CHAPTER 78: A PLAN?!

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"I trust your judgment," Fenna replied dryly, sitting across from him.

The banter was light, but the eyes behind it were weary.

Emberling, now fully awake, chirped once and hopped into Star’s side curl, tucking herself into the space between his neck and wing. Star made a deep-chested rumble—protective and pleased. The chick cooed once and nuzzled into his scales.

Zephyr ladled the first bowl of tea and handed it to Fenna. She took it with both hands, breathed in the aroma, and sipped slowly. Her shoulders sagged just a little, the day’s weight settling.

He poured his own and sat back, letting the heat flood his chest with each drink. It wasn’t just warmth, it was focus, liquid clarity that chased away fatigue and sharpened senses.

For a few minutes, they didn’t speak.

Then Zephyr set his bowl down. "You saw the trail, didn’t you? Back near the sulfur flats."

Fenna didn’t deny it. "Four-pawed. Deep. Gait was too measured to be random."

He nodded, glancing toward the trees. "Not a wolf. Bigger. And silent."

"Are you thinking of something dangerous?" she asked.

"I don’t want to," he replied. "But I’ve seen marks like that before—in the beast encyclopedia book of Loomar academy. And a report in the medical centre, they lost a scout team to one. It is 80% similar to that footprint. The beast’s name is Fire leopard!!!"

Fenna’s lips tightened. "They don’t usually follow this far in."

"I know."

He turned and looked at their quiet camp, the half-dried reeds, the sleeping drake and his chick companion.

"If it sees us then I will definitely attack," Zephyr said softly. "And that means we’re targets. We need to imagine the worst possibility."

Fenna met his gaze. "So what’s the plan?"

"We’ll train harder. Sharper. Start real combat drills tomorrow morning. No more foraging missions and let the bird deal with the grief fast."

"How?" Fenna asked.

"With Star. Let them play and bond. It will distract her."

They both glanced at the drake—his eyes were closed, but his tail flicked, and one ear twitched.

Zephyr smirked. "He’s listening."

The fire crackled between them. Shadows danced along the root walls of their shelter. Fenna leaned forward, pouring the last of her tea into a cup for later, and tucked a blanket over Emberling’s sleeping form. The chick murmured in her sleep, one tiny claw twitching as though chasing something in her dreams.

"Arrow shafts will be ready by dawn," Fenna said. "I’ll fletch them during Star’s first watch."

"I’ll start oiling the blades. The hatchet took some damage." Zephyr said.

"And after training?"

Zephyr didn’t answer immediately. He tilted his head, eyes still locked on the forest’s edge. Then:

"We draw it out."

Fenna raised a brow.

"Whatever’s stalking us," he said, voice low. "We let it come. Let it see what we are. Then we end it."

For a long moment, only the fire responded, spitting sparks. Then Fenna nodded.

"Good."

Night fell fully. They coiled into their corners of the shelter, blades within reach. Zephyr lay down with one hand on the beast-core pouch and the other gripping the hilt of a throwing knife beneath his blanket.

Star curled tighter around Emberling.

And somewhere distant, far past the boundary trees, a branch cracked.

Not too loud. But deliberate. Zephyr’s eyes opened. He didn’t move. He simply smiled.

"Let it come." Then he fell asleep.

Morning arrived slowly.

Mist clung to the forest floor like faded breath, coiling through roots and branches, veiling the world in a gauzy silence. The air held a subtle charge of cool, quiet, almost reverent. For a time, nothing stirred. Not even the wind.

But then came the soft crackle of embers being stirred.

Zephyr crouched beside the fire pit, gently reigniting the coals from last night’s embers. He moved with practiced care, keeping one eye on the dark tree line beyond the camp’s perimeter. His thoughts had been restless even before dawn. That single, deliberate branch crack from the woods had haunted the edges of his sleep.

He hadn’t heard anything else since. But silence didn’t mean safety.

Behind him, Star stretched with a long, bone-cracking yawn, flexing his limbs and fanning his wings. Emberling, curled near his wings, blinked sleepily. Her feathers fluffed up in the chill and she let out a confused trill, then buried her face against her wings.

Fenna emerged from the shelter, hair loosely braided, bow slung across her back. She knelt beside the pile of dried reeds and began sorting them by thickness. Her eyes were sharp already.

"Any signs?" she asked without looking up.

Zephyr shook his head. "None. Either it’s gone... or watching."

She didn’t comment. She just kept working.

He added a few strips of charfruit peel to the pot and poured water. The aroma rose in lazy curls—comforting, familiar.

By the time breakfast was finished, one night old dried wolf meat seared in a pan, and a bowl of charfruit tea for each of them—the forest had begun to stir with cautious life. A few birds sang again. Distant branches swayed in the morning breeze.

But Zephyr didn’t relax. He stood, brushing ash from his palms. "We start drills in fifteen minutes."

Fenna raised a brow. "What kind?"

"Everything."

The camp’s clearing was wide enough to serve as a decent training ground for both beast, bare earth scattered with roots, stone, and some room to move. Zephyr had already driven four wooden pegs into the perimeter, each connected with a thin reed cord. A crude square arena. A testing ring.

He stepped into the middle, rolling his shoulders. "Combat stance review. Bladework. Then sparring."

Fenna handed Emberling to Star. The drake curled protectively around the chick and, after a few awkward chirps, Emberling settled. She stared at the two humans in the middle of the ring with sleepy curiosity.

Zephyr unsheathed his hatchet and dagger. Fenna knocked a training arrow—a blunted tip, marked with red dye.

"Try not to bleed this time," she said.

"No promises," he replied with a grin.

They circled each other. The dance began.