Chapter 378: Beneath the Snow, Beneath the Lie

Chapter 377: Beneath the Snow, Beneath the Lie

Dren’s lungs burned.

Not from the cold — he barely felt that anymore, especially since he grew up in Nirvana — but from the brutal, relentless pace his body had been forced to keep for the past several hours.

Snow clung to his boots, his pants were ripped nearly to the thigh on one side, and one sleeve of his jacket hung in useless tatters where a Mirelurker had nearly dragged him under. His knuckles were raw and split, blood already stiffening in the cold, and a dull ache throbbed through his ribs every time he drew a breath too deep.

And yet —

He was grinning.

Ten Mirelurkers.

They had done it.

Team Four stood scattered across the clearing behind him, exhausted shapes against the white forest, each member bearing their own marks of battle. One leaned heavily against a tree, clutching a bruised shoulder. Another sat in the snow, panting, a bandage already darkening through. No one had escaped untouched.

Not one of them.

Wesley, their examiner, stood at the edge of the clearing, arms folded, his sharp gaze scanning the bodies of the thick, slick-skinned beasts half-buried in churned snow and shattered ground. The disturbed earth told the story of the fight clearly — broken crust where Mirelurkers had erupted from beneath, deep furrows where bodies had been dragged, blood frozen in dark streaks across white.

"As much as I hate to admit it, you guys did good. You passed my test," he told them gruffly.

A collective groan and laugh rolled through the group.

Someone collapsed backward into the snow dramatically. Someone else swore weakly and flipped Wesley off, making him chuckle.

Dren exhaled hard, hands braced against his knees.

That had not been easy.

Mirelurkers were not easy.

They were thick-bodied and deceptively fast when lunging, their slick, mottled skin making them difficult to grip or wound cleanly. Slow once fully exposed — yes — but the real danger came in the first second: the sudden eruption beneath the snow, the violent pull, the crushing weight as they tried to drag prey below the frozen surface where panic and suffocation did the killing for them.

Two of Dren’s teammates had nearly been pulled under completely before the others managed to anchor them and force the beasts back out.

Even Dren himself had almost been lost to a Mirelurker. He could still feel the way the ground had collapsed beneath his boots during the third fight — the sickening drop, the sudden icy grip around his calf, the violent yank that had torn fabric and skin alike. He’d barely gotten free before a sword slammed into the Mirelurker’s flank.

They’d learned fast, and made sure to spread weight. They didn’t cluster and watched the snow for subtle shifts.

By the time they took down the tenth one, they were battered, shaking, and laughing in that slightly unhinged way that only comes from surviving something that absolutely should’ve killed you.

Dren was glad, though, especially given the fact that his teammates had all worked together. No one was hostile to the others. Everyone pulled their weight and worked together. Their leader was an archer, but he made sure to protect his teammates.

Dren straightened slowly, rolling his sore shoulders.

He couldn’t wait for the test to end.

Not because he wanted rest — although his body desperately wanted that too — but because he wanted to hear his friends’ stories. Who nearly got eaten. Who pulled off something insane. Who screwed up and barely survived it.

He especially wondered how Sophia and Joren were doing. They were on the same team with Holly, after all.

A faint smirk tugged at his lips.

Joren now technically had the right to brag that he and Sophia had been on the same team. Brother by proximity, if nothing else. Dren wasn’t about to let him enjoy that title uncontested, though.

He fully intended to keep competing for "favorite pain-in-the-ass honorary sibling."

Dren shook his head lightly, amusement warming him despite the cold.

His gaze drifted back toward Wesley.

The examiner’s eyes met his briefly, sharp and calculating as ever.

"You still have time for individual targets," Wesley said to the team. "If you’ve got the energy." 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

Dren flexed his fingers, ignoring the sting. "Already on it."

Because, of course, he was.

The team requirement was done — but personal scores still mattered.

And Dren wasn’t the type to settle.

---

He moved deeper into the forest alone, breath steadying as he found his rhythm again. Everyone had gone different ways now.

His muscles protested with every step, but pain was familiar. Almost comforting in its honesty.

He’d already taken down three Mirelurkers solo earlier — careful, clean kills after drawing them into exposed ground and forcing them to surface prematurely.

He had already learned from the ten they had taken down, so it was a bit easier for him to take them down alone. That meant he had about seventy-five points, and with the Bloodstag he had just gotten... he hoped he passed the test. He had a hundred points now.

The Bloodstag had been luck, though.

He hadn’t even been hunting it.

The massive beast had burst through a thicket unexpectedly, antlers slicing branches like knives, eyes wild as if running from something. Dren didn’t care, though; he had barely had time to react before instinct took over — dodging, striking when it overextended, driving his blade into the vulnerable hollow beneath its chest.

Thirty-five points of pure adrenaline and dumb timing.

He was currently dragging the Bloodstag’s heavy carcass back toward Wesley, muscles straining under its weight. Its antlers scraped softly against the snow, leaving thin lines behind.

His breath puffed in steady clouds as he hauled it to the point.

Thunk.

His boot caught on something solid beneath the snow.

The world lurched.

Dren barely had time to register the impact before his body pitched forward violently. The Bloodstag’s weight yanked his grip loose as he slammed face-first into the snow with a muffled grunt.

"Gods ti—!"

Cold packed into his mouth and collar as he groaned and pushed himself up onto his elbows.

His first thought was immediate: that it was a Mirelurker.

His pulse spiked as his eyes scanned the ground instinctively for shifting snow, for collapsing crust, for movement beneath.

But the earth was still.

Frowning, Dren brushed snow away from whatever he’d tripped over.

His fingers brushed fabric. And he froze. Fabric? he asked himself.

Slowly — carefully — he cleared more snow away.

A sleeve emerged.

It was dark cloth, and he frowned. This wasn’t something anyone in the pack would wear. The person wasn’t even dressed like the members of the pack dressed.

It wasn’t a trainee, though, for that he was glad.

Dren’s breath slowed, unease crawling up his spine.

He brushed more snow away.

A torso.

A chest.

The body lay partially buried, twisted unnaturally, stiff with cold.

The fabric was unfamiliar — layered, reinforced in places, decorated with threadwork he didn’t recognize. The colors were darker than Nightshade uniforms. The stitching more ornate.

Then he saw the sigil.

A serpent coiled around a crescent moon.

His hands shook as he cleared snow from the upper body.

The head was gone.

Gone completely.

The neck ended in a frozen, jagged ruin, stained dark and stiff with ice-crusted blood.

His throat tightened violently.

His gaze dropped further.

The skin that was visible beneath torn fabric was blue.

Claw marks raked across the back — deep gouges carved through cloth and flesh alike, brutal and savage.

His stomach rolled hard.

Dren barely had time to turn his head before bile surged up his throat.

He retched violently into the snow, body convulsing as panic and shock collided in his system. His eyes burned, breath ragged and uneven, hands trembling uncontrollably.

"What in the gods..." he whispered hoarsely.

This body wasn’t supposed to be here. It shouldn’t be here. This person was not from around here.

Dren immediately began running, letting his wolf take over as he ran toward Wesley. Dren had no idea what was going on, but he knew that he needed to let Wesley know. Wesley would know what to do after all.