The forest remained cloaked in a haunting silence, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves in the wind. Pip’s eyes darted nervously between the direction of the ruins and the scorched remains of the hellhound. He hesitated before asking, his voice trembling slightly, "Irelia… what was that thing?"

Irelia paused, turning to face him. Her emerald eyes glinted with a mix of concern and steely resolve. "A hellhound," she said simply.

Pip’s brow furrowed. "A hellhound? Like the ones from the stories? Aren’t they… myths? Legends?"

"They’re real," Irelia replied, her tone even. "Creatures of the Underworld. They serve Veyra, the Goddess of Death, as guardians of the Veil. They’re not supposed to exist in this realm."

Pip’s face paled further. "But… why was it here? Isn’t Veyra supposed to be the one who guides souls into the afterlife? She doesn’t interfere in the mortal world… right?"

"She doesn’t," Irelia said, a grim edge creeping into her voice. "Or at least, she didn’t. Something—or someone—brought that creature here. And that’s what worries me."

Pip swallowed hard, his gaze returning to the ruins in the distance. "So… what do we do if we find more of them?"

"We deal with them," Irelia said firmly, her hand resting on the hilt of her blade. "But first, we need to keep moving. The ruins might hold answers—or more questions. Either way, we can’t stop now."

Pip’s eyes drifted toward the fallen knight. His throat bobbed as he swallowed back his emotions.

"We can’t just leave him like this," he whispered, his voice tight with emotion. "We should… bury him. It’s the least we can do."

Irelia shook her head, her expression calm but firm. “No. The Morning Flame has their own rites. They’ll want to handle this themselves.”

Pip looked up at her, confused. “Rites?”

She gestured to the faded insignia on the knight’s tattered armor.

“Most knights of the Morning Flame prefer to be burned. Their ashes are divided into three parts—one for their family, one for their Bastion’s crypt, and one to be scattered in a place of their choosing. It’s tradition.”

Pip blinked in surprise. “You know a lot about them.”

Irelia’s jaw tightened slightly, her gaze flicking to the corpse before shifting away. “Everyone knows a little about the Morning Flame,” she said curtly. “We’ll mark his location on the map and set a rune ward to keep scavengers away. When we’re done here, we’ll notify the knights. They’ll do what needs to be done.”

Reluctantly, Pip nodded, but he stepped forward and pulled a blanket from his pack, carefully draping it over the fallen knight.

“Just… so he’s not left like that,” he murmured.

Irelia watched him for a moment before silently returning to her work. She traced intricate patterns in the air, her fingers moving with practiced precision. A faint shimmer spread outward, an invisible ward settling over the knight’s resting place.

Once the task was done, she stood and gestured for Pip to follow. "Let’s move."

As they trudged through the dense forest, the silence stretched between them, thick and uneasy. Eventually, Pip broke it.

"We’ve been walking for hours," he groaned. "Can we stop for a quick snack? You can’t fight on an empty stomach."

Irelia sighed, but relented. "Fine. Five minutes."

They found a small patch of clear ground and settled down. Pip wasted no time rummaging through his pack, pulling out neatly wrapped meat buns and fresh fruit. He handed one to her with a grin.

"See? Perfect traveling food."

She accepted it, eyeing the contents with mild amusement. "You’re more prepared than most adventurers I’ve met."

Pip puffed up proudly. "That’s the merchant’s way—always be ready for anything."

Irelia took a bite, but as she ate, her thoughts drifted. Memories surfaced, unbidden and unwelcome. Nights spent pushing herself to her absolute limits, exhaustion gnawing at her bones as she trained, studied, fought—anything to carve a place for herself in a world that never wanted her. Then, softer memories followed.

A firm yet patient voice urging her to stop. A warm hand placing food in hers, ignoring her stubborn refusals. A steady presence by her side, unwavering even when she tried to push it away.

Nariel.

The image flickered in her mind, stirring something she couldn't quite name—comfort, regret… maybe both. It lingered for a moment, threatening to unravel the cold resolve she had spent years perfecting. With practiced ease, she buried it, pushing the feeling back into the depths where it belonged.

Pip, ever perceptive despite his carefree demeanor, seemed to sense the shift in the air. Without missing a beat, he launched into a series of exaggerated stories from his travels, his voice filled with warmth that stood in stark contrast to the dark, silent forest around them.

Irelia half-listened, occasionally responding with a dry remark or a skeptical eyebrow raise. She saw through his attempt to lighten the mood—but she didn’t call him out on it. Instead, she let the chatter fill the space between them, a welcome distraction from the ghosts of her past.

The sound of rushing water signaled their approach to a stream. Without warning, Irelia grabbed Pip by his backpack and hoisted him onto Aurelia’s back. Before he could protest, she mounted the horse and spurred it into a gallop.

"What the—what are you doing?" Pip yelped, clutching the saddle.

Irelia didn’t answer immediately, her eyes scanning the opposite bank. Then Pip saw it. A massive shadow, black as night, darting between the trees.

His voice rose to a panicked scream. "A hellhound! It’s chasing us!"

"Not just one," Irelia said grimly. "There are three."

Pip twisted in the saddle, his face paling further as he spotted the other two beasts closing in from different directions. "Oh no, oh no, oh no!"

"Hold on," Irelia ordered, her voice steady despite the danger. "Aurelia can outrun them."

"Are you sure?" Pip cried, clutching the saddle tighter as the mare surged forward.

Irelia’s expression remained resolute. "She’s an elven horse. Faster than any beast, mythical or not."

But in her mind, doubts crept in. Speed wasn’t the problem. Aurelia could only maintain this pace for so long. The hellhounds, however, showed no signs of tiring. She cast a glance over her shoulder, her sharp eyes noting their relentless pursuit.

The first hellhound lunged, its molten claws swiping mere inches from Aurelia’s hind legs. Irelia reacted instantly, her hand tracing a glyph in the air. A barrier of compressed air burst outward, forcing the beast back with a snarl. The spell drained her more than she expected, a sharp reminder of how much magic she’d already used that day.

She clenched her jaw, her thoughts racing. "I’ll need a mana regeneration potion soon," she thought grimly. But she knew the risks. Once the replenished mana was spent, she’d collapse unless she found time to rest—a luxury they didn’t have.

Another hellhound appeared on their flank, closing in dangerously. With a flick of her wrist, Irelia conjured a sharp gust of wind, scattering debris into the beast’s face. It stumbled, its glowing eyes narrowing in fury, but it bought them a precious moment.

“Pip! Hold on!” she shouted as Aurelia veered sharply around a gnarled tree.

Pip clung to the saddle, his knuckles white. “This is not how I thought I’d die!” he wailed, half-panicked, half-resigned.

The third hellhound burst through the underbrush ahead, blocking their path. Its fiery maw split open, embers burning in its throat.

Irelia cursed under her breath and reached for one of her daggers. In a single motion, she hurled it forward, activating its teleportation rune mid-throw.

The blade struck true, embedding itself in the beast’s shoulder—just as Irelia vanished, reappearing beside it in an instant.

She lashed out, ice-enchanted steel carving through molten fur, leaving a trail of frostbite in its wake. The creature howled, staggering back, but Irelia felt the strain of her magic. Every spell, every rune—it was pulling at her reserves.

Aurelia galloped past, and before the other two hellhounds could pounce, Irelia activated the recall rune, reappearing on the saddle in a flash. Her breath came ragged now.

“I can’t keep this up,” she muttered.

A narrow canyon loomed ahead, its steep walls cutting a jagged scar through the forest. For a fleeting moment, the sight froze her in place.

She knew this place.

Not long ago, she had chased a band of thieves through this very forest. That day had been grueling; the bandits, in their panicked escape, had stumbled into a harpy nest, leaving her to fend off dozens of the screeching creatures. By the time she reached their camp, the skies had opened up, unleashing a storm of torrential rain and lightning.

She remembered how a bolt of lightning had struck the bandits' camp mid-fight, the force splintering a tree and sending its massive trunk tumbling down. She had barely teleported out of the way in time, her daggers destroyed in the chaos just as another lightning struk too close. She should have died that night.

Instead, she had fallen—straight into this canyon. A fifty-foot drop, her magic too spent to save her. The impact had been brutal, yet somehow, she had walked away with only a head wound and a splitting headache.

But what came after...

It wasn’t just the fall that had shaken her. It was the memories that followed. Visions of another life, another world, bleeding into her mind, reshaping everything she thought she knew.

Now, staring at that same canyon, an idea—reckless, desperate—formed in her mind.

“Hold tight,” she said through gritted teeth.

Pip barely had time to yelp before she urged Aurelia forward, straight toward the edge.

If we use the terrain right, we might survive this.

If not—well, at least they wouldn’t die to the hellhounds.