The road had changed.
It wasn't just the fog, nor the distant smoke.
It was the way the silence felt... wrong. Dense. Alive.
Elias and the dogs advanced cautiously. Grimm moved ahead now, ears stiff, muscles tense. Ash stayed close to Elias, sniffing the air with every step.
The sun, hidden behind heavy clouds, bathed everything in a pale gray, as if the world were trapped between a yesterday that never ended and a tomorrow that would never come.
That's when Elias saw them — footprints.
In the damp mud of the road, fresh tracks. Several.
Large boots, wide strides. And others, smaller, scattered, as if prisoners had been dragged along.
The cuts in the earth were still fresh. No more than an hour old.
Elias crouched down, studying the tracks.
"A convoy," he muttered. "But... forced."
Grimm growled. Ash whimpered softly.
Elias knew exactly what that meant.
These weren't just survivors.
It was capture. Trafficking. Slavery.
The new order some tried to build had its cracks.
And one of them was that, in the fringes of this broken world, monsters still made their own rules.
Without hesitation, Elias adjusted his rifle, patted Ash's head, and stood.
"We're following them."
The tracks led into a dead forest.
Dry branches cracked underfoot as they advanced.
The smell of smoke and sweat grew stronger.
Elias quickened his pace, heart steady, mind cold.
Someone needed saving.
And if no one else would do it... then he would.
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