Damien didn't linger.
The valley still carried the scent of battle—blood, burned flesh, fractured earth—and more importantly, it carried evidence. Even with Luton storing one of the demons and the others reduced to nothing, traces remained.
And demons were persistent.
If three trackers had found him once, more would come again.
He stood at the edge of the clearing, eyes scanning the dark forest.
"They won't wait long," he muttered.
Fenrir huffed softly.
Cerbe's flames dimmed slightly, settling into a low, simmering glow.
Luton bounced beside him, silent but attentive. Damien turned away from the valley. "Time to move."
They traveled fast.
Not recklessly.
Damien chose his route carefully, cutting across uneven terrain, moving through shallow streams, and occasionally doubling back—not enough to confuse a master tracker, but enough to delay lesser ones.
Aquila was summoned briefly, not to fly, but to scout.
