---

The fire burned into its open wounds. It staggered.

"Now!" Zep yelled.

Star roared again and leapt high, his claws gleaming like molten metal. He landed square on the beast's back. His tail whipped around. And with a strong slash, he tore across the beast's nape.

Blood and fire burst together. The Dire Emberjack howled one last time.

Then collapsed. Ash and embers scattered around its dying body.

A moment of Silence…

Only the crackling of flame remained. Zephyr staggered to his feet. "...Is it dead?"

Star raised his head, blood steaming on his jaws. The answer was clear.

Zephyr moved forward, cautiously, and placed his hand to Emberjack's neck. No pulse. Just cooling fire.

[Ding! System Notification-

You have slain: Dire Emberjack – Rank C | Predator Class

Collect the Rare Drop: Dire Beast Core – Fire Affinity (90%)

Uses: Refine | Feed to Fire Typed Beast | Forge grade material. ]

He lifted the core— it burned even through the leather wrap. Star stepped beside him, puffing softly, eyes full of pride.

Fenna limped over. "I hit it many times. You stabbed it twice. Star… ended it."

Zephyr looked at her. "No more pushing. We're full. We can't carry more meat."

She nodded. "Agreed."

Muse snorted loudly, her hooves stamping into the ashen soil as if to declare her protest to the entire forest. Her flanks heaved with every breath, steam rising in thin curls from her sides, and her horns glowed faintly from residual heat.

She gave Zephyr and Fenna a long, flat stare, nostrils flaring.

"What do you mean by we…?," she huffed, voice thick with cowish disdain, as if she were moments away from launching into a full monologue. "I can't carry more. Heartless Zephyr and Fenna."

She shook her head and grunted again for emphasis, then gave a dramatic toss of her head as if deeply betrayed by the concept of gravity itself. The harness around her barrel creaked in sympathy.

Zephyr glanced over and raised both hands. "Muse, this is literally your job — to carry the meat back to the camp."

Muse bellowed once in protest, a sound somewhere between indignation and I will walk off this storyline if you load one more beast.

Fenna, face streaked with ash and sweat, tried to hold in a laugh. "She's got a point. We're one corpse away from a meat avalanche."

At that moment, Aurora wings flared slightly, scattering a few burnt leaf-ashes from the air. She gave a single chirp. Short. Clear.

Mission complete.

Then she fluffed her chest and began preening her wing tips with dramatic flair, clearly proud of her airborne assaults and dire wolf harassment.

Muse turned to glance at the tiny phoenix, her tail flicking. She seemed on the verge of another protest, but instead just mooed. It was a deep soul-weary sound—and muttered (in cow language), "I used to eat grass and tree bark. Now I'm a bloody wagon driver. No cow right is given to me."

Zephyr rubbed the back of his neck, eyes trailing from the exhausted cart-beast to the blood-spattered carcasses.

"Lets work with the body," he muttered.

Muse gave a very pointed, very dramatic groan and resumed pulling with all the weary dignity of a beast forced into unpaid overtime.

They worked in silence.

Butchering the Dire Emberjack was harder than any beast before. Its hide was dense and heat-scored like volcanic rock, each slice requiring all of Zephyr's strength and Star's steady pressure. The bones were thick, almost unnatural, blackened with ember veins that shimmered faintly with fading mana. It smelled of sulfur and scorched sinew, like a corpse pulled straight from a burning forge.

Zephyr wiped his brow, hands slick with blood and sweat. He dug deep between the beast's sternum and ribs.

"Total meat is enough to feed Star for two or three weeks," he murmured. "Or maybe less."

Fenna didn't smile. She was slicing into the beast's flank, sawing through tendon and muscle to carve off a clean shoulder. The tendons glowed faintly red even in death, and she winced when her fingers brushed a still-warm nerve cluster.

Zephyr shifted to the skull, wedging his dagger into the back jaw. With a twist and a crack, he dislodged the molar fangs—charred black, thick as knife handles, and known in smithing circles for withstanding extreme temperatures. Embersteel could be forged using these.

While they worked, Star remained vigilant.

Once done, the drake grabbed what remained of the carcass in his claws—guts, spine, ribs, scorched legs—and dragged it toward the deeper trees.

Star's claws raked wide trenches into the ash thick soil, digging deep until the ground hissed with heat. With a heavy push of his front limbs, he shoved the charred remains of the Dire Emberjack into the hollow, then opened his jaws.

A low rumble vibrated in his chest.

Fwoom!

Flames burst from his maw, orange-hot and clean, washing over the pit in a curtain of heat. The corpse ignited instantly. Ash rose in curling plumes, dancing like tiny gray souls spiraling skyward—embers of death returned to the sky.

Hiss! Hiss! Burning!

Zephyr watched, one hand resting on his blade. He didn't interrupt.

Star stepped back, tail swaying once, nostrils steaming. The flames died down quickly, leaving only blackened soil, faintly glowing with mana scorch marks—a tomb sealed in fire.

Zephyr nodded softly. "That's more than most beasts get."

Fenna watched too, her expression unreadable. "A burial by flame. Fitting for a beast born in fire."

Star huffed. And the forest wind carried the last of the ash away.

Zephyr gave him a pat on the snout. "Good instincts, buddy."

They returned to the cart.

The sun had dipped low, just kissing the horizon. Smoke hung between the trees like stained glass, rays of red and gold slicing through the canopy in crooked beams. Emberwood's eerie beauty shimmered all around them—orange bark glowing, leaves whispering with stored heat, and the after-hunt silence stretching too long to feel comforting.

The cart was full.

Three Emberjack wolves, an ember boar, A raptor. And now, fresh Dire Emberjack cuts stacked over the rest.

The weight sagged the cart's frame. Muse snorted, feeling the weight, still standing tall, though her flanks heaved from the long day.

With a low grumble, she flicked her tail and turned her head toward Zephyr and Fenna with an expression that could only be described as sarcasm. By a small pull she gave the cart a rough shake— bones and meat jostled in the bindings and let out a loud, sharp "Moooooo."

Zephyr winced. "Okay, okay, I get it. It's too heavy. We will help."

Muse stomped a hoof, then gave a second, pointed snort, glaring at Zephyr as if it personally offended her honor. Her eyes narrowed in accusation.

"I think she says," Zephyr translated with mock solemnity, "and I quote— 'I am not a war wagon built to pull that weight more than your common sense.'"

Fenna smirked. "Sounds accurate."

"This doesn't feel like a hunt anymore," Zephyr muttered, checking the harness.

"It feels like we're leaving a battlefield," Fenna replied. "We've got enough cores to last a week. Let's get back before we attract another predator. If we hunt one more Muse will boil in anger."

Zephyr nodded. "You are right. Let's move."

But just as he turned—Aurora shrieked.

Not a battle cry. Not a scout's alert. Shock.

Zephyr's head snapped up. His gut clenched. Aurora never shrieked like that unless—

Star was already still. Muscles tense. Eyes wide. He wasn't looking at the sky. He was staring straight ahead, into the smoke.

Where something moved. No. Someone. A figure stepped from the trees. Slowly and Deliberately.

Cloaked in ash-colored leathers. Metal vambraces glinted beneath his sleeves. His boots crunched against burnt bark like he didn't care who heard.

He was armored. Broad-shouldered. But light on his feet. Smoke coiled around him like a shroud.

A long-slashed guild cloak hung from his belt. It was a half-burned Ember sigil. Not local. And not friendly.

Zephyr's mouth tightened. His hand slid slowly toward his blade.

The stranger's right hand glowed. Flame licked from the knuckles.

Not natural fire. Not a beast's breath. A stolen brand. A rogue.

"Nice cart," the man said. His voice was dry, amused. The kind of voice that belonged to someone who hadn't worried about consequences in a long time. "Mind if I take it?"

Fenna didn't answer. She already had one hand on her bowstring, drawing slowly.

Zephyr's fingers gripped his hilt. He said nothing.

Star growled low and deep, the kind of growl that rattled leaves off nearby trees. His wings flared slightly, tail dragging against the ground.

The man's lips curled. "You'll want to think twice."

And then… Behind him. There was a Movement.

Five shapes drifted between the trees. Half silhouettes. Some carried blades. Others bore staves or gauntlets marked by sigil brands, burnt red, twisted like flame gone wrong.

Rogues.

One of them, a woman in bone armor licked her lips and stared at Star. "That's a nice beast you've got there," she murmured.