The sky was turning red—like the Big Painter in the Sky had used up all his red and blue, dashed it with yellow, then rolled around in it for good measure.

  Soft clouds carried the last of the sunshine into the evening.

  The first bold stars shone already, like cautious explorers checking if the paint still stained.

  Beneath that beautiful mess, three travel companions rode southward, toward the wise man at the bottom of the map.

  One was a Gorgon, unaware she rode beside a semi-god.

  One was a semi-god, unaware he was semi-anything, or that the woman next to him could turn you into a statue. Some days, his own name was already enough of a challenge. Reralt had a sound in it that required commitment.

  The third was a cat. Her only special mission: to pee on Mary’s blanket. Maybe puke, if the mood struck. She purred contentedly from atop the horse, watching Mary with every blink, calculating the most disrespectful moment to assert dominance.

  Also: she liked the fishy snacks Reralt fed her. They distracted from her brooding time, but it was a worthy trade-off.

  Mary felt vaguely uneasy. Narro had told her stories about nighttime with Reralt, which now replayed in her head like warnings she should’ve taken seriously. She wondered whether Reralt had ever shared a campfire with a woman before.

  Mary tried to sound casual.

  “Reralt, we should stop for the night.”

  Reralt looked at the sky, nodded, eyes bright.

  “I will hunt!” he beamed. “You coming?”

  The Void raised a paw, claws glinting. Yes.

  Mary forced a smile. “Maybe first we talk about… how we’re going to sleep.”

  “Naked next to the campfire,” Reralt said, like he was quoting the law of gravity. “Narro never told you?”

  Mary blinked. “…when there’s a lady present—”

  “Then wear Narro’s weird cloth thing. The pie-aim-a.”

  He adjusted his bow like this settled the matter.

  Mary closed her eyes, inhaled.

  “When morning came,” she announced firmly.

  Reralt frowned. “No, wait, I wanted to shoot a moose—”

  “When morning came!” she repeated, louder.

  The Void hissed in protest, claws scraping the dirt.

  ***

  When morning came, they were already on horseback.

  Reralt sulked at the sunrise.

  “I dislike you for this.”

  Mary exhaled, relieved. She had saved the world from two disasters at once:

  Reralt without pants, and Reralt with a bow.

  Mary sniffed the air, cringed a bit, then looked at the Void, her eyes to spleens.

  the Void licked her paw, looking at her the whole time.

  Mary wondered how she managed to pee on her blanket again.

  ***

  “There,” Mary pointed at a crossroads. “Only a few more hours and we are—”

  The three of them froze.

  From far off came a sound: high-pitched, shrill, desperate.

  “A pig?” Reralt guessed.

  “Or a boar,” he added, helpfully.

  He squinted. “Possibly a pig being murdered by a boar?”

  Mary shook her head. “That sounds like a little girl.”

  Her eyes narrowed toward the trees. “In distress.”

  The sound grew louder. Closer.

  Branches cracked. Bushes exploded.

  Narro burst onto the road, legs pumping, eyes wild.

  Behind him thundered a creature at least twice his size: wings snapping like sails in a storm, claws tearing furrows in the dirt.

  Its beak gleamed sharp enough to open a skull like an egg.

  Eyes like an eagle’s.

  Paws like a lion’s.

  And the hungry determination of someone who had skipped breakfast and wasn’t going to wait for lunch.

  “A Gryphon!” Reralt bellowed, leaping from his horse in a single glorious motion. Sword drawn, hair sparkling, he looked like the front cover of a book that would lie about its contents.

  “Isn’t it called a Griffin?” Mary asked, sliding off her saddle with what felt like glacial speed in comparison. By the time her boots touched dirt, Reralt had already sprinted halfway toward the beast.

  “Stop the nomenclature and kill the damned thing!” Narro howled, dodging a snapping beak that nearly clipped his ear.

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  Then—because he couldn’t help himself—he shouted: “And it’s a Griffon!”

  The creature screeched, feathers bristling, as he was raised old school anything else as Gryphon was just insulting.

  ***

  Reralt came up behind the beast — his favorite position, being the side without teeth.

  Sword raised high, he ran at a pace no sane man would attempt, yelling heroically all the way.

  “AAHHHHHH!”

  He brought the blade down with all the power his confused diet of wine, oil, and fish snacks could muster.

  The sword connected.

  With the tail.

  The tail dropped. The sword kept going.

  So did Reralt.

  Steel buried itself in dirt. Momentum buried Reralt right after it.

  The beast skidded to a halt, blinking at the sudden absence of its tail. Then it turned, slowly, murderously, to face the silver-haired lunatic now coughing up soil.

  One paw lashed out.

  Whump.

  Reralt became airborne.

  He sailed majestically over the crossroads, arms flailing like a scarecrow tossed by divine boredom.

  “I’m okay!” he shouted mid-flight. “The shrubbery looks non-thorny!”

  He gave Mary a thumbs-up just before vanishing into the bushes with a leafy whuff.

  The Beast stared.

  Mary stared.

  The Void sat down to clean her paw. She wasn’t impressed by any of them.

  Narro bent double, hands on his knees, lungs wheezing from two hundred meters of griffon-assisted cardio.

  Mary’s eyes stayed on the beast.

  “Did you find Syril?”

  “I’m okay, my dear, thank you for asking,” Narro wheezed, still gasping. “How are you?”

  “Syril,” Mary snapped, hair beginning to stir.

  Narro swallowed. He knew that tone.

  “I tracked them here. They’re no more than an hour ahead.”

  Mary bit her lip. “The cave. They’re at the cave.”

  Her voice was sharp now, urgent.

  “No time to waste.”

  “Don’t worry!” a voice called from the shrubbery.

  Reralt emerged, brushing off twigs, eyes darting left and right. He was looking for his sword.

  Unfortunately, what he found was the griffon — directly behind him.

  It loomed closer, eyes blazing, beak frothing with anticipation. A sound came from its throat: half laugh, half growl, all hunger.

  The creature’s head lowered, coming level with Reralt’s.

  Reralt did the only reasonable thing.

  He punched it.

  The griffon reeled, stunned, blood dripping from its now very crooked beak.

  With a roar, it reared onto its hind legs, knife-sized claws flashing in the air, painting its intentions in a color palette consisting mostly of red.

  Reralt grinned. His hand brushed something in the dirt.

  The hilt of his sword.

  “If I survive the next few seconds,” he whispered happily, “I’m getting your head.”

  The griffon shrieked.

  Reralt braced for impact.

  The griffon’s paw descended—slow, unstoppable.

  But something was wrong.

  At its talons, the color was fading. Grey.

  The greyness crawled upward, over feathers, muscles, wings—freezing the beast mid-motion.

  By the time the claw was inches from Reralt’s face, the whole creature had turned to stone.

  Reralt didn’t notice.

  With a lightning-fast head roll—half heroic, half drunk stumble—he snatched his sword from the dirt. Dust, leaves, and twigs clung to him like confetti.

  With all his might, he swung at the frozen monster.

  A heroic strike.

  A decisive blow.

  The griffon didn’t move.

  His sword, however, snapped clean in two.

  ***

  “Reralt, we go NOW!”

  Mary was already astride her snow-white horse, Narro clinging on behind her. She yanked Reralt’s reins toward him.

  He didn’t move. Just stared at the two broken halves of his sword. His throat thickened. His eyes glistened red.

  “Miss Hacky…?” he croaked. The name came out like a prayer. Or a curse. Or both.

  “Don’t worry, big guy,” Narro wheezed, patting his shoulder. “We’ll fix her later.”

  Mary rolled her eyes. “Men and their toys.”

  “Miss Hacky was family,” Reralt said solemnly, mounting up. He slid the broken pieces into his saddlebag with reverence. “She used to be an axe, you know.” with a dee inhale he looked in the distant, melancholy washed over him as a cold wave. “ Oh, the stories she could tell.”

  He spurred his horse forward, pointing an accusing finger at Mary.

  “We’ll have a chat about the kill-stealing.”

  Mary frowned. “It was an inch away from killing you.”

  “Agree to disagree,” Reralt muttered.

  A beat.

  “What’s that smell?” Narro asked, face twisting. “Did something pee on the saddle?”

  The Void licked her paw and looked very, very smug.

  ***

  Oh Hacky, thou axe, reborn as a blade,

  Through battles and banquets thy edge never stayed.

  Now shattered, abandoned, in twain thou dost lie—

  O cruel griffon! O gods! O why?!

  Once cleaver of dragons, once opener of pies,

  Thy steel sang in triumph, thy hilt told no lies.

  From axe into sword, from glory to rust,

  Now broken in dirt, returned unto dust.

  So hear me, O realm, let my weeping resound,

  Two halves in my saddle, yet whole in my heart bound.

  I’ll mourn thee forever, till vengeance is won—

  Miss Hacky, my darling, my daughter, my… one.