The fight with the Knolls was not hard, but his losing control clawed at him. He had been running through the fight over and over. Sleep finally came.

  Dane lay stretched across warm sand, the waves rolling in with a steady hush. Rebecca was there, sunbathing with her hair caught in the breeze, her laughter light as sea spray. Amelia sat nearby with a clay cup of something cool, children darting between them, their shrieks bright with joy.

  Peace. Pure, unbroken peace. His son came up to him and hugged him. He held the embrace for a long moment. A tear came to his eye, not one of sadness, but one of happiness, as he finally had everything he wanted. He tussled his son's blonde hair and told him to go and play with his sister.

  "I'm gonna show her how to make the biggest sandcastle!" The little boy exclaimed with joy.

  "You're a good dad," Amelia said and handed him her drink.

  Dane took a deep drink. It slid cold and sweet down his throat, and he exhaled, long and relieved.

  Just as the peace of his dream was about to take him entirely, his skin flushed hot, sweat gathering at his brow. He wiped it away, and his hands trembled.

  Claws pushed through his fingertips.

  Rebecca sat up, startled. Amelia reached for him, but Dane stumbled back, shaking his head, his voice rough. "Stay away."

  The change rolled over him like a storm. His jaw cracked and lengthened, his muscles surged, and scales split across his arms. The Beastform came.

  "No," he begged, inside his own skull, clawing at himself as if he could peel it away. "Not here."

  His plea was drowned out in the roar that came from his own throat. He tried to move his hand to turn the other way, but the monster had complete control. All he could do was watch, helpless, as his own hands tore Rebecca's throat, as his claws cut through Amelia's chest. The children's laughter turned to screams and then silence. Blood and saltwater soaked the sand. The sky dimmed to black.

  Dane woke, thrashing, breath ragged, his skin slick with sweat despite the mountain cold. His chest rose and fell in hard, jerky jolts, his fingers curling into fists.

  He pushed himself to his feet and staggered into the snow. The cold bit into him like knives, but he welcomed it. He fell to his knees, scooping the snow into both hands, scrubbing it over his face and arms, as if he could scour away the dream. The heat in him hissed against the frost.

  "That's not me," he whispered into the empty dawn.

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  When the trembling dulled, he drew his dagger. The blade gleamed faintly in the rising light, and he set his feet in the familiar stance of the primal form he'd made. He struck forward, fast and wild, the movements meant to flow with instinct. It didn't feel right. His rhythm cracked, the form wavering.

  He froze, panting, the knives heavy in his hands. He couldn't keep walking the line like this, halfway between control and surrender. Rage and instinct had carried him this far, but they would drag him into the same nightmare he'd just escaped.

  Slowly, he adjusted. His strikes became measured, his steps deliberate. He bent the primal form, weaving in his temporal flow, patience, timing, and restraint. Not the storm, but the eye within it.

  By the time Zeph stirred awake, Dane was already deep into the form, his breath steady and calm like an undisturbed ocean, his blades so quiet that as he cut through the air, it sounded like a whisper.

  Zeph didn't jeer this time. He rose silently, amber eyes watching, and said only, "I'm ready."

  Dane lowered his dagger. The air between them was brittle, the kind that could shatter with a word.

  They met in the snow.

  The duel was brutal from the first clash, tooth against talon, wings slashing through the air, snow churned into red slush beneath their feet. Neither refusing to give up an inch. Zeph's speed hammered at Dane from every angle, but Dane pressed through, his footwork sharper, his timing more precise. Dane rolled to the right—the cold slush slamming into his back.

  It was hard to gain his footing, and he grabbed the ground with his left hand and tore at the muddy soil. Dane gripped the handle of his Megaladon's dagger tightly, and he lunged at Zeph.

  The Beastman vaulted to the side, his talons whistling through the air as they sliced through.

  Dane landed hard on his shoulder and rolled to his back. He had enough time to see Zeph's signature flying talon coming down on him.

  His breath hitched, and the Beast surged. His body lengthened, and scales rippled over his skin. Suddenly, his claws were buried in Zeph's throat. A single thrust more, and it would be done. He wanted nothing more than to rip out the bird's throat. No, he didn't want it; he needed it. To see a river of blood rush out. He salivated at the idea.

  But then the memory of his dream came to him, the blood, the screams. Rebecca's mouthing the words I trusted you, Amelia looking up at him in disbelief.

  He stopped. He wrestled the monster back, forcing the wings to dissolve and the scales to fade. His chest heaved. His hand trembled where it hovered above Zeph's throat.

  And then he pulled it away.

  He reached down. Offering Zeph his hand. For the first time, Zeph took it with his wing.

  They staggered apart, both broken and bloodied, but neither looking away. The air between them was different now, stripped of mockery and pride. It wasn't friendship, not yet. But there was respect.

  As they packed to leave, Zeph's voice cut through the quiet, low and rough. "The forest ahead," he said. "That's where I failed my rite."

  "I hated that a man like you was going to take the rite," Zeph said, refusing to meet Dane's eyes. "I wanted to leave the clan. I thought that I would make a false oath and leave the first chance I got. I didn't realize that you were an oathkeeper until I saw my status change on my character sheet."

  Dane glanced at him, but Zeph's eyes were fixed on the horizon.

  "The world-ender snake," Zeph continued. "It nearly killed me. It was supposed to be a test, but that monster doesn't know the meaning. It had venom that drained my mana. I couldn't even wound it. I passed out in its shadow, and when I woke, the elders had carried me back to the tribe."

  There was no arrogance in his tone now. Just a memory, bitter and sharp.

  "They coddled me, told me that it was alright, that Aurion's blood would carry me through. The next time I tried, the door wouldn't open in the Dragon's Den." His eyes were glassy.

  "Draka told me that the rite wasn't something everyone could do. That I am still a Beastman, and there were many paths to power. She unsealed my mana and gave up on me." He paused for a long time, regaining his composure.

  "Don't do it," he said, finally meeting Dane's gaze, "it won't let you walk away like it let me. Draka was the one who fought it off last time. I am not strong enough."

  Dane tightened his grip on the Megalodon dagger, snowflakes catching on the edge. His voice was steady. "Zeph, sometimes there is no way out except forward."

  Zeph gave him a regretful smile, and the two men walked away from the blood and snow and towards the forest serpent.