Chapter 27 – “…Never again.”
Chapter 27 – “…Never again.”
The three of us collapsed in the hollow of an ancient oak, breath ragged, hearts still racing like hunted deer.
Kit lay draped across my lap, her fur clotted with blood and ash. Her daggers—those beautiful silver fangs—hung limply from her fingers before she let them fall to the dirt. The sound of steel hitting earth was deafening in the stillness.
Kit’s voice cracked first, breaking the suffocating silence:
"What… what the hell was that…? We weren’t ready. Gods, Master… we weren’t—"
Raka cut her off, voice a low, trembling growl, one hand gripping her axe so hard the leather creaked:
"That wasn’t a fight. That was a slaughter waiting to happen. I couldn’t hold them! I—"
She stopped, fists slamming into the ground hard enough to split the soil. Tears glistened in her silver fur, more rage than sorrow. Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"I almost lost you both. I almost…"
Kit turned to me then, eyes wide, glistening amber, brimming with terror and guilt:
"I froze. I went for her anyway, like an idiot—if Ed hadn’t—"
Her voice broke completely, and she buried her face in my chest with a sob.
Raka leaned forward, trembling as she pressed her brow to mine, her voice hoarse:
"Say something. Anything. Yell at us. Tell us it wasn’t our fault—"
But I didn’t speak.
Because I couldn’t.
My body shook—not from fear, not from exhaustion—but from the storm curling tighter and tighter inside my chest. The bond thrummed with my relief—thank the gods they were alive—but layered beneath it, a dark rumble of something primal.
Kit felt it first. Her sob stilled as her ears flicked back, sensing the iron weight in my silence.
"Master…?"
My breath came slow. Controlled. Like a man on the edge of something dangerous. I lowered my head, my voice barely more than a whisper—but heavy enough to crush the air between us:
“…Never again.”
The dying light in my eyes wasn’t anger. It was something colder. A promise.
Kit and Raka froze, hearts pounding as that promise rippled through the bond like thunder:
Never again would we be this weak.
Never again would I run.
Never again would anyone threaten what is mine.
Above the trees, far in the ruins, a Briar Witch laughed—faint and mocking on the wind.
And my silence turned into steel.
The forest was too quiet now, save for the crunch of boots and the uneven scrape of Raka’s axe haft dragging behind her. Every step felt like defeat pressed into the soil.
Kit limped beside me, tail low, ears flattened. She hadn’t said a word since the oak hollow—only quick glances, darting up to my face, reading the storm I wasn’t voicing.
Raka’s breath was ragged, teeth bared against pain and frustration. She carried her shield like it was a burden now, straps creaking in her trembling grip. Her voice finally broke the silence, low, hoarse, cracking with barely contained anger—at herself:
"We shouldn’t have… pushed that far."
Kit flinched but didn’t answer. Her claws raked grooves into the leather straps of her daggers as if carving her shame into them.
When the silence stretched too long, I spoke—my voice low, flat, weighted like a blade across the throat:
“…Ed’s gone.”
Both heads turned sharply. Kit’s lips parted as if to speak, but I kept walking, the words grinding out like stone:
“Yes, he was a summon. But he was destroyed.”
I stoppped, shoulders tense, fists curling tight around my spear shaft.
“Could’ve been one of you.”
The words hung there like a gallows rope.
Kit’s steps faltered. She reached for my arm, tentative.
"Master…"
I didn’t look at her. Couldn’t. Because in that moment the truth clawed up through my throat, raw and choking:
“…I was scared.”
The admission tore out, quiet and brutal, like something I’d fought to keep buried.
“Scared to lose one of you.”
Kit froze. Raka turned, her wolf-gold eyes wide, startled—not by the words, but by the crack in my voice.
I said nothing else. Didn’t wait for their answers. Just started walking again, faster, like I could outrun the weight of that confession.
Behind me, Kit and Raka exchanged a glance through the dim woods. Something unspoken passed between them—a flicker of pain, guilt, and something protective curling tight around their bond with me.
They followed in silence.
The night air was cold, but the storm rolling in my chest burned hotter than ever.
The fire burned low, shadows flickering across the worn bedrolls laid out beneath the canvas of our tent. The air was thick with exhaustion, failure heavy in every breath. The Harem bond’s warmth felt muted, as if our shared magic couldn’t quite overcome the weight of what happened.
For a long time, no one spoke. Kit curled against my side, tail twitching restlessly, her fingers tracing silent circles on my forearm. Raka lay close on the other side, massive and warm, but quiet—eyes staring at the canvas like she was watching ghosts dance in the smoke.
Finally, Kit broke the silence. Her voice was soft but iron-edged with sincerity:
"Master… when I took your hand that day… when I stepped into the circle… I knew what I was choosing."
Her amber eyes flicked up to mine, bright in the dim light.
"We both did."
Raka rumbled low in her chest, shifting closer.
"Kit’s right. We chose this path." Her voice was deep, steady, like a heartbeat in the dark. “We knew the risks. We accepted them.”
My jaw clenched. The words landed, but the ache inside my ribs didn’t quite loosen. Until Raka leaned in, teeth glinting in a rare grin, and said something that hit like a war cry muffled in silk:
“A pack still alive… is a pack that can hunt again.”
I almost shook my head.
Almost told her that wasn’t enough. That surviving wasn’t the same as winning.
Because it didn’t feel like survival.
It felt like failure.
The smell of blood still clung to us. The memory of that fight—of Kit screaming, of Raka being dragged down, of Ed—kept replaying behind my eyes like a blade twisting in slow motion.
But after a moment… those words stuck. Not as comfort, not as forgiveness—something else entirely. They lingered, catching on the edges of everything still raw inside me until they finally clicked.
Something turned, sharp and sudden—not easing the storm in my chest, but tightening it, giving it shape. The chaos didn’t fade; it narrowed, focused, until it felt like a blade honed on steel.
Not gone. Not healed.
Just… aimed.
I sat up slowly, the fight already replaying behind my eyes—step by step, mistake by mistake—tracking every moment where control slipped.
Where we hesitated. Where we overcommitted. Where she changed the rules.
“…We almost had her.”
Kit blinked, ears twitching.
“Master…?”
I turned toward them both, the quiet heat of the bond flaring back to life—not gentle this time, not soothing, but sharpening. Like an ember dragged through dry tinder until it caught.
They felt it—my will, my hunger for victory—burning through the bond, threading into them, pulling us back into alignment.
My voice came out low, fierce, almost a growl as I leaned forward:
“She cheated.” A breath. A shift. “We can too.”
The girls exchanged a glance, the corner of Kit’s mouth curling as she felt the shift in me through the bond—something forming, sharpening. I felt her respond—warmth threading back through the bond.
Raka sensed it too. Her tail thumped once against the bedroll, her grin sharp as fangs in moonlight.
Kit leaned in slightly, eyes bright, encouraging.
“What are you thinking, Master?”
Raka’s voice followed, low and certain, fanning the spark into something hotter.
“You’ve got a plan.”
I leaned forward, elbows braced on my knees, slowing it down—colder this time.
“We’re not weak,” I said, more to myself than them at first. “We’re not uncoordinated. We’re not under-leveled.” My voice sharpened as the pattern came into focus. “We could have crushed them—and her.”
I exhaled, dragging the rest of the thought into place, forcing myself to look at it without the panic—just the pattern. “We lost control of the fight. That’s all. And we paid for it.” My jaw tightened as the realization settled in deeper, cleaner. “She didn’t beat us straight. She reset the fight.”
Kit frowned, but I didn’t stop—because now I could see it clearly.
“Every time we cleared space—every time we started to win—she pulled it back. Regrowth. We kill them… and she brings them back. Same bodies. Same pressure. Again. Over and over until we break.” My grip tightened against my knee. “We weren’t losing. We were bleeding out—mana, health, position—while she just… reset the board.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty anymore. It was focused.
I leaned in slightly, voice dropping as the final piece clicked into place.
“…What we need is a Healer.”
The bond didn’t soothe—it sharpened. Heat rushed through all three of us like wildfire, the idea catching fast, feeding on everything we’d just been through.
Kit’s eyes lit up—not soft, not hopeful, but sharp with possibility.
"Another… sister?" she purred, testing the shape of it, already turning it over in her mind.
Raka’s chuckle rolled low and approvingly, her tail giving another slow thump.
"A bigger pack."
I smiled—slow, deliberate, something harder settling into place behind it.
“Yeah.”
For the first time since the ruins, something like hope—threaded with steel—rippled through the tent, faint at first, then warmer, steadier, like embers coaxed back to life.
The night wasn’t about licking wounds anymore.
It was about what came next.
And next time—
we’d be ready.