The caravan cut through wilderness at a crawl, wooden wheels carving ruts into the soft loam. The Iron Hawks fanned out along the wagons, each taking a position where they could watch for ambushes while keeping clear of gnoll raiding parties.

Except Ember.

She found herself tagging behind the rearmost wagon, keeping easy pace with the lumbering vehicle while scanning the woods around them for threats that never seemed to materialize. Their trek through the humid, lush undergrowth reminded her of a summer hike, not a dangerous escort mission.

She was the resident spare adventurer, the unacknowledged hanger-on, the almost-but-not-quite part of the team. Marcus probably assigned her this position to keep her in her place, away from the action, and firmly designated an observer and not a contributor.

So she walked on, checking and re-checking her gear, making idle small-talk with nearby guards, and wondering if someone was going to notice she wasn't contributing and do something about that.

At least Navarro's guards were polite and personable. They clearly knew one end of a sword from the other and treated her with professional deference that suggested they saw her as someone to emulate.

"Been traveling long?" Ember asked as the wagons bumped over a section of rough terrain.

"About four months," the nearest guard replied, guiding his horse with casual, competent movements that looked like second nature to him. "Came down from the northern towns for better routes and more temperate weather."

"Probably better off down here," she agreed.

"Less snow," he said amiably, "but more monsters."

"Monsters are easy," she said with casual bravado. "Just stab them."

The man laughed.

"Stabbing monsters is a lot easier when they aren't eating your face." He shook his head. "Some of the beasts up north? Nightmares. Ice giants, frost drakes, ghost hounds—if it's big and angry, we've got it."

"Sounds exciting," Ember replied.

"Hardly," he said with a scoff. "Exciting is the last thing I want out of my job."

"The caravan circuit isn't exciting?" She'd assumed travel was synonymous with adventure.

"Mostly it's boring. Good, steady, dull work with the occasional minor peril," he explained. "Good money, good company, and the occasional chance to stab something that gets too close to the wagons."

"So what you're saying is, you stab monsters, but you aren't a monster-stabbing specialist?" Ember asked.

"I'm a caravan guard," he replied, as though the question was silly. "If monster-hunting was my business, I'd sign up with the Guild."

"Why not sign up anyway?" she suggested. "Extra coin on the side, and you get to stab monsters more often."

"There's stabbing, and then there's stabbing," he answered. "Like the difference between butchering a cow and going toe-to-toe with a Mire Drake in the middle of its swamp."

She took the point. "I suppose you've got to know your limitations."

"Exactly," the guard agreed. "Stick with what you know, and if you get out of your depth, call in specialists."

"Specialists like us," she said with a smile.

He smiled back at her like a proud uncle.

"You handle the gnolls," he told her, "and I'll handle the wagons."

As they proceeded, the caravan slowed to negotiate another treacherous section. The wetlands had given way to rocky, sloping ground that made footing difficult for both riders and beasts of burden. The wagons' axles groaned under the strain, their wheels threatening to catch and stick in divots and gullies.

Marcus rode beside Navarro, discussing route options and timeline concerns with the casual authority of someone accustomed to being in charge. His confidence filled the space around him like expensive cologne, ensuring everyone understood exactly who was making the important decisions.

"How often do you run escort duty?" Ember asked Elena, who'd dropped back from her forward position to check on the wagons.

"Couple times a month," Elena replied, her bow held ready but not drawn. "Good steady work. Usually boring, which is how we like it."

"Boring is profitable," Gareth agreed from his position beside the second wagon. "Exciting escort duty means someone's having a bad day."

"Come now," Thomas protested. "Adventurers need some excitement, otherwise we'll get fat and lazy."

"Right," Ember said, nodding to Alessio. "How long have you been working together?"

The rogue shrugged, as if conversation wasn't his priority.

"A while," Elena replied for him. "I joined after they cleared out a gnoll camp, way back when. Followed 'em to Amaranth after that, because hey, where else was I gonna go?"

"Family tradition," Thomas said, gesturing with his staff, its brilliant tip still glowing with magical light. "Family's been Guild adventurers for generations. Thought I'd carry on the old tradition."

Gareth gave a one-sided shrug but said nothing.

Alessio glanced at the team as though observing animals at the zoo.

"We like to call Marcus the family black sheep," Elena added with a mischievous grin. "But he'd probably hate being called that."

That was interesting information, and Ember filed it away for later consideration. She suspected there was more to the story than Elena was letting on, but she didn't want to pry into secrets that weren't hers to know.

The caravan creaked along through the day, occasional conversations ebbing and flowing like tides pulled by passing topics.

Everything proceeded exactly as it should, which was why Ember's growing unease felt so misplaced.

The bog around them was too quiet. Birds that should have been calling from the reeds had fallen silent. Insects that should have been buzzing near the water had vanished. Even the normal sounds of a healthy wetland—frogs, small creatures moving through vegetation, fish jumping—had disappeared entirely.

"Anyone else notice how quiet it's gotten?" she asked.

"Noticed," Alessio confirmed from somewhere in the mist, his voice carrying just far enough to be heard.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

"Probably just the weather," Thomas said, though his staff glowed with detection magic that suggested he was taking the silence more seriously than his words implied. "Storms make wildlife nervous."

"What storms?" Ember asked, studying the clear afternoon sky.

Marcus twisted in his saddle to look back at her with obvious annoyance. "Are you always this paranoid, or is this special anxiety reserved for missions you're not in charge of?"

The criticism stung because it contained enough truth to hit home. She was accustomed to coordinating with her sister-selves, not riding along as an extra pair of eyes. Following someone else's lead while worrying about threats they might miss felt like wearing armor that didn't fit properly.

"Just making observations," she replied.

"Observe quietly," Marcus said. "Professional teams don't need constant commentary from nervous passengers."

Nervous passengers. The dismissal stung even more than his criticism, and she had to fight down the sudden urge to show him exactly how un-nervous she was in order to prove him wrong.

Elena shot Marcus a look like she wanted to berate him for that, but knew better than to do it while on-duty.

Ember bit back the retort she wanted to use, instead forcing her face into a mask of polite acceptance.

A young woman sitting atop the rearmost wagon looked back at her, offering an apologetic smile and a nod. A silver pin on her collar caught her attention: intricate metalwork that formed a pattern she recognized from the Magisterium administrative offices.

The Cawel family crest. Magistrate Beatrix's family.

Henrik did mention something about a niece, she recalled.

Before she could ruminate, Thomas's magic flickered, the telltale surge of energy rushing outward like ripples in a pond, expanding further than seemed necessary for simple detection.

"Movement ahead," he reported, his casual demeanor sharpening instantly. "Something large. Submerged."

The convoy halted, wheels creaking to a sudden stop that jarred them into stillness.

"How large?" Gareth asked, his hand already moving to his weapon.

"Very large," Thomas replied. "And rising."

The water beside the causeway erupted in a geyser that sent spray cascading across the bridge. Something massive breached the surface—serpentine necks that uncoiled like striking whips, heads the size of wagon wheels crowned with teeth that belonged in nightmares.

"HYDRA!" Thomas shouted, his staff already glowing with combat magic.

The creature's emergence sent shockwaves through the water that made the causeway shudder. Five heads rose from the depths on necks that stretched thirty feet, each one moving independently as yellow eyes tracked different targets.

"Fall back!" Marcus's voice cracked with panic. "Everyone off the bridge! Now!"

"The civilians—" Elena started.

"Are not our responsibility!" Marcus snapped. "A-rank monster! We retreat!"

Gareth hesitated at the causeway's center, his axe half-raised as he looked back at the trapped wagons. Two heads had already positioned themselves to block the forward route while others began circling to cut off retreat.

"Sir," he said carefully, "we can't just—"

"That's an order!" Marcus backed toward solid ground, his face pale with terror. "Iron Hawks, withdraw!"

Ember watched the scene unfold with mounting horror. The caravan guards were already fleeing, abandoning their charges to save themselves. Navarro shouted orders that no one followed while his remaining drivers fought to control terrified horses.

"We have to help them," she said.

"We have orders," Thomas replied, though his staff remained aimed at the hydra and his face showed obvious conflict.

"I'm staying," Ember announced.

"You're observing," Marcus snarled. "Nothing more!"

"Then observe this."

She ran toward the hydra.

Ember cut through the water, each step kicking up spray as she sprinted down the causeway. Behind her, she heard Marcus shouting for her to withdraw, but the world had narrowed to the oncoming monster and the people she needed to protect.

The first head struck where she'd been standing, jaws snapping shut on empty air as Ember blurred sideways at speeds that turned the world into streaks of color. Her flames roared to life—not decorative spirals, but focused streams of superheated plasma that carved through the humid air like molten swords.

The hydra's second head whipped toward her new position, but she was already moving, feet hammering against wooden planks that charred beneath her passage. The causeway shook with each impact as she zigzagged between striking heads, leaving a trail of blackened footprints and smoldering wood in her wake.

Four heads converged on her, each snapping at whatever part they could reach in a frantic attempt to capture their target. She danced between them, leaping over gnashing teeth and dodging under snapping jaws. The air filled with the stench of reptilian breath and brackish water turned to steam.

Behind her, the wagons were pulling back at an agonizing crawl. Navarro stood on his seat, gesturing frantically at something or someone outside Ember's sight, but she didn't dare take her eyes off the hydra to look.

A head swept low, jaws gaping wide enough to swallow a horse. Ember dropped flat, sliding beneath the attack while flames erupted from her palms in twin lances that struck the creature's throat. The fire carved deep grooves in armored flesh, drawing a shriek that made the air vibrate.

Blood, black as crude oil, splattered across the causeway. Where it landed, the wooden planks began to smoke and dissolve.

Acidic blood. Of course.

She rolled aside as another head struck downward like a battering ram, its jaws crushing the spot where she'd been lying. Splinters exploded outward, several drawing lines of fire across her cheek as she came up running.

The hydra's movements created their own weather system—displaced water crashed over the causeway in sheets, wind from its thrashing necks sent spray in every direction, and the creature's bulk beneath the surface generated currents that tried to drag her off-balance with each step.

Ember accelerated to full speed, her form becoming a golden blur that traced figure-eights around the hydra's necks. Each pass brought her close enough to strike with concentrated fire, carving wounds that sealed themselves almost faster than she could create them.

That was the problem with hydras—cutting off heads just made more heads, and burning flesh regenerated faster than most flames could damage it. But Ember's fire burned hotter than wood or coal. Her flames reached temperatures that could melt steel.

She pushed harder, drawing more heat from whatever internal furnace powered her abilities. The air around her began to shimmer like summer pavement, and her next strike opened a wound that stayed open for precious seconds before beginning to close.

Progress. Slow, dangerous progress that was costing her more energy than she could sustain indefinitely.

She'd already moved, her speed carrying her beneath the creature's guard in a blur that left afterimages of golden fire.

Her fist connected with the hydra's throat in an explosion of superheated air that would have dropped most opponents. The creature barely flinched. Armored scales absorbed the impact while her flames slid across its hide like water off glass.

Two more heads converged on her position, striking from opposite angles in perfect coordination. Ember twisted between them, her body moving with the fluid grace that came from superhuman reflexes, but even her speed couldn't keep pace with five independent attackers that moved like striking serpents.

Teeth raked across her shoulder, tearing through reinforced leather and scoring deep gouges in the flesh beneath. Blood sprayed across the causeway boards as she rolled away from the follow-up strike that splintered wood where she'd been standing.

The hydra's body surged upward, revealing its true size as it lifted itself partially from the water. Its torso was easily the size of one of the wagons; serpentine muscle covered in plates that looked like they'd been forged from green-black metal. Its heads weaved through the air with hypnotic grace, yellow eyes tracking her every movement while forked tongues tasted the air for weakness.

Ember accelerated, her speed blurring her form as she circled the creature, staying ahead of snapping jaws while looking for vulnerabilities. The hydra's necks were too thick to sever easily, its hide too tough for even her strength to penetrate directly, and its sheer size would make bringing it down through attrition a slow, brutal process.

But everything had weak points if you knew where to look.

She feinted left, drawing two heads toward her apparent position, then reversed direction and launched herself directly at the creature's central mass. Her flames condensed into a lance of white-hot fury that struck the hydra's chest with enough force to crack stone.

The attack penetrated, boring through scales and hide to reach something vital beneath. The hydra's roar shook the causeway, vibrating through the wooden structure like thunder trapped in a bottle. Dark blood poured from the wound, steaming where it hit the water.

Then the injury began to close.

Flesh mended, scales re-grew, and in seconds, the damage was repaired as though it had never existed.

"Fuck," Ember muttered as she backpedaled away from the creature's counterattack, dancing around strikes that came faster than before, driven by anger instead of simple predatory instinct.

If her sister-selves were here with her, this fight would already be over.

But they weren't. That left the task of saving the day squarely on her shoulders. If that responsibility had to come with a giant fucking hydra attached, then so be it.

No exit. No retreat. Just her and the giant monster in a fight, where the only way out was through.

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