The wind howled through the broken crenellations of Svarog’s Perch, carrying the scent of pine and something acrid – horse sweat, and too many men. Runa had just finished showing Jonas the loose flagstone in the outer wall, a potential escape route for a small party, when the blare of a hunting horn sliced through the afternoon calm. It was a courtly, arrogant sound, utterly out of place in the wild desolation of the citadel. Jonas stiffened, his hand going to the hilt of his longsword. “That’s no envoy,” he muttered, his gaze sweeping the winding approach road. “That’s… Gintaras.” Even as he spoke, a troop of riders, cloaked in the azure and silver livery of the Grand Duke, rounded the final bend. Their armor gleamed, not with the practical wear of border guards, but the polished arrogance of court retainers. At their head rode Gintaras, resplendent in a fur-trimmed jerkin, his identical features twisted into a sneer of impatience. Volkov, the gaunt court magician, sat hunched beside him on a scrawny pony, his eyes darting like trapped birds. “He’s not waiting for the Blood Moon,” Runa murmured, resting her fingertips against the cold wall. “He’s here to finish it himself.” The gates, left ajar by Asta for Jonas’s patrol, were quickly overrun. The Duke’s personal guard, hardened men who looked more like thugs than soldiers, fanned out, their heavy boots crunching on the loose gravel of the main yard. Gintaras dismounted with a flourish, his eyes, so like Alvydas’s yet devoid of warmth, sweeping the desolate grounds. “Where is he?” Gintaras’s voice, a colder echo of his brother’s, cut through the yard. “Where is the… *problem*?” Jonas stepped forward, attempting to bar Gintaras’s path. “My lord, this is unexpected. You should not be here, it is not safe. The… the beast is—” Gintaras shoved past him with contemptuous ease. “Safe? You’ve been here for weeks, Knight-Captain, and the ‘beast’ still breathes. Perhaps your hunting skills are not as sharp as your reputation suggests.” His gaze landed on Runa, who had instinctively moved to stand beside Jonas. A slow, predatory smile spread across Gintaras’s face. “And what have we here? The monster’s little pet.” Before Runa could respond, Gintaras gestured to two of his men, hulking figures with scarred faces. “Seize her. She clearly knows where the… *thing* hides.” The guards moved with brutal efficiency, advancing on Runa, their hands outstretched. Jonas drew his sword, a flash of steel, but Gintaras’s personal elite, anticipating the move, had him surrounded in an instant, blades at his throat. “Don’t be foolish, Captain,” Gintaras purred, enjoying the scene. “A hero’s death is so cliché.” Runa backed away, her eyes darting for an escape, but the men had her cornered against a crumbling stone pillar. She gripped the small, silver-handled dagger she always kept hidden in her boot, its cold weight a meager comfort against the approaching menace. The first guard reached for her, a sneer on his lips. Just as his calloused fingers brushed her arm, a roar, not of human fury but of raw, untamed power, ripped through the air. It vibrated through the very stones of the yard, shaking the dust from the battlements above. The sound was primal, a challenge that promised ruin. From the keep’s main entrance, which had stood dark and silent, a colossal form burst forth. It was the beast, towering and shaggy, its pelt bristling, its red eyes glowing with an infernal light. It moved with impossible speed, a blur of dark mass and snarling teeth. The guards surrounding Runa froze, their bravado evaporating in the face of the sudden, terrifying apparition. The brute paid them no mind, its gaze fixed solely on Runa. With a low, guttural growl that seemed to rumble from the very earth, it slammed its heavy frame between her and the approaching soldiers. It was an instinctive, protective gesture, a wall of muscle and tooth and claw, asserting an undeniable claim. The ground shook as the beast settled, its broad back to Runa, its horned head swiveling to face Gintaras’s men. Its fangs were bared, gleaming white and sharp, and a low, continuous snarl vibrated in its chest, a clear warning. No one would touch her. Gintaras, who had been watching with a triumphant smirk, now stood frozen, his jaw slack. His men, hardened as they were, recoiled, several stumbling back from the sheer ferocity of the display. Volkov, the magician, let out a choked gasp, clutching at his chest. “Impossible,” Gintaras finally managed, his voice barely a rasp. “It’s a mindless animal. It shouldn’t… it shouldn’t care!” The creature, ignoring the shouts and the clatter of weapons, kept its stance, its body a living shield. Runa, pressed against the rough fur of its flank, felt heat radiating from its muscle. She looked up at its heavy brow, at the intelligent, possessive fury in its eyes, and the truth settled in her throat. It wasn’t just protecting her; it was defending *its* human, the one it recognized, the one who called its name. Gintaras recovered, his face twisting into a mask of pure rage. “Kill it! Kill the beast! And kill her if she gets in the way!” The order galvanized his men. Swords were drawn, crossbows raised. But the creature didn’t wait. With another earth-shattering roar, it launched itself forward, a whirlwind of muscle and primal force, into the ranks of the stunned soldiers. Its claws, long and razor-sharp, swept through the air, sending men sprawling. Its head, a battering ram of bone and teeth, snapped at exposed limbs. It fought with a terrifying efficiency, not like a bumbling animal, but like a creature born to war, driven by a singular, fierce purpose. It moved with a brutal elegance, each strike deliberate, each roar a declaration of its intent. The yard erupted into chaos – the clang of steel, the screams of men, the guttural snarls of the beast. Gintaras watched, horrified, as his elite guard, the men he trusted most, were scattered like autumn leaves. He saw the beast knock a man clear across the yard with a swipe of its paw, then turn, its gaze still finding Runa, a momentary reassurance in its burning eyes before it plunged back into the fray. This wasn’t just a mindless brute. This was something that defied all logic, all curse, all control. It was Alvydas fighting for her. As the creature tore through his brother’s forces, Gintaras understood that his twin’s mind was not as shattered as he had believed, and that the con artist held an unyielding sway over the very thing he had sought to destroy.

The Beast's Defense