Chapter 24: Monsters

I wasn’t sure what I expected from the Beasts and Monsters wing, but it wasn’t this.

The corridor was dimmer than the others, lit by flickering yellow orbs that cast long shadows across the cracked stone walls. Bones—actual bones—hung from iron chains overhead, clacking faintly with each breath of air. One was curved like a sickle. Another looked disturbingly human, save for the serrated edge running along its spine.

I reached a heavy wooden door with a deep scratch carved across the nameplate: Master Thorne Blackpaw.

I knocked.

A pause. Then—

“Enter, unless you’ve brought something stupid.”

I pushed the door open.

The room smelled like ash and wet fur. Books were stacked in teetering towers, some half-burned, others with notes crammed into the margins. Animal pelts hung on the walls, alongside what I could only assume were monster teeth the size of my forearm. A dried basilisk skull glared down from the ceiling, its fangs still glinting.

At the center of the chaos stood Master Thorne Blackpaw.

He looked like a man who wrestled sleep into submission each night. Muscles wrapped in scars. A single eye glinted beneath his wild, gray-streaked mane of hair. A animal pelt hung over one shoulder like a shawl, and bones of varying shapes dangled from his belt like morbid jewelry. One of them still had dried blood on it.

He turned toward me, eyes narrowing. “You’re the boy with the mutt. Sköll, was it?”

I nodded. “Arthur.”

“Right,” he grunted. “I’ve heard stories about you. Stewart’s told me plenty.”

He looked me over more closely now, like he was comparing fact to rumor.

“Said you survived the Wolfhiem Mountains on guts, grit, and nothing else. Means you’re either smart… lucky… or something nastier took pity on you.”

He leaned back with a grunt, arms folding across his chest.

“Stewart told me that himself. We used to teach here together—only for a short while. Colleagues at first, but we got along well enough. He’s a bit of a bastard, but the kind that grows on you if you’re not careful.”

I blinked. “Stewart was a professor?”

“For all of one year,” Blackpaw said, smirking. “Didn’t last long. Said he wanted to try something different. Truth is, he nearly broke the dueling yard. His lessons left more students in the infirmary than out of it.”

My mouth twitched. That… tracked.

“The Headmistress told him to tone it down. Teach with a bit more ‘restraint.’ Stewart told her to stuff it and walked out the next day.”

“Sounds about right.”

Blackpaw’s grin widened. “Still sends me letters now and then. Bragging about his latest ‘promising pupil.’ You, most recently.”

So Stewart had been talking about me behind my back. I wasn’t sure whether to feel flattered or nervous.

I cleared my throat. “Then maybe he told you why I’m here.”

Blackpaw raised a brow. “Cryall, right?”

I nodded, stepping in farther, the door clicking shut behind me.

I hesitated. “How likely is it… for a large group of them to travel together? More than eight. In the Wolfhiem Mountains.”

Thorne’s smile faded.

He stepped around his desk, hand trailing along a mounted wyvern claw as he passed. “Define ‘large.’”

I took a breath. “Twenty. Maybe more.”

Silence.

Then Thorne exhaled—low and thoughtful. “Boy… in all my years, I’ve seen Cryall in pairs. Maybe threes, if they’re young and dumb. But twenty? Not in those mountains. Not anywhere north east of the Deadman’s Plains.”

He moved to a shelf and pulled out a weathered bestiary, flipping it open. “Cryall are solitary or territorial. Packs of eight are rare—and only ever reported in the Plains. You know why?”

I shook my head.

“Because that’s the only place with prey big enough and plenty enough to justify the effort. Thunder Elk. Sand Drakes. Large beast herds. The kind of game you need coordination to bring down. In the mountains?” He scoffed. “Game’s smaller. Scarcer. Rocky terrain slows them down. They wouldn’t travel in numbers. Wouldn’t need to.”

I swallowed. “What if they did?”

Thorne glanced at me.

“Then the ecosystem would’ve buckled.” He pointed a gnarled finger at me. “You’d notice. Tracks everywhere. Scattered bones. Trees with claw marks from territorial disputes. And the prey? Gone. Fled to lower altitudes or neighboring regions. A horde like that would drain the mountains dry.”

My pulse quickened.

That first winter… it had been nearly impossible to find anything. Even the birds had gone silent. It stayed like that for nearly a year before things started to return—deer, rabbits, even squirrels.

“So, if that happened,” I said slowly, “if the animals vanished, if the land went quiet… it would mean the Cryall horde was real?”

He gave me a long, sideways look. “Or something like it. Doesn’t make it natural, though.”

“What do you mean?”

Thorne snapped the book shut. “I mean, something must’ve driven them. Or led them. Cryall don’t form hordes like that. Not without cause. And definitely not in a region that can’t support them.” He stepped closer, voice low. “If a horde moved through Wolfhiem… someone moved them.”

The air felt heavier all of a sudden.

Thorne leaned back and scratched at his beard. “Maybe someone moved them. Perhaps a dungeon appeared that gave birth to them. But whatever it was, it was unnatural.”

The idea chilled me more than I wanted to admit.

“All this,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the bones and books, “I’ve seen patterns in monsters. They kill to eat, to protect, or because something warped them. You want to know the truth, Arthur? If your village was attacked by a horde…”

He narrowed his eye.

“…then you weren’t just unlucky. You were a target.”

My throat went dry.

“Now,” Thorne grunted, turning back toward his desk, “go on. I’ve got a lesson to prepare on wyrm mating rituals and how not to lose your limbs. You’ve got enough to think about.”

I left the office in silence, the door creaking shut behind me.

My footsteps echoed down the corridor—but my thoughts were louder.

If Thorne was right… then the Cryall weren’t acting on instinct.

They were following something.

Or someone.

And I was going to find out who.

No matter how deep the trail went.

The moon hung low over the floating island, its pale light filtered through the canopy of swaying trees. Shadows danced in the gentle breeze, and the distant hum of mana crystals hidden deep within the earth gave the island a soft, living thrum. The group had gathered just outside the academy gates, the air cool against our skin and laced with the scent of wildflowers and dew.

“I’m telling you,” Seraphine said, arms crossed and eyes practically glowing, “we’ll never get another chance like this. The island is different at night—calmer, quieter… and possibly more revealing.”

Orrin shot her a look. “It’s also more dangerous.”

“Especially without knowing what kind of creatures are active after sunset,” Toren added, adjusting his belt. “This isn’t a field trip.”

Seraphine smirked. “Oh come on. We’ve trained for this. We’ve studied, practiced, we all know how to fight. It’s time we see what this place is really like.”

“We’re not even supposed to leave the dorms after dark,” Orrin said, clearly exasperated. “You’re pushing boundaries.”

“That’s sort of my thing,” Seraphine replied with a shrug.

Marza giggled behind her hand while Rias tilted her head, listening carefully. “I vote we go,” Rias said. “I can sense the mana of nearby creatures… and Geri’s with me. She’ll keep us safe.”

I watched the debate unfold with a mix of caution and curiosity. Sköll stood beside me, silent and alert, while Geri pressed her nose gently into Rias’s palm like a quiet show of solidarity.

Eventually, Elaris leaned closer to me. “We’re going with them, aren’t we?”

I nodded. “I’ll bring my sword. You should bring yours too.”

She smiled faintly, eyes glinting. “Already planned on it.”

After a few more protests, Orrin finally groaned. “Fine. But the second something feels off, we’re turning back. And I swear if anything tries to eat us—”

“Then we’ll eat it first,” Seraphine interrupted with a grin.

Toren sighed and followed suit, muttering something about getting blamed for rule-breaking again.

With blades strapped, boots laced, and the wolves padding along at our sides, we stepped off the path and into the forest under the cover of night.

The moonlight spilled over the cliffs like silver ink, coating the grass in a ghostly sheen. The floating island was quieter than usual—no wind, no chirping, no rustle of wings. Just the crunch of boots and the soft pad of paws as we moved.

Rias walked beside Geri, one hand lightly brushing the wolf’s thick fur, her other holding onto Seraphine’s elbow. Despite her blindness, she kept pace without hesitation.

“It’s too quiet,” Orrin muttered behind me, his axe already in his hands.

“That’s because we’re being careful,” Seraphine replied cheerfully, leading the group with her spear across her back. “If you all stopped stomping around like a herd of wyverns, we’d hear the stars breathing.”

Toren huffed. “Stars don’t breathe.”

“Maybe not,” she said, flashing a grin over her shoulder. “But it sounded poetic, didn’t it?”

“Only if you like dying with a metaphor stuck in your throat,” Caelan muttered.

Elaris chuckled beside me. “I have to admit, this is more peaceful than I expected.”

“Too peaceful,” I said under my breath, hand resting on the hilt of my sword. Sköll trotted ahead slightly, ears perked, nose twitching. He hadn’t growled or signaled anything unusual, but I’d learned not to mistake silence for safety.

We kept walking for a while, navigating through low hills and sparse clusters of blue-leafed trees. Glowing insects flickered in and out of view, trailing light like fireflies made of starlight.

Eventually, the group began to slow.

Seraphine turned back to us. “Alright, we’ve gone far enough. Let’s not push our luck.”

Marza nodded. “We’ll head back with Rias, just in case.”

“I can handle myself,” Rias said. But she still placed a hand on Geri’s head. “Though I wouldn’t mind a warm bed.”

“Come on then,” Toren said. “We’ll escort you all back.”

They began to split off—Rias, Geri, Seraphine, Marza, Orrin, Caelan, and Toren disappearing into the mist and moonlight.

That left just me, Elaris, and Sköll.

I turned to her. “Still up for a bit more?”

She met my gaze, her lips quirking upward. “If you are.”

We pressed on, taking a narrow path that sloped down into a small ravine flanked by strange boulders and towering mushrooms that pulsed faintly with violet light.

And that’s when Sköll froze.

He didn’t growl.

He didn’t bark.

But his body went rigid, ears flat, hackles rising.

Elaris saw it too. “Arthur—”

“I see it.”

A sound cut through the stillness—a low, rapid click-click-click, like talons tapping stone. Then wings. Multiple sets. The air shifted.

Ten shapes circled overhead—dark against the stars, eyes glowing crimson.

Obsidian Kestrels.

C-rank monsters. Black-feathered, red-eyed birds roughly my height—around five-foot-six. Normally solitary hunters. Only known to group together during mating season.

This was not mating season.

Elaris inhaled sharply. “They shouldn’t be in a pack. This is wrong.”

“I know.”

We crouched low behind one of the glowing mushrooms, trying to stay hidden. The kestrels circled, scanning the terrain.

Sköll stayed low, his body tense and ready.

I slowly shifted my weight onto the balls of my feet, hand hovering over my sword.

Then I stepped on a twig.

Snap.

It echoed like a scream in the quiet.

Ten heads snapped in our direction.

Ten pairs of red eyes locked onto us.

Click-click.

SCREEEEE—!

The Kestrels dove like living arrows, their shrieks cutting the air like blades.

“Run!” I shouted, grabbing Elaris’s hand.

We bolted.

Sköll dashed ahead, weaving between the glowing mushrooms with predatory speed, guiding us down a narrow trail that twisted through the forest. The flickering violet light made everything blur—branches, roots, feathers diving from the sky.

One of the birds swooped down.

Its talons slashed through the air where my head had just been. I ducked, nearly losing my balance, but Elaris yanked me forward.

Another scream—closer this time.

The pack was hunting us. Herding us.

They weren’t chasing to kill.

They were cornering.

We broke into a small clearing surrounded by towering stone spires. The path behind us narrowed, hemmed in by thorns and fallen trees.

I skidded to a stop.

Sköll snarled low in his throat, placing himself between us and the way we came.

The Kestrels landed in a wide circle, wings spread, feathers bristling. They clicked their beaks and stomped forward, slow and synchronized. Ten of them. No escape.

I drew my sword, breath heaving. Elaris stood beside me, her sword drawn, but her stance was tense—hesitant, calculating.

“This doesn’t make sense,” she whispered. “They don’t hunt like this. They’re not pack creatures—unless…”

“Unless someone’s controlling them,” I muttered.

The birds didn’t move. Not yet.

They were waiting.

Then the air grew cold.

Too cold.

From between the trees came a soft crunch of boots against gravel.

Slow.

Unhurried.

Confident.

The Kestrels parted as the figure approached, heads dipping in eerie obedience.

A tall man stepped into the clearing, his cloak trailing behind him like smoke. His face was shadowed beneath a hood, but I could make out pale skin and a faint smirk curled at the corner of his mouth.

When he spoke, the air grew heavier.

“Well, well,” the man drawled, voice low and venom-laced. “Isn’t this a pleasant surprise?”

Something in my chest clenched.

That voice.

I knew that voice.

“You’ve clawed your way far from the mountains, haven’t you?” the man said, voice low and silk-wrapped in scorn. He stopped just a few paces away, hands clasped behind his back. “But strength built on desperation rarely lasts.”

He tilted his head.

“All this time wondering why the Cryall attacked your poor little village…”

His voice slithered closer, drenched in mock sympathy.

“Would you like to know the answer?”

A pause. Then, low and deliberate:

“I gave the order.”