Pholos Ironside's Arc

Chapter 1 of 3

Pholos Ironside knelt in the ash of the longhouse where his clan had died. He had come to kill the beast that killed them. But he could not name it. The scar over his right eye still ached when he tried to remember its face. On the night of the attack, blood had filled that eye. He had swung his axe at a shape he never truly saw. Now he had a hunter's goal and no prey to track. The fire had left little behind. Charred beams sagged over the doorway. The smoke smell still clung to the timber after all these months. Pholos moved through the wreckage on careful hooves. He searched the floor for anything the beast had dropped. He found it under a fallen roof plank. A black fang, longer than his hand, snapped off at the tip. Its edges were worn smooth. The surface caught the gray light with a dark shine. Pholos lifted it and felt its weight. This tooth had torn into his people. But the fang alone told him nothing. Dozens of beasts grew fangs. He needed to know which one. A small clicking sound made him turn. Near the hollow oak by the ruins, a tiny creature crawled along the bark. It looked like a dragon shrunk to the size of his thumb. Its wings shimmered with a hundred colors. Its body wore stripes of red, green, and gold. The little thing froze when Pholos stepped closer. He almost ignored it. Then he saw what it carried. Stuck between its front claws was a black scale, the same dark shine as the fang. The creature had scavenged it from somewhere near. Pholos held the fang out flat on his palm. The tiny dragon crept forward. It sniffed the broken tooth. Then it lifted into the air, wings buzzing, and darted toward the tree line. Ten feet out, it stopped and hovered. It looked back at him. He understood. The creature knew the scent. It could lead him to the beast that wore these teeth and scales. Pholos stood and gripped his great axe. His heart beat hard against his ribs. For months he had chased a shadow with no shape. Now something living would show him the trail. He tucked the broken fang into his belt and followed the flash of bright wings into the woods. But the little dragon flew fast, and it did not fly toward safety. It led him deeper, toward the dark heart of the trees, where the light thinned and the trunks grew close. Pholos followed anyway. He finally had a path to his enemy. He did not yet know it led straight into the beast's own ground.