on these, he thought. I'll buy the debt. I'll be able to afford a small lifestyle. I'll buy a whole wardrobe of those dresses for lily. I can't wait to see her smile again.
The thought of Lily's reaction made him grin again. He looked at the sun. The sky was turning a mix of orange and purple, the gold of the morning beginning to spread over the horizon. He thought about the old lady back at the market, her cryptic warnings and her talk of prophecies.
"Wrong," he muttered, cinching his bag shut. "You were wrong, old woman. I won."
A sound stopped him cold.
It wasn't the rustle of leaves or the hum of insects but a heavy, rhythmic thump-thump of large paws hitting the moss. The sound of something big moving fast.
Revvyn froze his hands, hovering over the hilt of his new Moonstar Blade. His heart, which had just begun to calm, ramped back up into a gallop. He turned, his boots skidding slightly on the stone ground.
A massive gray lion stepped into the clearing. Its fur was the color of storm clouds, matted with dried blood and burrs. Its eyes burned with a low, golden hunger that hadn't been satisfied in days. But it wasn't the lion that held Revvyn's gaze.
It was the rider.
He was a beast-man, a towering, lean figure with the hunched shoulders and the jagged, protruding jaw of a hyena. His fur was patchy, yellowed in some places, bald in others. One ear was notched, torn in some old fight. He wore scraps of rusted armor and leather, held together with twine. A massive, notched cleaver hung from his saddle, the blade chipped at the side.
Grimjaw.
The lion growled, a low vibration that Revvyn felt in his marrow. Its lips curled back, revealing yellowed fangs.
"Look who we have here," Grimjaw said, his voice a gravelly snarl that ended in a wet click of teeth. He leaned forward, studying Revvyn with those yellow eyes. "Alone and weak. A little bird with broken wings."
Of course, Revvyn thought, his stomach dropping. Of course he followed me. Of course he's still here.
"Not now," Revvyn spat, his hand tightening on the silver hilt of his sword. "Not fucking now."
Grimjaw's lips pulled back in something that might have been a smile. It wasn't friendly. It was the expression of a predator who'd found wounded prey. He urged the lion forward, the beast padding silently across the moss until it was barely ten feet away.
"Where's your lover?" Grimjaw asked, his yellow eyes scanning the ruined garden. "Did she run and leave you to rot? Or did you kill her like you killed my bear?"
Revvyn's jaw tightened. "Your bear was going to kill me. I did what I had to."
"And now you're alone." Grimjaw's smile widened. "Bleeding. Broken. Your bouncy beast looks weak too." He gestured with his chin toward Revvyn's pocket, where Syll's pale form was barely visible. "This is going to be easier than I thought."
Revvyn's mind raced. He couldn't fight. Not like this. His body was held together by magical thread and his stubbornness. Syll was barely conscious. The Moonstar Blade was beautiful, but he didn't even know how to use it yet.
He needed time. He needed an angle.
"She didn't leave me," Revvyn said, forcing his voice steady. "We parted ways. She had her own mission and we aren't lovers."
Grimjaw snorted. "Same thing. Dead or gone, you're still alone." He dismounted, sliding off the lion's back with surprising grace for his size. His claws clicked against the moonstone as he walked closer, studying the carnage around the fountain.
He looked at the shattered pillars. The scorched moss. The massive, emerald-scaled corpse lying near the fountain.
Revvyn followed his gaze. The Serpent's body was beginning to dissolve. It wasn't rotting; it was turning into fine, shimmering gold dust that rose into the air like embers from a fire. The massive head, the one Revvyn had spiked with his broken hilt, was already half-gone, the crystalline horns crumbling into sparkling sand that drifted away on the morning breeze.
Grimjaw's eyes went wide.
His jaw dropped. His whole body went rigid, frozen in place like a statue. The predatory confidence drained from his face, replaced by something Revvyn had never expected to see on a hyena-man's features.
Fear.
Wasn't there a serpent that guarded this place? Grimjaw's thoughts were visible in his twitching ears, his darting eyes. I've been in this forest for a long time. I've seen warriors—men with iron hearts and golden armor—die in those coils. I've heard their bones snap from a mile away and laughed at their screams.
He looked back at Revvyn, the blood-stained, trembling boy who was clutching his side and shaking like a leaf in a storm. The same boy he'd chased through the woods. The same boy whose slime had eaten his goblins.
Did he kill it? Did this... this low thing actually defeat the Guardian?
Revvyn saw the shift. He saw the flicker of genuine terror in his red eyes. He didn't understand it fully, but he understood enough.
Grimjaw took a step back. Then another.
Revvyn took a shaky step forward, bracing his weight against his good leg. His ribs screamed. His leg threatened to buckle. But he moved.
"Stay back!" Grimjaw yelled, his voice cracking. He stumbled backward, nearly tripping over his own lion. "Don't come any closer, human!"
Revvyn didn't stop. He held his ribs with one hand and kept the other on his sword. Each step was agony, but he forced himself forward. "I need your help, Grimjaw."
Grimjaw's eyes darted left and right, looking for an escape route. The lion behind him shifted nervously, picking up on its master's fear. "Help? You think a king like me will help a worm like you?"
Revvyn kept moving. Three more steps. He was close enough to see the sweat beading on Grimjaw's mangy forehead.
"You're going to help me for three reasons," Revvyn called out, his voice ringing with a confidence he didn't entirely feel. His lungs burned. His vision swam. But he kept his eyes locked on Grimjaw's. "One: I killed your 'army.' Every last goblin. I don't think you can play king in this forest without any subjects."
Grimjaw flinched.
"Two: I killed that snake over there." Revvyn gestured vaguely to the gold dust still rising from the serpent's remains. "I killed it, Grimjaw. Me. And I'm still standing. How many warriors have you seen do that?"
Grimjaw's throat worked as he swallowed hard. His claws dug into his own palms.
"And three..." Revvyn reached into his pocket and gently pulled out Syll. The slime was pale, weak, barely conscious—but it was there. He pulsed weakly in Revvyn's palm. "I might not be able to move properly but my beast can, Grimjaw. He just ate a Guardian. I think he'd like to try a hyena next."
Grimjaw stared at the slime. That small, pathetic, trembling blob. And he remembered what it had done to his goblins. What it had done to the bear. What it had apparently just helped do to a Guardian.
Shit! Grimjaw's mind raced. What does he think he is? A god in a farmboy's skin? How did he do this? How?
He looked at the violet slime, then at the dissolving serpent, then back at the boy with the steady eyes and the broken body.
"What do you want?" Grimjaw asked, his voice low and defeated.
Revvyn almost collapsed with relief. He didn't. He kept his feet, kept his eyes locked on the beast-man.
"I need a ride back to my village," Revvyn said. "I need to get to my father. He's sick. He needs the moonflower." He patted the pouch at his side. "I don't have time to crawl through the brush for days. I need to move fast."
Grimjaw turned his face away, squinting his eyes as if trying to find a way out of the deal. His claws scraped against his own arms. "I can't," he muttered.
"Why?" Revvyn asked, his brow furrowing. "You know the forest better than anyone."
Grimjaw looked back at him, his expression a strange mix of awe, bitterness, and something that looked almost like shame. Can he not see it? Does he think I look normal? Does he not see we are not the same?
"I'm a beast-man, boy." His voice was rough, scraping. "I've never left the shade of these trees. The world outside... it's different for my kind. It's not safe. Villagers see me and they reach for pitchforks. Tamers see me and they reach for blades. I can't just walk into a village like I'm one of you."
Revvyn paused.
He looked at Grimjaw—really looked at him. The notched ears. The jagged teeth. The patchy fur. The stench of old meat and wet fur that clung to him like a second skin. Everything about him screamed "monster."
But underneath that, Revvyn saw something else. Something he recognized.
Fear. Loneliness. Desperation.
He thinks we're different, Revvyn realized. He thinks because he looks like that, he's not even the same species.
"Well, aside from your dogshit stench and your 'kill-me' attitude," Revvyn said slowly, a small, tired smirk touching his lips, "I don't think we're any different at all."
Grimjaw blinked.
"And I don't think the villagers will think so either," Revvyn continued. "Not if you're the one bringing their hero home. Not if you're the reason I get to my father in time."
Grimjaw stared at him. His jaw worked, but no sound came out.
"You're just saying that so I'll get you home," he finally managed. His voice was hoarse. "You're trying to manipulate me. I'm no fool."
"So you get my point," Revvyn said. "You're smart enough to see the angle. That means you're smart enough to know when the angle benefits you too."
Grimjaw's face contorted. A sound escaped him, something between a scoff and a choke. It might have been a laugh. It might have been a sob. His eyes glistened.
"Bastard," he barked. "Making me feel like a person."
Revvyn scratched the back of his head, feeling the dried blood flake off under his nails. "I wasn't lying about everything. The part about not being different? That was true. The part about needing your help? Also true." He met Grimjaw's eyes. "So, am I getting that ride, or do I have to let the slime out?"
Grimjaw gritted his teeth. The muscles in his jaw bulged. He looked at the dissolving serpent one last time, then back at the boy who had somehow, impossibly, survived.
"Fine," he growled. "Fine!"
He turned and walked back to his lion, muttering under his breath in a language Revvyn didn't understand. The lion rumbled low in its chest, but Grimjaw slapped its flank and it settled.
"I can show you a shorter path," Grimjaw said, not looking back. "A hidden trail that leads to the edge of the valley. It'll cut two days off your journey. But you'll have to disguise yourself a bit."
"Disguise?" Revvyn asked, limping toward the lion. "What do you mean?"
Grimjaw looked at him then. His yellow eyes traveled over Revvyn's blood-stained clothes, his bruised face and his legs.
"You look like beast food," Grimjaw said. "There are blood beast out there... you need to throw them off your scent if you're going to ride with me..." He reached into a saddlebag and pulled out a tattered, hooded cloak. It was dark brown, stained with mud and something darker. "Put this on. Keep your head down. Let me do the talking."
Revvyn took the cloak. It smelled like wet dog and dried smoke. He pulled it over his shoulders, wincing as the fabric brushed against his still-healing ribs. The hood covered most of his face.
Grimjaw mounted the lion in one smooth motion, then extended a clawed hand down to Revvyn.
Revvyn looked at that hand. The claws. The fur. The thing that Grimjaw thought made him a monster.
He took it.
With a grunt of pain, Revvyn hauled himself up behind the beast-man. The lion shifted beneath them, growling low, but Grimjaw muttered something and it settled.
"Hold on," Grimjaw said. "And try not to fall off. I'm not coming back for you."
Revvyn's arms wrapped around Grimjaw's waist. The fur was coarse, the body underneath surprisingly warm. He looked up at the sun, now fully above the horizon, bathing the Moonlit Garden in warm, golden light.
The old lady's prophecy about the darkness taking him felt like a lifetime ago. He had the flower. He had the rank. He had the sword.
And somehow, impossibly, he had a hyena-man as a ride home.
"I won," Revvyn whispered as the lion leaped forward into the trees. "I actually won."
The wind rushed past them, cold and clean. The forest blurred into streaks of silver and green. And for the first time in days, Revvyn let himself believe he might actually make it home.