Rowan couldn't open his eyes, paralyzed by fear. He had no tricks left, no skills to call upon, no potions to heal his wounds.

  He couldn't bring himself to face death. Maybe it was better this way. The bear didn't charge. Instead, Rowan heard its slow, deliberate steps—the grinding rasp of bark plates shifting with every movement. The heavy, rancid breath of the beast washed over him, hot and foul, as it drew ever closer.

  "Damn, you need a breath mint," Rowan muttered, a weak smirk ghosting across his bloodied lips. His dad had always said he never took anything seriously—it seemed that even facing death, he hadn't changed.

  Rowan exhaled slowly, gathering the last shreds of his focus as he forced his eyes open. The bear loomed just inches away, its molten-red gaze locked onto his, radiating heat and an almost suffocating presence.

  He heard it a second too late—a sound that didn't belong to the bear or the forest. A sharp rattling, like the clatter of bones, and then something slammed into his side, hurling him through the air.

  The bear let out an almighty roar. As Rowan tumbled and rolled to a stop, he caught sight of the beast—an arrow buried deep in its eye. Blinking through the haze, Rowan realized it wasn't a normal arrow. It was crafted from white bone, intricately shaped and honed to deadly precision.

  Rowan turned his head and saw what had struck him—a skeletal deer, a stag. It had no skin, no muscles, only bleached bones, held together by some unseen force that pulsed with eerie, unnatural energy. The stag wasn't an enemy; it had thrown itself between Rowan and the bear, shielding him from the fatal blow.

  More arrows hissed from the forest, their origin hidden from Rowan, each one slamming into the bear with deadly precision. The skeletal stag lunged, locking its massive antlers into the exposed muscle Rowan had torn open earlier with his rapier strikes, driving the beast back with relentless force.

  Roaring in agony, the bear lashed out with a brutal swipe, its massive paw smashing into the stag's ribcage. Bones exploded outward in a storm of brittle shards, rattling against the rocky ground. The skeletal stag had never been a true match for the bear's raw strength—just a fragile construct—but it had served its purpose, buying Rowan precious moments.

  The barrage of arrows did not relent. Whoever the unseen archer was, their precision was uncanny—each shot finding the bear's exposed flesh, never once glancing off its armored bark plates.

  With the stag shattered, Rowan was now the closest living target—assuming that eerie construct had ever truly been alive at all. The bear approched his movement slower, these arrows clearly hindering it.

  Each arrow that struck drew blood, but also fed the bear's furious glow, turning its body into a blazing mass of molten red light.

  Rowan, summoning the last flicker of his strength, staggered to his feet. With a desperate cry, he drove his rapier through the bear's already-wounded eye, burying the blade to the hilt. The creature's entire form convulsed, light exploding outward in a blinding eruption of crimson fury, swallowing everything in a searing blaze of red.

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  Agonizing pain surged through Rowan, but he clung to the rapier, using it as an anchor against the violent blast. As the explosion subsided and the searing heat faded, the overwhelming pain finally claimed him, dragging him down into unconsciousness.

  Darkness claimed him, swallowing pain and sound alike.

  Time lost meaning. Whether minutes or hours passed, he couldn't tell.

  Then—warmth. The crackle of a fire, steady and reassuring, broke through the suffocating silence. The scent of smoke and cured leather filled the air, earthy and grounding. For a long moment, Rowan floated between waking and sleep, the heat of the fire seeping into his battered body like a distant memory of comfort. His fingers twitched. Slowly, painfully, Rowan's eyes fluttered open, revealing a world far different from the battlefield he had left behind.

  Gone were the trees and open sky. Around him loomed jagged, shadowed rock walls, the air cool and damp. He was in a cave—was this the cave the bear had come from.

  Rowan tried to push himself upright, but a sharp jolt of pain pinned him down, forcing a grimace as he slumped back against the rocky floor.

  "Drink this," a soft, feminine voice urged as a cool glass vial was pressed to his lips. The liquid flowed smoothly down his throat, and Rowan immediately recognized the familiar, soothing effects of a healing potion.

  It took another five or ten minutes before Rowan gathered enough strength to sit up.

  The woman—his savior—sat with her back to him, crouched by the fire, a knife in hand. She was carefully scraping what at first looked like bark, but as Rowan’s eyes adjusted, he realized it was the bear’s pelt—torn from the beast, thick with layered plating and muscle, now stripped and smoking at the edges.

  Rowan watched her silently, and as if sensing his gaze, she turned her head—slowly, deliberately—meeting his eyes with a calm that was both unbothered and knowing.

  She was striking—sharp elegance wrapped in cold precision. Her skin, pale as porcelain, was untouched by dirt or blood. Raven-black hair fell in a sleek curtain down her back, perfectly smooth. Her dark eyes, focused and unblinking, carried the piercing calm of someone who had survived too much to be surprised by anything.

  "I guess I owe you a thank you," Rowan said, only then realizing he was nearly naked. As he sat up, it hit him—she must have removed his clothes. Normally, he had no shame about his body, but something about this woman put him on edge. He instinctively pulled the pelt sheet higher, covering himself without quite meeting her eyes.

  "It was nothing, really. I was after the chest—you just got there first," she said, walking over to a neatly folded pile of clothes. She tossed them to him. "They were a bit battered, so I patched them up."

  Rowan examined the clothes, pulling the top over his head and quickly covering himself. He slid into the trousers with cautious movements, careful not to expose himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he caught the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

  As Rowan pulled on his boots, his eyes caught on something he hadn’t noticed before—the chest still sat in the center of the cave, untouched, unopened, as if waiting.

  "Why haven’t you opened it yet?" he asked, frowning in confusion.

  "It’s not mine. You got here first," she replied, her tone dismissive, as if the treasure inside meant nothing to her.

  "But I would’ve been dead if you hadn’t stepped in,” Rowan said. It wasn’t an exaggeration—the sheer number of arrows it had taken to bring the bear down was more than he could have managed on his own.

  "I said it's yours. Drop it." Her tone was final—sharp and unquestioning. She wasn’t one for discussion, and Rowan could tell there was no point in pressing further.

  "I helped you for selfish reasons," she said, her gaze lowering. "I came into this system with a group. I left them. They died to a creature not unlike that bear." Her words were cool and detached, but Rowan could hear the guilt threading beneath them—raw and unspoken, tucked behind her calm exterior.

  "My name's Laura."