The stronghold was a considerable distance from their current position, guarded by several werewolves. Alan calculated that even at a full sprint, the journey would take at least two or three hours. If Fenrir had reacted quickly enough, that was more than enough time for an evacuation. Furthermore, Alan's own condition was deteriorating; the mental strain of Legilimency combined with physical exhaustion meant he wasn't fit for another major engagement without rest.
He decided to recover his strength before resuming the hunt. Looking down at the captive werewolf, and following his principle of never letting resources go to waste, Alan retrieved his kits. He collected vials of blood, tufts of hair, and saliva samples before ending the creature's life with a precise Sectumsempra. There were other survivors to track; there was no sense in leaving such a high-risk threat breathing.
Kiki watched from the shadows as Alan performed his clinical extractions and then coldly executed the beast. It would be a lie to say she wasn't terrified; her new master clearly lacked the "kindness" usually associated with heroics.
Alan tidied his equipment and walked over to her. Seeing the elf standing rigid, her spindly limbs trembling, he asked with a flicker of confusion, "What's wrong? Are you cold?"
"No, Kiki is not cold, Master! Please, drink your soup." Kiki jumped at his voice, her hands shaking so much that she spilled a splash of the broth. "I'm sorry, Master! I'm sorry! Kiki was wrong!" She frantically rubbed at her rags, paralyzed because Alan's earlier command had robbed her of her usual methods of self-punishment.
"Don't be nervous, Kiki. I'll serve myself. And you don't need to apologize to me anymore. You haven't done anything wrong, understand?" Alan took a bowl of the thick soup and tasted it. He looked at her with genuine surprise; the quality was excellent. "The mushrooms would be better with two more minutes of heat, but your seasoning is spot on."
"I'm sorr—sorry, Master! I'll be more careful!" Kiki didn't hear the praise; she only heard the critique of the mushrooms. She lowered her head, tears welling in her oversized eyes.
Alan shook his head. The elf was far too sensitive, jumping at every shadow. "Don't just stand there. You eat, too," he commanded.
"No! Kiki is not hungry! Kiki is not worthy to eat with a great wizard!" She shook her head in a panic, horrified by the perceived overstepping.
"Kiki," Alan said, his voice dropping into a stern, authoritative register. "There is no such thing as 'worthy' here. You are a free individual. Regardless of what you were taught, you don't need to be this reserved with me."
"Free? But my old master told Kiki she was a slave and a nothing..."
"If you say that again, I will get angry. I don't care how you perceive yourself, but I dislike being spoken to with such groveling subservience. Even if you have to fake it, you will stand up straight and speak clearly." He looked at her with growing annoyance. It seemed he would have to put this elf through a rigorous course of military-style discipline just to get her to stand properly.
"Yes, Master!" Kiki snapped her back straight, forcing herself to look him in the eye. It was an agonizing effort for her, a war against decades of ingrained humility.
Alan's expression relaxed. For someone who only understood orders, he would use the language of the squad. "Good. Listen to my command: Eat. Then sleep."
Under Alan's forced direction, Kiki ate a full meal and, for the first time in her life, slept in a warm bed with a quilt and a mattress. It felt like a fever dream. To her, Alan was a paradox—ruthless and clinical when dealing with monsters, yet strangely protective of a "humble" elf. With that confusing thought, she finally drifted off.
When she woke, the forest was still swathed in darkness. Alan was already standing by the tent, fully armed and alert. Beside her bed lay a brand-new set of marching clothes and sturdy shoes.
"Put these on. I've altered them with a Shrinking Charm. The pattern will make you harder to spot in the brush. We need to reach the stronghold before dawn," Alan said firmly.
"Master... don't you want Kiki anymore?" Kiki scrambled out of bed, staring at the clothes with horror. "When masters give clothes, we are cast out! Kiki finally found a new master!"
"I am only going to say this once: stop crying. You are naturally free. If you wish to work for me, you follow my orders. I will pay you for your labor. Now, if you keep dawdling, you can stay here and cry in the woods by yourself." Alan had finally figured out how to motivate her.
Kiki immediately stifled her sobs and began fumbling with the clothes. She was terrified of being abandoned. After donning the camouflage combat uniform, she looked surprisingly capable. Despite her vocal protests about the "disgrace" of clothing, she couldn't stop surreptitiously smoothing the fabric and checking her reflection in the water bucket.
Alan ignored the internal conflict. He packed the gear with practiced speed, hoisted Kiki up, and mounted his broom. They shot into the air, banking toward the hidden hollow. It was three in the morning—the hour when the Forbidden Forest was at its quietest. He intended to use the darkness to catch the pack in their beds. Even if Fenrir had ordered a migration, Alan would find their tracks before the morning dew could wash them away.
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