The soon-to-be adventurers woke to the familiar aroma of Katherine’s cooking. She had the last watch again, and it seemed the unspoken rule of never angering the cook was universal.

  “Alright, it seems that this tribe would like to make a contest of wills with a member of the party. Given that a fleshdrifter was killed by you guys yesterday,” the proctor explained. He had been acting as translator until Sage stepped in, clearly demonstrating her superior knowledge of the language.

  Katherine began putting the food away. “Are there any rules that we need to be aware of?” she asked, glancing up at the proctor.

  The proctor nodded. “No weapons. Skills are allowed,” he agreed, his tone matter-of-fact.

  Edwin looked from face to face, concern edging his voice. “Who will we be fighting?” he asked.

  The proctor shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. I assume one of their fighters.”

  Sage scoffed, crossing her arms. “They’re Lycari. They’re all fighters—even their children,” she explained, her tone making it clear she knew far more than the proctors who were supposed to keep them safe. “Why do you think they live only in tribes? Or that we had to camp outside their camp instead of mingling with them?”

  Katherine lingered on the word “Lycari,” its syllables tugging at the frayed edges of half-remembered stories from her childhood. She tried to pin down the memory—was it a legend, a cautionary tale from school, or maybe something buried deeper? The education system back on Earth had never prepared her for this; everything here felt at once familiar and utterly alien. Sage’s surname, Ulfric, gnawed at her thoughts—there was a connection, she was sure of it, but couldn’t quite grasp it. Katherine pressed that uncertainty aside, whispering to herself, “I’ll puzzle it out later. For now, we have more pressing concerns.”

  As dawn crept through the maze of tents, the camp stirred with a restless energy. Smoke curled from cooking fires, its earthy tang mingling with the aroma of Katherine’s breakfast, a comforting scent that momentarily grounded her. The air buzzed with the low murmur of tribal speech, punctuated by the rhythmic clatter of weapons being checked and the thud of feet tamping down hard-packed earth. Katherine’s party gathered close, uneasy as the proctor explained the contest would be five against five—no longer the one-on-one duel they’d braced for. The proctors had declared themselves nonparticipants, mere observers in this ancient ritual, their detachment underscoring the seriousness of what lay ahead.

  Katherine’s gaze flickered between Sage and their mage, the two she worried about most. The mage had managed to restrain a fleshdrifter with a burst of magic, but Katherine knew such a feat was fleeting in the chaos of close combat. Sage, for her part, seemed a contradiction; her hands, steady in healing, now fidgeted at her side with nervous energy. In the background, Devrin tuned his bow, his face grim—his skill lay in distance, not the close press of bodies this fight demanded. Katherine’s heart squeezed as she realized how exposed her companions would be.

  The party huddled together, voices hushed and urgent. Strategies formed and dissolved as they weighed their weaknesses—Sage’s reluctance for violence, the mage’s fragile confidence, Devrin’s limited melee prowess. Katherine watched their faces, searching for hope or certainty. She reminded herself that appearances deceived; their strengths lay buried, needing the right moment to surface.

  Outside their circle, the Lycari tribe readied themselves, each movement a ritual in itself. Warriors painted their faces with streaks of ochre and charcoal, invoking ancestral protection. Children darted between adults, practicing feints, their laughter brittle with anticipation. A broad ring was carved into the earth, its boundary lined with woven talismans and carved bones—the symbols of the hunt. The air pulsed with the beat of hand drums, swelling with each minute, signaling the gravity of the contest. When a tribal fighter approached, his voice gravelly and intent, he declared: “Today, we fight—to train in the ways of the hunt.” The words resonated, a promise and a warning.

  Shade pressed against Katherine’s calf, purring low—a subtle acknowledgment of the ceremony unfolding. Sage, usually shrinking behind her healer’s robes, began to shed them. Katherine caught the trembling in Sage’s hands, her posture growing taller, more feral by the second. The anticipation was thick enough to taste, laced with sweat, fear, and adrenaline.

  A tribe elder, speaking in halting Common, offered a concession: “We understand you may not fight like tribe, so we can allow single fight at a time.” His words were hopeful, but his gesture was decisive—he pointed to Sage. “Onkaan must fight.” A Lycari fighter stepped into the ring, muscles coiled, eyes glinting with pride and challenge.

  Sage’s composure cracked; she let her robes fall, revealing the lean muscle beneath and the tightly bound chest wraps. With a guttural shout—“Lurghr! Shaar vren, fenr kaarh!”—she launched herself at her opponent, the transformation shocking in its intensity. Her movements were raw, animalistic, abandoning all semblance of restraint as she tackled the fighter to the ground. Her voice, threaded with the Lycari tongue, carried both taunt and threat.

  The sudden brutality left the guild silent. Katherine’s breath caught in her throat; Sage seemed possessed by something wild and ancient. Was this the healer she’d known, who flinched at raised voices and stitched wounds with gentle hands? Or was she seeing the real Sage—one shaped by the tribe’s hidden customs, their trials by combat, their belief that strength was forged in blood and pain?

  Edwin leaned close, voice barely a whisper: “I thought she was opposed to violence?” Katherine could only shake her head, eyes wide, as Sage fought with unnerving savagery—her language now a weapon, slicing through the tribe’s bravado and burrowing into her opponent’s mind. Katherine saw the psychological warfare at play, Sage’s mastery of their tongue both a shield and a blade.

  Sage’s next words—“Fenr kaarh, thuun thren?”—were punctuated by a guttural growl and the sudden, shocking sight of her teeth sinking into the fighter’s shoulder. He howled, wrenching free with a brutal chop to Sage’s neck; blood welled around the wound, marking the moment as more than a test. The ring had become a crucible, revealing truths that Katherine wasn’t sure she wanted to face. Sage spit out the small amount of blood that her bite collected. “Thuun thren kaarh no-fenr, lurghr mish?”

  Katherine’s thoughts spiraled as she watched the children on the tribe’s edge sparring fiercely—here, even the youngest learned to fight, their innocence sacrificed to tradition and necessity. She recalled her own focus on preparing food, hoping to stave off loss, keeping an eye on her familiars. But this was no place for raising them; even the older children, hesitant at first, were drawn into combat, swept up by custom and expectation. The transformation of gentle Sage into a beast made Katherine’s skin crawl.

  Details became sharper—the length of Sage’s fingernails, now claws raking bloody lines across her opponent’s torso, arms, and legs. She was careful not to strike anywhere vital, but her biting was feral, almost disturbing. Katherine’s mind leapt to associations with rabies—an affliction of animals, not people, but Sage’s behavior blurred the line. The healer was unrecognizable, her actions more beast than human.

  Shade and Luna would be affected if rabies actually exists here? Katherine fretted, anxiety prickling at her spine. She was the most vulnerable, surrounded by unfamiliar threats in an alien world. With effort, she shoved the fear aside, refocusing on the ring, on the struggle playing out in dust and blood. She prayed for restraint, for mercy, for both sides to survive the ordeal less broken than before.

  …

  No, this isn’t me. Sage tried to as she clawed at the fighter’s chest going for the throat that he desperately tried to protect.

  You want to feast. Come on, feast. That is what we Lycari do: we hunt, track, feast. The bestial nature behind her movements and actions now taunted, trying to be tempting. Sage tasted the remnants of the blood still in her mouth. She hated that coppery taste. Her chest heaving as she tried to regain control.

  I am not like this , she told that beasty voice in her head.

  Oh, come on, we’ve been hiding for too long. You have an audience. Show them how strong you are. The beast taunted, trying to get Sage to let go.

  She dashed, not at her opponent, but towards another scent that she caught. It wasn’t helping her, she needed to get to her aetherblossoms. The jar was in her satchel. Oh, you don’t really need those. Really they are just a leash that you put on us. It growled in a purr that told Sage that it didn’t like. We don’t like leashes.

  No, you don’t like leashes. Sage growls back.

  Ah, there we are. Her other internal voice commented with a predatory smile making her see an alternate version of herself that gave in to her instincts. Yes, give in, release. Howl at your adversaries, make them beg.

  Outside her head she had already reached her satchel and rummaged through it. Her nails—no, claws—tried to get her jar. She was so close, she hadn’t transformed yet. Her original elven features had not yet left her. Bodies tried to get closer; she gnashed her teeth at whoever came close for getting too close. Most backed away, but one kept moving forward toward her.

  It was a large cat of some kind. It stared at her for a moment, then approached the bag with a slow, gentle step. Sage pulled it away, growling at the large feline. Who is this feline that dare approach us? Sage’s bestial nature snarls, making the action external. The cat blinked, eyes soft and patient, and sat down just out of reach. It gave a quiet, rumbling purr, lowering its body in a relaxed gesture, signaling it meant no harm. It watched Sage with a steady, understanding gaze, its tail gently curled around its paws—waiting, offering presence rather than challenge.

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  The distance between them shrank. One of Sage’s hands, clawed and tense, came down as if to strike. The space around her paw warped, halting the motion. The beast within Sage recoiled in offense as the feline leaned in, pressing its warm head lightly to her trembling hand instead of licking it. The touch was grounding, an unspoken offer of help. How dare you? the beast snarled, but the cat did not flinch. It simply remained, a stable presence, patient and willing to wait until the storm within Sage passed. The feline’s empathy radiated quietly, as if saying, I’ll stay here as long as you need.

  …

  Shade was not always good at reading others’ emotions. He often admitted he could only reliably sense the feelings of Luna and Katherine, his closest companions, because of their deep connection to him. The small sky lizard, Sparky, kept to himself most of the time and was harder for Shade to understand. However, Sage—the elf-not-elf whose scent was earthy with a hint of root—stood out. Shade noticed her scent had subtly changed, a detail he recognized because his human, Katherine, sometimes smelled that way at night. The shift unsettled him; he didn’t like that Sage carried that same anxious aroma. Beneath all the aggression Sage displayed, Shade could sense her fear. He found himself curious, wondering what could frighten someone so fierce. For a moment, his thoughts drifted to his mate, Luna. What would Luna do? He considered, knowing Luna would likely resolve the situation with violence and deal with Katherine afterward.

  Shade’s question was answered when Sage abruptly left the ring, running on all fours toward her satchel filled with strange plants. She was clearly searching for something. Was it that jar she was always smelling? Shade remembered seeing her clutch the jar during stressful moments, which made him even more certain she needed it now.

  The rest of Shade’s pack started to move closer to Sage. She snarled and backed away, snapping her teeth at them. Her eyes were now a deep, dark crimson. I see, you don’t like what you are. Shade thought, understanding her struggle.

  Acting on an impulse he suspected both Luna and Katherine would scold him for later, Shade moved closer to Sage. He had a strong feeling about what she was looking for. Sage did not appreciate his approach—instead of retreating, she prepared to strike. Her claw-like hand came down to strike him. Fortunately for them both, Shade was skilled at manipulating the space around him, a talent honed since he was a cub. He subtly shifted the path of her hand, preventing harm to Sage and avoiding injury himself. Instead of retaliating, Shade gently licked her trembling hand—a gesture meant to show he was there to help, not threaten.

  In response, Sage snarled, baring her teeth and moving her face closer to his in challenge. Shade remained resolute. He sat down right where he was, making it clear he had no intention of leaving. He picked up a paw and started to clean it with his tongue, a deliberate display of calm. You don’t scare me. I’ve faced worse. I am here to help, anxious one. His actions and thoughts bridged the tension between them, offering reassurance even as the atmosphere remained charged.

  Shade then turned his head to look back at Katherine, his human. He nodded at Sage, silently urging Katherine to intervene. She needs your help.

  Katherine, however, stayed where she was, the tension between them stretching unbroken.

  For once, Shade decided to bare his fangs—at Katherine. This one needs help, help her. he urged telepathically.

  She is not herself. Katherine replied, her expression fiercer than usual—a silent warning that Shade could expect one of those dreaded baths. He detested baths. Try that again and I’ll start withholding treats.

  Fortunately, their conversation was telepathic, since that was how the skill had worked from the beginning. Unfortunately, with Shade’s attention on Katherine, the elf-not-elf took advantage of his distraction.

  Suddenly, Katherine moved with a speed Shade had never seen before, pinning the elf-not-elf to the ground on her back. Mimicking animal instincts, Katherine bared her teeth and hissed in challenge.

  The elf-not-elf struggled and managed to flip Katherine onto her back. The predominantly male group watching hesitated, unsure whether to intervene as both Katherine and the elf-not-elf were clearly stronger than expected. Shade recognized that Katherine’s ability allowed her to bridge the gap—though the elf-not-elf’s strength surged with defiance.

  …

  Katherine didn’t truly know how strong Sage was—Sage wasn’t a fighter, but a healer, or at least trying to be one. Yet, Katherine’s bond with Shade had revealed hints of Sage’s true nature—unusual strength and a healing touch that didn’t quite match any human she’d known. The term Lycari echoed in her mind, a legend she’d heard whispered about those who could shift into beasts. This uncertainty made every move feel loaded with risk and possibility.

  The connection Katherine shared with Shade was more than companionship; it was a subtle telepathic awareness that let her sense Shade’s intentions and feelings. Shade’s urgency made it clear he wanted to help Sage, but Katherine hesitated. If Sage truly was a Lycari—what in her world might be called a werewolf—then she had no idea how to help, nor how dangerous Sage might become. The stakes were higher than she’d anticipated, and the supernatural tension between them grew with each heartbeat.

  Katherine’s eyes flicked to her own stamina bar, which dipped lower as she activated her primal rage skill—a last resort to endure a fight that might drag on much longer than she wanted.

  “Stay back!” Katherine barked at Edwin, her voice rough and guttural, betraying her rising anxiety. She drove a punch into Sage’s nose, not out of malice, but necessity. The command worked—Edwin retreated, recognizing the danger.

  Katherine fought to keep her own instincts in check. Sage’s earlier attack on Shade had triggered the part of Katherine she tried desperately to suppress. She could have sacrificed her own health to heal Shade if needed, but she knew the real threat came not from the job itself, but from the discord within their group. Katherine sensed that Sage needed to submit, yet she hesitated—she didn’t want to hurt the healer more than she already had, feeling guilty for possibly breaking Sage’s nose. The line between defense and aggression blurred.

  “Submit!” Katherine shouted, pressing her forearm between herself and Sage’s newly transformed claws. The physical barrier mirrored the emotional one, both women fighting for control in different ways.

  Sage refused to back down. She lunged forward, attempting a headbutt, her snarls and growls filling the tense air, each sound a reminder of her animalistic side pushing through.

  Fine, I guess I’ll need to use it then. Katherine thought, preparing to unleash the presence she usually kept restrained. People who could sense such things reacted differently to her, and she knew Orin—her assessment proctor—had noticed her aura before and after she’d manipulated it. That power had marked her ever since the cult ritual that returned her to life in a body not her own. The moment called for something more, and Katherine braced herself to let her true nature show.

  Skill: Dual Presence is now active.

  Katherine drew in a deep breath, steadying herself. Her heart thudded against her chest, aware of the tension humming through their makeshift group. She consciously softened her stance, making sure her presence felt less threatening than what she’d just unleashed on Sage. She didn’t want the others to see her as dangerous, not unless she had no choice.

  Yet beneath her careful restraint, an unmistakable edge lingered. Katherine could feel it—her willingness to do whatever it took, even kill if forced. That intention flickered in her mind, cold and sharp. She hoped she wouldn’t have to cross that line. The subtle shift in the air didn’t escape Sage, or the tribe watching from a distance; their instincts pricked by the threat, they started to edge away, as if her aura had become a tide pushing them back.

  “Submit!” Katherine called out again, voice taut with urgency, hoping to reach through Sage’s frenzy. Her jaw clenched, frustration and worry warring inside her, remembering stories of how animals resolved dominance—how it always came down to a simple act of submission.

  Sage’s beast side wavered but refused to yield. Katherine’s mind raced, searching for what might break through. Her stamina was fading, muscles aching from the constant struggle. She flashed back to her childhood, watching dogs fight—how a bite, a pin, or bared teeth could force surrender. She’d already tried those: her teeth flashed, her hands—claws now—caught Sage’s eye by accident, her grip faltering as exhaustion crept in.

  Desperation clawed at Katherine, sharper than any physical blow. As Sage’s hand crashed across her face in a jagged diagonal, pain flared and half her vision blurred, blood trickling warm down her cheek—a mirror to Sage’s earlier wound. In that moment, Katherine’s resolve nearly crumbled. She grappled with the urge to protect herself, but beneath it, a deeper fear gnawed: what if she lost Sage for good? Acting on instinct as much as anguish, Katherine lunged, her mouth closing around Sage’s throat—deliberately gentle, not to hurt, but to make her need clear. Stop fighting me, please, Katherine pleaded inwardly, feeling the line between aggression and helplessness blur. Tell me what you need. I can’t help if you won’t let me in. The stakes pressed in from all sides—her pain, Sage’s pain, the threat of losing each other to violence or silence. Katherine’s desperation was no longer just a response; it was a cry for connection, for relief, for something to change before she broke entirely.

  The fight drained from Sage. She let out a thin whine, shoulders sagging. Katherine eased away, pulse still pounding, careful not to meet Sage’s eyes—she knew what shame looked like. “What do you need?” Katherine asked, pulling her own chaotic energy back, offering a hand to help Sage up. Her own mind whispered relief, and a growing concern for her companion’s well-being.

  Sage’s voice was barely more than a whimper, her posture shrinking in on itself—Katherine saw the image of a dog, tail tucked in fear. “My aetherblossoms,” Sage said, and Katherine felt a tug of empathy, wanting to protect her.

  Katherine knelt by Sage’s satchel, fingertips brushing the worn fabric. Her thoughts turned practical—if she could give Sage comfort, maybe she’d find her footing again. She pulled out the familiar jar, the one Sage always seemed to need. “Is this it?” she asked, gentle, hoping her care would reach Sage where words couldn’t.

  Sage nodded, clutching the jar with trembling hands. Katherine watched, her own breath slowing, as Sage inhaled deeply, drawing strength from the scent.

  The fight had left its mark on Sage’s body: she perched on her toes, nails thickened into claws, her eyes—once both red, now one lighter—flickered back to their normal shade. Katherine’s mind flickered with wonder at the transformation, and a hint of fear, imagining what it cost Sage to keep herself together.

  “Breathe,” Katherine murmured, squeezing Sage’s shoulders with steady hands. She wanted Sage to feel anchored, wanted her to know she wasn’t alone. For a moment, they just existed together, letting the tension unwind.

  When Sage finally closed the jar and set it aside, Katherine leaned in, her voice soft but insistent. “Can you translate for me?” The request was more than practical—it was an offering, a way for Sage to reclaim agency.

  Sage hesitated, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. “I think so,” she replied, voice tight. Katherine glimpsed her fear, the worry of what might be asked of her next. Katherine’s mind flashed with resolve—she would protect Sage if she could.

  Katherine gestured to the tribe member, clear and firm, inviting them to approach. For a brief, silent moment, she realized the Lycari had moved even farther away, their caution a testament to the simmering threat she’d brought to the surface. Katherine wondered if she’d ever truly escape her own capacity for violence, or if it was simply another tool—one she’d wield only if it meant saving those she cared about.