Chapter 135: Bonus - 1 - Thalanir and Renkai

While Maelin and her friends discovered fire within stone halls and laughter in stolen nights, the Fog Forest grew darker with each passing day. The mists clung to the ground like a living thing, hiding tracks, swallowing voices. Only the rustle of unseen creatures betrayed how alive the woods were.

Renkai pulled his cloak tighter, eyes narrowed against the damp air. His steps were heavy but purposeful. Beside him, Thalanir moved with a strange calm, his gait measured, almost graceful, though his gaze never softened.

At first, their time together was marked by silence. They were both strong in their own way—Thalanir with his patient wisdom and quiet presence, Renkai with his storming heart and unyielding will. But weeks in the fog had changed that. Silence had turned into remarks. Remarks into arguments. And arguments into a sharp, constant rivalry.

"Do you even know where you’re leading us?" Renkai snapped one evening as Thalanir veered off the faint trail, deeper into a grove where shadows stretched tall.

Thalanir didn’t flinch. "I know enough to keep us alive. Which is more than I can say for your headlong rushing."

Renkai scowled, his hand tightening around the hilt of his blade. "Alive isn’t enough. When Lira comes of age, she won’t be looking for someone who ’keeps alive.’ She’ll need someone who can protect, someone who can fight."

There it was again—her name. Always circling between them like a flame neither wanted to release.

Thalanir’s expression shifted, his calm cracking into a rare intensity. "Lira needs more than blades and pride. She needs steadiness. Roots. Someone who sees her for more than fire and beauty."

The words hung heavy, sinking into the fog. Both men stood still, breathing hard, eyes locked like predators sizing each other up.

At last, Renkai turned away with a scoff. "Keep telling yourself that. When she chooses, it will be clear who she trusts."

Thalanir didn’t answer. But in his heart, he too was certain: she would come to him. Not out of glory, not out of pride, but because he could offer what no one else could—calm in her storm.

That night they made camp by the roots of an ancient oak. The fire they lit hissed in the dampness, and every flicker seemed to mirror their unease. Renkai sat sharpening his blade with slow, deliberate strokes. Thalanir sat opposite, his eyes closed in meditation, though his ears stayed sharp to every sound.

And the forest... it pressed closer.

For the Fog Forest was no quiet place. Shapes moved in the mist. Eyes glimmered between the trees. And though both men would never admit it aloud, they were grateful for each other’s presence—even if their hearts warred for the same woman.

The fog was thicker than ever that morning, curling low and gray, swallowing the path. The dampness made Renkai restless—he hated walking blind, hated the feeling that something unseen was always at their heels. Thalanir, in contrast, seemed at home in the silence, moving lightly, pausing often, listening to the forest as if it whispered secrets only to him.

It was Thalanir who first raised a hand, halting them. His head tilted, eyes narrowing into the white haze. "Hear that?"

Renkai tightened his grip on his sword. "I hear nothing."

"Exactly." Thalanir’s voice was calm, but the quiet weight in it made Renkai’s stomach twist. "The birds stopped. The forest doesn’t fall silent unless something’s stalking."

They barely had time to ready themselves before the mist broke apart with a guttural snarl. Out from the gray rushed a beast twice their size, its body long and sinewed like a wolf but scaled in patches, eyes glowing faint amber. The fog-beast, one of the predators the academy’s scrolls only whispered of.

Renkai leapt forward with a curse, blade flashing. He met the beast head-on, sparks flying as steel scraped against scales. The creature roared, swinging its claw and sending him stumbling back.

Thalanir moved in from the side, his strikes precise, measured, not seeking glory but weakness. His spear slid into softer flesh at the beast’s joint, making it stagger.

They moved like opposites—Renkai reckless flame, Thalanir patient earth. And yet, somehow, they meshed. Renkai’s raw force drove the beast into Thalanir’s waiting blows; Thalanir’s calmness gave space for Renkai’s fury.

Still, the battle wasn’t clean. The fog distorted distance, hid sudden lunges. Renkai’s cheek was torn open by a claw he didn’t see. Thalanir’s arm burned where the beast’s scaled hide scraped raw.

It was only when Renkai roared and shoved his blade into the beast’s throat, while Thalanir thrust his spear through its heart, that the creature collapsed, rattling the ground.

For a long moment, only their breathing filled the mist.

Renkai yanked his blade free, blood spattering across his arm. He grinned, though his teeth were red. "See? That’s what Lira will need—strength enough to kill what others fear."

Thalanir cleaned his spear with slow movements, his eyes never leaving Renkai. "And she’ll need someone who doesn’t waste his blood for pride."

Their words cut as sharply as blades. But beneath them, something unspoken lingered—respect, however reluctant.

They sat against the corpse for a while, the fog curling around them once more. Neither admitted it aloud, but in that hunt, they had saved each other more than once.

Even in rivalry, a bond was forming. A dangerous one.

The Fog Forest stretched endlessly, swallowing trees and paths alike. Days bled into nights, the only markers of time the sound of insects and the damp cold that clung to their skin.

Renkai hacked at branches with his blade, impatience clear in every swing. "We’ve circled again. I can smell it. We’re lost."

Thalanir, behind him, moved at an unhurried pace. "The forest bends paths with the fog. If you rush, you only walk in tighter circles."

Renkai spun on him, jaw tight. "You think your calm voice will get us through? Lira would freeze in a place like this—she’d need someone who could cut the way forward."

"And she’d also need someone who doesn’t blind himself swinging wildly." Thalanir’s voice never rose, but his eyes sharpened. "Do you want her to admire your scars, or to survive with you alive?"

The words struck deeper than Renkai expected. He opened his mouth to retort when a sound rolled through the fog—a deep, droning hum that made the ground vibrate. Both men stiffened.

They crept forward, cautious now. Through the mist loomed an ancient tree, wider than a hall, its bark glowing faintly with veins of blue light. The source of the hum. But it wasn’t the tree alone that caught their eyes—it was what fed at its roots.

A swarm of fog-beasts, smaller than the one they had slain before, but dozens of them. Their scaled hides shifted in and out of sight, their bodies blending with the mist until they were nearly invisible.

Renkai’s grip tightened on his sword. "We can’t fight all of those."

Thalanir crouched, studying. "No. But we can lead them away. The tree hums—it feeds them. If we cut its roots, maybe they scatter."

Renkai’s jaw clenched. He hated stealth, hated patience. But something in Thalanir’s certainty made him nod. "Fine. But if they see us, we fight until we drop."

They moved as shadows, crawling closer. The hum sank into their bones, making every movement heavy. Thalanir’s spear cut carefully at glowing roots while Renkai kept watch. For a heartbeat, it seemed to work—the fog-beasts twitched, restless.

Then one lifted its head, eyes gleaming in the mist. A snarl ripped through the silence.

The swarm turned.

Renkai cursed and leapt forward, blade flashing. Thalanir joined him, striking with precision. They fought back to back, every movement desperate, the air filled with snarls and the ring of steel.

It was chaos—Renkai bleeding from a dozen shallow cuts, Thalanir limping from a gash in his leg. Yet together, they carved a path, until finally the severed root at the base of the tree let out a blinding pulse of blue light.

The beasts shrieked and dissolved into fog, their bodies unraveling as though they had never been.

Silence fell again.

Both men collapsed against the glowing bark, chests heaving. For a long time, they said nothing, just breathing the heavy mist.

At last, Renkai laughed hoarsely. "If she had seen us, she would’ve chosen me. No hesitation."

Thalanir smirked faintly, though his face was pale from blood loss. "No. She would’ve seen a fool bleeding for pride and a man who kept his head. And she’d know where safety lies."

The rivalry burned hotter in their words, but so did something else: a bond forged by battle. Neither would admit it, but in this cursed forest, they needed each other.

The fog had thinned only slightly after their fight near the glowing tree. The ground was damp and roots tangled their path. Renkai stumbled over one and cursed loudly, his sword clattering against his armor.

Thalanir, limping but steady, raised an eyebrow. "Careful. The forest eats loud men first."

Renkai shot him a glare. "And leaves the boring ones behind to bore it to death, right?"

A smirk tugged at Thalanir’s lips. "If that’s what it takes to survive, I’ll happily bore the forest."

They pushed deeper until the trees widened into a clearing. Strange stone carvings lay half-buried in moss, their shapes twisted like coiled serpents. Mist crawled over them as if alive.

Renkai touched one with his boot. "Creepy. Bet they were worshipping something ugly."

Thalanir’s gaze lingered. "Not ugly. Powerful. Look at the markings—these are dragon sigils. Old ones."

Renkai snorted. "You see dragons in everything. I see rocks and mold. And wasted time."

Before Thalanir could answer, a shriek tore through the clearing. From the mist rose a beast like a wolf, but twice as tall, its body a mass of shifting shadows. Two more followed, circling.

"See? Loud men first," Thalanir said calmly, raising his spear.

Renkai grinned despite the danger, sword flashing. "Finally, something that listens to me."

The beasts lunged.

Renkai charged recklessly, cutting wide arcs, while Thalanir moved with precision, his spear darting like lightning. They fought differently—Renkai all fire and chaos, Thalanir all control and patience—but together they managed to keep the beasts at bay.

When the last one dissolved into smoke, both were panting, blades slick with dark mist.

Renkai leaned on his sword. "If Lira had seen me cut that one down, she’d forget your name."

Thalanir sat on a fallen stone, smirking. "If she saw how you swing, she’d call you a lumberjack, not a warrior."

Renkai barked a laugh, despite himself. "Better a lumberjack than a stiff priest praying to mossy rocks."

Thalanir tilted his head, voice dry. "Moss listens better than you do."

Renkai rolled his eyes and flopped onto the damp ground. "If I die here, tell her I was tall, handsome, and brave."

"I’ll tell her you were loud, reckless, and tripped on every root."

For a heartbeat, silence hung, then both men laughed—rough, tired, but genuine.

The forest pressed heavy around them, but in that moment, their rivalry had edges of something else: respect. Neither would admit it, but both knew they could not survive without the other.