The earth underfoot was wrong. Stronric moved through the underground forest with slow, deliberate steps, every sense straining. His muscles ached from unseen bruises, his ribs burned with every breath, and yet he pressed forward. His hand hovered near his belt, fingers brushing the magic ring that held his remaining throwing axes. He did not draw them. Not yet. Not until he had no choice.

The canopy above loomed like a drowning sea. Massive trees, too old and too warped to name, clawed at the cavern ceiling high overhead. Their bark was pale and slick with blackish mold, their branches drooping under the weight of swollen, vibrant leaves. Shafts of pale, distorted light stabbed through the gaps, washing the forest floor in sickly greens and dying golds. Moss and ferns carpeted the ground, but they grew in clumps, broken by patches of black rot and bare, cracked stone. Here and there, twisted flowers bloomed, petals too wide, colors too sharp, remnants of the demonic corruption that had once poisoned this place.

The air smelled of damp rot and something worse, something sour and clinging. Stronric grimaced behind his beard, forcing shallow breaths through his nose. The wellspring's purification had begun to work, but the rot was deep. Healing would take time. Maybe lifetimes. For now, the forest stood caught between two hungers, one clawing toward life, the other refusing to let go of death.

He crouched beside a gnarled tree, studying the roots. They bulged like veins under the dirt, pulsing faintly in the corner of his eye when he did not look directly at them. Twisted insects crawled across the moss, legs wrong in number and shape. One had too many wings. Another dripped clear ichor as it scuttled past. Stronric rose again without a word. He shifted his weight carefully, testing each step before committing, moving like a hunter through a land that hated him.

The trees thinned ahead, revealing a clearing. He slowed, crouching low behind a tangle of fallen roots, peering out into the open. At the center of the clearing rose a stone outcrop, jagged and sharp, like the broken teeth of some ancient beast. Gouges marred the stone's surface, deep, deliberate scars. Stronric narrowed his eyes.

The marks were not the slow, weathered work of water and time. They were fresh. Rough, purposeful. Small chips and deep slashes formed a path leading toward a hollow at the base of the stone. He moved closer, one careful step after the other. He ran a calloused hand along one of the gouges. It was sharp-edged, still shedding flakes of dust. Whatever had made this was strong enough to tear into the stone itself.

He crouched lower, scanning the ground. Tracks crisscrossed the mossy floor, some small, sharp-clawed prints that darted toward the trees, others heavier, wide-splayed predator prints pressing deep into the soft earth. Some tracks ended abruptly, as if their makers had been snatched away mid-stride. Others circled near the stone, pacing, wary. The forest was alive. Alive, but not safe.

Stronric grunted low in his throat and moved on, slipping through the roots with silent care. Every shadow seemed to twitch at the edge of his vision. His wounds ached with every step, but he did not slow. The others would be searching for him. Rugiel, likely pacing with frustration. Bauru, already plotting a trail. Armand, the only human he trusted to hold the line when things turned dark.

He had to survive. He would find his way back. Or he would die trying.

Ahead, the tracks twisted through the broken undergrowth. Heavy, clawed footprints gouged deep into the soft earth unmistakably wolves, but wrong. They were too broad, and the splayed unnaturally wide, as if the beasts could no longer control their own shapes. Corruption had sunk into their blood and bone, twisting what nature had built into something fouler. Alongside the predator tracks there were different signs.

Gouges, not paw prints. Wide-set talon marks that dug into the moss and stone alike. The creature that had made them was large. Heavy. But its path was steady, sure, the marks clean and direct where the wolves' paths wavered with madness. Something was being hunted. The air ahead shivered with tension.

Snarls cut through the trees, low and guttural, followed by a frantic screech and the heavy thud of bodies colliding. Branches cracked. The ground trembled faintly beneath Stronric's boots. He quickened his pace, boots hammering over moss and root. His ribs screamed with every jolt, but he did not slow. The trees thinned again, spilling him into another clearing — larger, rougher, littered with fallen stones and snapped branches. And there it stood.

The creature was unlike anything Stronric had ever seen. A prehistoric bird stood just shy of his height, built like a sprinter wrought from iron and gold. Its body was sheathed in vibrant black feathers that shimmered faintly in the sickly light. Its arms went forward like a raptors ended in hooked talons, with two claws larger than the rest for seizing prey, and a matching heavy talon curving up like a thumb. The arms were feathered with vivid flashes of gold, red, and green, though the raptor-like bird was unmistakably flightless.

There was nothing soft about it. Coiled muscles rippled beneath the plumage. Its thick legs were anchored like pillars, ending in brutal raptor-talons that gouged deep into the stone with every twitch. Its head was sleek and fierce, crowned by a tuft of black feathers that flowed into a large brutal beak with a cross-ridge bracing the heavy curve near its nostrils. Blood slicked its flanks, matting the brilliant colors, but it stood defiant. It balanced lightly on the balls of its clawed feet, lashing out with savage kicks that cracked the earth beneath it.

Surrounding it were three wolves, no, things that had once been wolves. Their bodies sagged under their own weight. Bones jutted through slack, torn flesh. Their mouths frothed black and red, and their eyes burned with a mindless crimson madness.

The bird-like creature screeched again, a piercing, wild sound that rattled Stronric's bones. At the edge of his vision, words burned into existence.

Side Quest: Survivor's Salvation: Save the Last of the Mountain Canaries!

Without hesitation, Stronric ripped a throwing axe from his magical ring and hurled it. The weapon spun end over end, flashing once in the sickly light before striking one of the wolves square in the ribs. It yelped, a wet, broken sound, and staggered, bleeding black ichor from the wound. The other two wolves twisted toward him, their twisted frames moving in spasms, jaws snapping.

The Mountain Canary screamed again and bolted. Feathers flashed gold, red, and green as it sprinted into the trees with impossible speed, vanishing like a shadow swallowed by the forest. Stronric cursed under his breath and drew another axe. There was no time to think. No time to chase. The wolves were already charging.

The first beast came fast and low, teeth flashing. Stronric pivoted, the throwing axe arcing in a blur to meet it. The blade bit into the creature's neck, not deep enough to kill, but enough to send it yelping sideways into the underbrush. The second wolf slammed into him before he could recover. The force of it drove him backward, boots skidding across the blood-slick moss. His back hit a half-buried boulder with bone-jarring force. He grunted, pain flaring white across his vision.

The wolf snapped at his throat, reeking breath hot against his face. Snarling, Stronric rammed his forearm under its jaw and drove his elbow into its twisted snout. Bone crunched. The beast yelped and staggered back, shaking its head. The first wolf lunged again, faster this time. Stronric ducked under the snapping jaws, grabbing the beast by the mangy ruff of its neck. With a roar, he twisted, using the wolf's momentum against it. The creature slammed into a nearby tree with a sickening crunch and crumpled to the ground, twitching.

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The second wolf hesitated, growling low. Before Stronric could draw breath, a third shape hit him from behind like a battering ram.

The largest wolf, its body bloated and distended with corruption, crashed into him, knocking him flat onto the stony ground. His breath blasted from his lungs. His throwing axe tumbled from numb fingers. Stronric rolled over just as the wolf's teeth snapped inches from his throat. Stronric tried to turn his skin into iron, but an explosion of stars went through his head, and he was hit by a wave of lightheadedness. Stronric was to stunned to be panicked but that familiar feeling of his soul being to empty to use his abilities spread across his body.

Stronric was about to inhale when an overwhelming sense of danger brought him back into reality. The Largest of the wolves attacked him again, trying to bite his face. Stronric scrabbled blindly in the muck getting to his knees, but he found nothing, until his hand closed on a jagged shard of stone half-buried in the dirt.

Without hesitation, he slammed it down on the wolf's head. The stone punched into the wolf's skull just behind its eye. The beast jerked once, twice, then went limp atop him. Stronric shoved the corpse aside with a groan and flopped back onto the ground, gasping for breath. The clearing was silent again, save for the ragged rasp of his own breathing. He lay there for a long moment, staring up at the sickly, shifting canopy.

Something moved. Stronric tried to raise his head to look at the last wolf and his death death when his attention was drawn to the edge of the clearing. Stronric turned his head, muscles screaming in protest, but between the tress a blur of color ran past. The Mountain Canary had returned.

It crept toward him, claws clicking softly over the blood-slick stone. Its head tilted, keen eyes locked not on Stronric, but on the bloody shard still clenched weakly in his hand. Stronric raised the stone instinctively, ready to defend himself. The bird did not attack. It only stared at the rock. Stronric shifted the rock quickly to one side. Like a dog tracking a slab of meat from its master, the bird jerked its head to follow. Stronric's eyebrow lifted in confusion.

He glanced down and saw the shard for what it truly was. It was rough lump of iron ore, bloodied but gleaming faintly in the sickly light. The bird took what it clearly thought were two stealthy steps closer to Stronric, it's talons scraping against the stone. When Stronric looked directly at it, the bird reared up, vibrating its arms rapidly and pulling its hooked talons in front of its face. Clicking its beak in sharp bursts, the Mountain Canary tried to intimidate him. A pained smile crossed Stronric's face. With a grunt, he hurled the shard aside.

"Stupid bird."

The Mountain Canary screeched, a raw, wild sound that echoed across the clearing. It bounded after the shard, snapping it up in its heavy beak. It pecked at the stone with mechanical precision, cracking it open with sharp, deliberate strikes. Tiny fragments of ore scattered across the moss, and the bird tossed them into the air, swallowing them whole. Its throat vibrated several times. Stronric watched, dazed, as the lump slid down its gullet. The bird-like reptile turned its head toward him again, twisting it expectantly, a glint of intelligence flashing behind its sharp eyes.

Stronric snorted and let his head fall back against the ground. His body ached with every heartbeat. His mouth was dry, his stomach hollow. He needed food, water, and shelter, or he would not survive another night. He staggered upright, wobbling slightly, his breath coming in shallow gasps. Blood caked his arms, drying stiff against the rents in his sleeves. Every step felt heavier than the last.

The Mountain Canary trailed after him, keeping a wary distance but never straying far. Occasionally, it screeched loudly, snapping at insects or plucking at the moss. Stronric ignored it. He had more pressing concerns. Near the edge of the clearing, he spotted a stand of squat trees growing against a cracked stone wall. Their bark was pale and rough, but the fruits they bore looked almost untouched. Thick-skinned, small, and orange, they hung heavy from the branches.

Stronric reached up, testing one with a cautious tug. It came away easily. The fruit was firm, sweet-smelling, but most important not rotten. He wiped the worst of the grime from his hands and prepared to bite into it. The Mountain Canary darted forward with shocking speed. It snatched the fruit clean from his grasp, bounding back several paces with its prize clamped firmly in its hooked beak. Stronric froze. For a long moment, he simply stared, disbelief and exhaustion warring inside him.

The bird tilted its head, feathers puffing out proudly, and began to tear into the fruit with savage enthusiasm. Stronric in anger chased after the bird attempting to get back his fruit from the beast. The Bird chirped and ran away, holding its head up high and carrying the fruit with it. Beating its wings to try to get some air, the bird squawked and ran around a tree. Stronric made it only once around the tree before he leaned over. Hands on his knees and huffing and puffing trying to regain his breath. He reached for a second fruit and the bird snagged it just before he pulled it free.

Stronric shook his head slowly, a rough laugh scraping from his throat. "Filthy, rock-brained, ore-eatin' mule of a bird," he muttered, grabbing another fruit with slower, more deliberate movements.

Stronric made eye contact with the bird as he pulled the fruit free. The bird kept twisting its head side to side, almost as to ponder what this dwarf was doing. With a snap of the branch letting go of the fruit the bird squawked and Stronric slammed the fruit into his mouth. The Canary just stared at him as if he was mad. Stronric grabbed a second fruit and slumped at the base of one of the trees, gnawing on the fruit without ceremony. It was sweet, slightly fibrous, but clean. It stayed in his gut without revolt.

The forest pressed close around him, heavy with the weight of exhaustion and slow corruption. His vision blurred at the edges. Every noise seemed too loud, too sharp. The Mountain Canary circled him restlessly. It darted at insects, snapped at shifting roots, flapped its heavy arms once in agitation. Then it bolted into the trees, vanishing into the undergrowth with a final screech. Stronric leaned his head back and let his eyes close for a moment, letting the darkness pull at him. He had no strength left to care whether the strange beast stayed or left.

A sudden thud jerked him awake. The Mountain Canary was inches from his face. Twisting its head in the way that annoyed Stronric beyond belief. Hanging from the bird's beak was a dead rabbit. It dropped the body on Stronric's belly and with a loud clack of talons against stone. The Bird ran away squawking again.

A rabbit. Stronric couldn't believe his eye it was an actual rabbit. MEAT! Small, pale-furred, and very much dead. Stronric blinked, staring at the offering. The rabbit's flesh was smooth and clean. No tumors. No rot. No corruption bubbling under the skin. For the first time in hours, something like hope stirred in his chest. The Mountain Canary puffed its chest proudly, feathers gleaming under the broken light.

Stronric grunted in reluctant approval. With shaking hands, he pulled a skinning knife from his belt and set to work. The rabbit was gutted and skinned with brutal efficiency. The meat was tough and gamey, but he chewed it down raw, caring little for taste or texture. Nearby, the Mountain Canary devoured the guts of the rabbit that Stronric had dropped onto the ground. The sharp beak slicing through the meal cleanly and sharply.

When the rabbit was gone, and only the gnawing ache of exhaustion remained, Stronric pushed himself upright once more. He spotted a narrow cleft in the stone wall beyond the trees, half-hidden by moss and fallen branches. A cave. Small, dark, but dry and defensible. It would do. He stumbled toward it, muscles screaming with every step. The Mountain Canary trailed behind, weaving through the stones with unsettling grace.

Inside, the cave was cool and dry. Stone walls pressed close, blocking the worst of the foul-smelling winds. There was no true door, but a fall of loose rocks near the entrance could serve as a barricade if needed. Stronric collapsed against one wall, sliding down until he sat heavily in the dirt. The Mountain Canary squeezed in after him, settling a few paces away. It crouched low, feathers dimming in the gloom, sharp eyes never leaving him. The bird sniffed the air and went to one of the walls of the cave.

The Bird scratched at the walls. Using the large thumb like talon to tap on the wall. When an ever so slight change of noise rang out the animal pulled its head back and slammed its beak into the stone wall. Stronric stared in disbelief as this bird began to mine at the walls. The unusual bird's beak was shaped like a pick and after a few moments a large chunk of ore rolled across the cave floor. The bird chased it like it was some kind of wild animal. Jumping and striking the ore several times, chirping and squawking. When the Stone split in half the bird smashed it again. When the chunks of ore were in small eatable pieces the bird picked each piece and tossed it up into the air and ate them.

Stronric watched it through half-lidded eyes, too tired to move, too tired to care. "You're a strange one," he mumbled.

Stronric now realized the bird's beak was built to render both rock and bone. The bird clacked its beak softly, a low, sound like stone grating against stone. Stronric closed his eyes, letting sleep drag him down. The forest whispered and shifted outside, carrying with it the scent of blood, mold, and distant rot. But for tonight, he was alive and that would have to be enough.

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