A beast is shaped by the laws of nature, bound by instinct and the slow march of generations. A monster is shaped by spira, unshackled from such constraints. Where animals adapt over countless years, monsters twist and change within a single lifetime, their forms sculpted by rampant energy that courses through them. A predator that once relied on claws may sprout fangs; a creature once bound to the water may wake with limbs fit for land. Extinction is a temporary notion, for what vanishes in one era may reappear in another, altered yet familiar.
Monster ecologists, ever chasing the fleeting nature of their subjects, name them by sight, by place, or by the whispers of those who have survived their encounters. Yet a name is no guarantee of understanding, for even within the same species, no two monsters are truly alike.
Their lifespans defy expectation—some perish in mere decades, while others persist beyond the reach of history. The oldest among them rarely reproduce, their kind sustained not by offspring, but by chance. Yet all, from the lowliest scavenger to the mightiest titan, emerge from eggs, born not as infants but as raw potential.
The differences between beast and monster is not only their shifting forms but the minds within. Unlike animals, bound by rigid instinct, monsters learn. They remember. Some display cunning beyond expectation, adapting their tactics as swiftly as their bodies. A monster that survives an encounter may not simply flee—it may study, it may anticipate, it may return stronger than before. The longer a monster lives, the sharper it becomes, its intelligence honed alongside its body. There are tales of creatures that recognize their hunters, that lure prey with deception, that pass knowledge from one generation to the next—their experiences shared not through blood, but rather instruction.
To hunt a monster is not to face an animal, but to challenge the unknowable, to battle not just tooth and claw, but the protean nature of life itself.
Siegfried stirred as his boot was lightly nudged t. Though, his mind lingered in the haze of sleep, reluctant to surface, the persistent motion tugging him from his reveries. A furrow formed between his brows as he cracked his eyes open, blinking sluggishly against the world beyond his dreams.
For a moment, disorientation held him. The sky above was no longer the star-speckled void he had last seen but a canvas of soft pink hues, as the morning light spilled across the heavens in delicate streaks. Wisps of gold and lavender curled through the vast expanse, shifting as if painted fresh by unseen hands.
The trees surrounding him stretched impossibly high. Shafts of sunlight speared through the gaps in their massive branches, beams of warm daylight cutting through the cool morning air. Overhead, the leaves shimmered in a veil of green and gold, swaying ever so slightly in an unseen breeze.
It was surreal—like waking beneath the vaulted columns of a vast cathedral, a temple not built by mortal hands but shaped by time and nature itself. The sheer enormity of the trees, their presence so absolute, made him feel weightless, adrift in some forgotten sea. His breath caught, the strange blend of familiarity and strangeness holding him in its grip.
Then, his senses sharpened. The weight of the previous day settled back onto his shoulders, and awareness replaced the last vestiges of sleep. His surroundings had not changed—only his mind, sluggish from slumber, had needed a moment to catch up. He turned his head, eyes settling on the one who had woken him. The world came into focus as he pushed himself into a sitting position.
Archibald moved through the camp, rousing the other aspirants. Meeting Siegfried's gaze he gave a firm nod before jerking his thumb over his shoulder—a silent command to get up and ready himself.
Once the others were roused, they wasted no time gathering their gear. Though they were still new to the Wardens, their lieutenant had drilled a simple lesson into them: wake up, prepare, and stand by for orders. The wake-up boot ensured no one forgot.
Siegfried glanced toward the other camp while he fastened his vambraces. No movement. If they were still asleep, this might just be a test—to see how quickly they roused. He slung his longsword over his shoulder and turned his attention to the rest of his group.
They had finished as well, eyes shifting to their lieutenant for direction. Archibald gave a firm nod before motioning for them to follow him into the forest. His expression remained as composed as ever, but there was something different—an edge to his calm demeanor, a quiet gravity that hadn't been there before. Something had happened.
The Wardens fell into formation, slipping off the road and into the wilderness. Siegfried quickened his pace until he was directly behind Archibald. He didn't speak. Instead, he focused on mirroring his mentor's movements, keeping his steps light, his breathing steady. They had been trained for this—no talking, no unnecessary noise during wake-up drills.
"Erbach headed out at first light… by himself," Archibald whispered, his voice barely audible.
Siegfried passed the message to Terry, who relayed it to Blanca, then to Anna at the back of the line.
The liegeling left camp alone? Why? He wouldn't be reckless enough to face the Rhyrax on his own… would he?
Siegfried's thoughts churned as they moved through the forest. Had this been his doing? Was Everett trying to prove something—because of him?
As more daylight filtered through the canopy, a towering plateau emerged ahead. It wasn't the largest formation in the Veldt Reach, but it still rose high enough to crest the redwoods. Given the dense foliage in this area, he wasn't surprised it had remained hidden from the road.
Everett's words from the night before resurfaced—something about a nest at the base of a plateau. Was this their destination? It wasn't far from camp. Either the nobleman had remarkably accurate information, or he'd scouted this place beforehand.
"Siegfried," Archibald's voice whispered back to him. "Take the lead."
Siegfried nodded, even though the lieutenant wasn't looking. Archibald stepped aside, letting the line pass until Siegfried found himself at the front.
There was little time to dwell on the shift in leadership. The base of the rocky plateau came into view, a break in the trees unveiled a clearing just ahead.
The first glimpse of the Rhyrax sent a ripple of unease through Siegfried's chest. It stood up ahead as the trees parted, a hulking silhouette against the morning light, its thick pelt shifting with each deliberate step. Muscles coiled beneath its sinewy frame, the glistening of its lower body scales shimmered in the early morning light.
A low, guttural growl rumbled through the air, vibrating in Siegfried's ribs. The creature's head, broad and angular, swiveled slightly—its keen eyes locking onto the lone figure before it.
Everett stood his ground, estoc in hand. From this distance, Siegfried couldn't see any wounds, but the way Everett held himself told the story well enough. His stance, a forcer's sword form, sagged ever so slightly. His off-hand hovered near his ribs, as if trying to hide an injury.
The Rhyrax prowled forward, methodical and savoring the moment. Its clubbed tail dragged along behind it. The liegeling had already wounded it—thin trails of crimson ichor marred its side, but if the beast was deterred, it showed no sign of it. Instead, it lowered itself slightly, muscles tensing, preparing to strike. It was ready to finish off its prey.
They had to move—now.
Siegfried surged forward, fingers tightening around his sword's grip, preparing to draw. Could they reach him in time? He could boat-step, closing the distance in an instant, but that would mean leaving the others behind.
The Rhyrax struck first. Scythe-like talons curved toward Everett, a vicious slash meant to end him. But the nobleman was ready—he shifted his stance, prepared to deflect the blow, the very maneuver Siegfried himself would have used.
But the beast was cunning. The swipe was a feint. Its foot slammed into the dirt, a sudden pivot sending its thick tail whipping around. Everett reacted, raising his guard, but the impact was brutal. The steel of his estoc crumpled under the force, and the blow caught him square in the shoulder, hurling him across the clearing.
"Blanca, get Everett to Anna—now!" Siegfried barked, sacrificing the element of surprise. It didn't matter anymore. If they hesitated, their charge would die.
His gaze locked onto the Rhyrax, measuring the space between them. How many boat-steps could he chain together to reach it? Where was the ideal point to strike? More importantly—how intelligent was this thing? Had Everett tried the same approach?
Siegfried exhaled, his grip tightening around his longsword. No hesitation. He surged forward, his boot striking the forest floor with enough force to send a ripple through his legs. The world blurred.
His first boat-step hurled him like a loosed arrow. The plateau, the trees, even the hulking form of the Rhyrax streaked past in distorted smears of motion. His mind fought to catch up, his senses lagging behind the sheer speed of his body. By the time his foot met solid ground again, he was already shifting, forcing his vision to steady.
A second step launched him forward. The air roared past his ears, his surroundings warping as if the world itself twisted to accommodate his movement. His heart slammed against his ribs. The monster loomed ahead—towering, shifting, poised to strike.
The moment he landed he begun a third step, this time he adjusted his footing and veered right. His momentum snapped him sideways, his boots skidding against the dirt as he came to a stop. The world slammed back into focus.
The Rhyrax had only begun to turn when Siegfried appeared at its flank, blade poised to strike. Spira flared, sharpening his stance. His posture adjusted, weight coiling behind his sword. With a decisive breath, he brought the blade down in a brutal arc—a strike meant to split steel.
The blade met flesh with a sickening force. The edge bit through the Rhyrax's dense pelt, parting the thick bristles like reeds before carving into the sinew beneath. Resistance came in layers—coarse fur, taut hide, the dense muscle strung tight beneath it. For a fleeting second, it felt as if the monster's body might refuse the cut, but then—spira surged.
A brilliant gleam of silver flashed as the longsword drove deeper, shearing through flesh with a wet, visceral rip. Blood, dark and thick, erupted from the wound in a crimson spray, catching the morning light in glittering droplets. The Rhyrax reeled, its massive frame shuddering under the blow.
Then came the scream. A sound that shouldn't belong to any living thing—a metallic, grating roar that scraped against the air like rusted steel dragged over stone. It reverberated through Siegfried's bones, a discordant screech that sent nearby branches trembling in its wake.
The Rhyrax flailed, its powerful limbs carving through the air in wild, frenzied swings. Its tail whipped across the ground, carving deep gouges into the soil as it reeled from the pain. Siegfried leapt back, narrowly avoiding the sweeping blows, his boots skidding against the blood-slickened dirt.
For a moment, the beast's movements seemed erratic—its balance faltering, its body jerking in uncontrolled spasms. Siegfried's eyes narrowed. Had the pain stunned it? Was it losing control?
His grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, his stance shifting forward. Now was the moment to press the advantage, to end this before it could recover. He braced himself, ready to lunge—Siegfried saw the opening and prepared to strike—in the corner of his eye, the shadow of something massive hurtled toward him.
A blur of motion. A rush of force.
The monster's clubbed tail came swinging down, a hammer of flesh and bone seeking to crush him outright. Instinct roared through Siegfried's body. There was no time to dodge. He pivoted, raising his longsword with both hands, angling the flat of the blade just as the tail met steel.
The impact rattled through his arms, his bones screaming from the force of it. Sparks burst from the collision, a shockwave of air exploding outward. His feet dug into the dirt as he redirected the monstrous strike, guiding the momentum away from his body. The tail veered off course, slamming into a jagged boulder with catastrophic force.
The rock detonated. A deafening crack split the air as stone fragments erupted in every direction, a cloud of dust billowing from the impact site. Siegfried briefly registered the destruction before defiantly steadying his stance, his fingers stiff from the sheer force of the deflection.
That had been too close. If he had misjudged the angle—if his blade had faltered even slightly—it would have been him shattering instead of the rock. His longsword, broad and sturdy, had made the technique possible. But he thought of Everett's estoc—thin, precise, built for thrusting. It would have snapped like a twig against that monstrous power. The fact that the liegeling wounded the monster at all was surprising with that tail's range and precision.
Even with his weapon's advantage, he couldn't afford to block like that again. Too much force, and even his sword wouldn't survive.
The Rhyrax stopped flailing and screeching, its pained thrashing fading as it seemingly regained its composure. It stood tall, bloodied but unbowed, staring down at the blond-haired warrior before it.
Siegfried tightened his grip on his longsword, his breath steady, ready to react. The beast began to move, its massive frame circling around him with a predator's patience. Its piercing eyes gleamed with something more than just rage—calculation.
Then, it stopped.
Its position was deliberate, standing before the rocky wall of the plateau.A shadow in the stone walls caught Siegfried's eye. His gaze flickered past the monster, spotting a murky recess carved into the rock. A burrow.
A sinking feeling hit him in the gut. That had to be its den. The passage yawned open behind the beast, burrowing deep beneath the plateau itself. If the Rhyrax retreated into that tunnel, the fight would become infinitely more dangerous. The open space of the clearing gave him room to maneuver, but in the tight, winding confines of an underground lair? He would lose that advantage.
The monster was injured, but not beaten. If it sensed the battle turning against it, would it try to flee? No—this wasn't just a retreat. It was testing him, drawing the fight closer to its domain.
Siegfried exhaled, forcing his thoughts into order. He couldn't let that happen. If the Rhyrax disappeared into that burrow, dragging Everett or anyone else inside, the whole squad would be in trouble.
His eyes flicked away from the beast for the briefest moment, scanning the battlefield. Blanca was already past the treeline, hauling Everett with her. As expected of a Blitzer, she moved with impressive speed, almost keeping pace with his boat-stepping. That was one less concern—for now.
Terry and Anna shouldn't be far behind. If Anna could reach Everett, she could stabilize him. Siegfried wasn't sure if she had healing artes, but at the very least, she had mentioned knowing first aid. That would have to be enough.
Terry, though… Siegfried frowned. He could provide backup, but would he just get in the way? This wasn't a drill. This beast was swift, formidable, and intelligent. If Terry misstepped, if he hesitated at the wrong moment, he could end up another body for Siegfried to protect.
The weight of responsibility was heavy on his shoulders, but he shoved the thought aside. There was no time to doubt. The Rhyrax was still standing, and as long as it lived, none of them were safe.
He turned his attention back to the creature, its eyes staring back at him, unblinking. It was waiting patiently, calm and composed, sizing him up. Its tail hung raised and poised to strike. An unsettling sight— the tail itself wielded like a weapon, a bludgeon ready to lash out at a moment's notice. The creature didn't seem to need to rush, as if it was confident it could end this battle at any time.
Siegfried's gaze shifted to the gash he had carved into the creature's hide. The bleeding had already stopped. His grip on his longsword tightened. He had heard that monsters could heal rapidly, but this level of regeneration was unsettling. If it could recover that quickly, how much damage would it take to bring it down for good? He would need to land a decisive, lethal strike—but was that even possible?
Terry finally caught up, his heavy footsteps echoing in stark contrast to the swift, measured movements of the others. He came to a halt beside Siegfried, his gaze instantly drawn to the Rhyrax. The beast's immense form, bloodied yet still terrifying, sent an obvious ripple of doubt through his face.
"By the gods... this thing's enormous," Terry muttered, shaking his head in awe. He quickly squared his shoulders, trying to mask the unease that crept over him. "But it doesn't scare me. So, what's the plan?"
Siegfried spared him a swift glance, his mind already calculating the best course of action. "How strong are you, Terry?" he asked, his voice steady and controlled. "The tail is our greatest concern. It holds both power and range."
Terry grinned, his muscles swelling with each breath as his spira coursed through him. But even his confidence was laced with a thread of uncertainty. "I could catch that tail... hold it still for you. I could use my strength to stop it," he said, the words meant to reassure, but they wavered slightly.
Siegfried shook his head. "You can't catch that tail, Terry. It can smash through stone as though it were paper. If it strikes you, it will tear you apart. We must outthink it, not outmuscle it."
The Rhyrax watched them now, its gaze unnervingly steady, fully aware of their every move. Its tail swayed lazily, the lethal weapon almost seeming to mock them. The air between the two sides grew thick with silence, broken only by the distant rustle of the forest and the breathing of the creature, a constant reminder of the danger that lay before them.
Siegfried's mind whirred to life as he pieced together his thoughts. He turned to Terry, his expression hardened with resolve, his confidence building. "I have a plan," he said, his voice steady and certain. "I'll deflect the tail when it swings, but I need you ready. The moment I deflect it, you must leap onto it—catch it before it regains its strength. It will be weaker for just a moment, but you'll need to move quickly, without hesitation."
Terry cracked his knuckles. "You know what? I think I can do that."
Siegfried nodded firmly, though doubt lingered in the back of his mind. He wasn't certain of Terry's abilities—he had only seen glimpses of what the aspirant could do. But this was the only plan that kept Terry mostly out of harm's way and hopefully would tilt the odds in their favor.
The two aspirants moved forward cautiously, each step measured, the tension thick in the air, heavy with the weight of anticipation. Siegfried led, his longsword poised, gleaming coldly in the morning light, at the ready. Terry moved in his wake, his muscles enhanced with spira,awaiting Siegfried's command, his gaze fixed on the Rhyrax's shifting tail, looking for the precise moment to leap.
But the Rhyrax had different intentions.
The beast surged forward, its immense body propelling itself with horrifying speed. The tail, once the focus of their attention, remained motionless, insignificant in comparison as the creature pounced, its claws slashing through the air with brutal force. The rapid shift in movement tore their carefully devised plan apart, leaving Siegfried and Terry little time to react as the beast closed the gap between them.
Siegfried shifted into a defensive stance, anticipating the oncoming strike of the creature's talons. But the attack never came. In an unexpected move, the Rhyrax planted its scaled claws firmly into the ground, twisting its massive body with terrifying speed. The beast's flank collided with Siegfried, the impact like a wall of muscle and fury, sending him crashing backward.
The Rhyrax kicked out with its powerful back legs in a fluid motion. The strike hit Terry squarely in the chest, launching him into the air like a ragdoll. Terry flew several paces before hitting the ground with a thud, his body rolling and skidding across the clearing. His enlarged muscles protecting him from what normally would be a bone shattering hit.
Siegfried gritted his teeth, scrambling to regain his footing. He glanced up just in time to see the Rhyrax's tail whipping toward him. His stance wasn't solid enough to deflect it, so he dove underneath the massive appendage, the tail slicing through the air just above him.
As he rolled back to his feet, he swung his sword with all his might, aiming for the tail in an attempt to sever it. But the strike came too late—the swing meeting the empty air in the beast's wake
Siegfried braced himself, ready for another assault, but the Rhyrax gave a low, metallic crackle as it turned, seemingly unbothered, and calmly sauntered back toward the cave entrance. Siegfried watched it warily, his sword still aloft. Why was it holding back? It had the advantage—if it wanted to, it could have turned on Terry and torn him apart before anyone could reach him.
Siegfried's gaze flicked over to his comrade, who was struggling to push himself back onto his feet. It was clear that Terry was hurt. His muscles had deflated, returning to their normal size, and he was gasping for breath, struggling to fill his lungs.
His eyes returned to the monster, unwilling to let it slip from his sight. It was agile, deadly, and unpredictable—but why was it avoiding the fight? Siegfried's mind raced, trying to make sense of its actions. He had initially thought the creature was luring them into its lair, drawing them into more difficult terrain. Yet, when they approached, it hadn't retreated into the cliff. No, instead, it had chosen to push them away. Could it be protecting something? The question lingered, its weight pressing on him.
"Well, that didn't work," Terry groaned, stumbling over to where Siegfried stood. "What do we do now?"
Siegfried didn't answer right away, his eyes locked on the beast, scanning its movements, the way it seemed to guard its den with eerie patience. He wasn't an expert on monster behavior, but one thought persisted, growing louder in his mind.
"We retreat," Siegfried finally said, his voice steady, he relaxed his defensive stance while he watched the Rhyrax. If he was right then it shouldn't pursue them.
"Are you sure? Shouldn't we kill it before it attacks someone else?" Terry's voice was serious, though his body betrayed his true thoughts as it visibly relaxed at the notion of retreating.
Siegfried locked eyes with the Rhyrax as he stepped backward. "Our orders do not extend to slaying this creature. Our sole purpose here is to safeguard Erbach."
Terry gave a relieved nod and followed Siegfried's lead, both of them slowly pulling back until they were back at the treeline. The creature watched them the whole way, unblinking and vigilant. Siegfried sheathed his blade once they were back underneath the forest canopy.
"Where did the others go?" Terry asked, scanning the area.
"I sent them back to camp," came Archibald's voice from a nearby tree. The older warden sat with his back against the trunk, relaxed as could be. "Anna stabilized Erbach and I had the two of them carry him back."
"Any particular reason you chose not to assist?" Siegfried asked, his tone laced with annoyance.
"There was no need," Archibald replied smugly, noting his frustration. "You all handled it well. Heir Erbach is safe, and nobody's dead."
"Including the Rhyrax," Terry added flatly.
"That's not our concern," Archibald said, pushing off the tree to stand. "Our job as bodyguards is done. Once we return to the city, our contract is fulfilled."
Siegfried exhaled through his nose, watching his mentor casually brush the dirt from his clothes. A single thought flitted through his mind. What a waste of time. This wasn't the kind of task he had envisioned when he joined the Wardens.
"Why did you decide to retreat?" Archibald asked, one brow raised.
"There was little merit in engaging once I discerned it had no intention of pursuing," Siegfried remarked offhandedly.
"Is that all?" Archibald pressed as he started back the way they came. Siegfried and Terry fell into step behind him.
"What other conceivable reason could there be?" Siegfried shot back, irritation creeping into his tone.
"There's wisdom in recognizing your own limitations," Archibald said simply.
Siegfried's glare burned into the lieutenant's back, his temper flaring at the implication. "I am not lacking in strength."
"I never said you were." Archibald's voice remained even. "But the two of you were outmatched, and you had the awareness to pull back before things got ugly."
Outmatched. The word itself made Siegfried's blood boil. He was an expert swordsman, trained in every Bellacian stance. His form was flawless, his reflexes honed. He stayed calm under pressure and utilized spira efficiently. Yet time and again, it wasn't enough. Years under his sister's tutelage, and he still couldn't best her. His first real fight since joining the Wardens, and once again—he had fallen short.
Archibald waited for a response, but Siegfried remained silent. When it became clear the aspirant had nothing to say, the lieutenant continued, "Anything else to report?"
"It had a den at the base of the cliff," Terry offered. "We should let the Hunters know when we get back!"
Siegfried hesitated before speaking, his thoughts piecing together the creature's behavior. "Given how it acted... it's likely a mother protecting its young."