Something on the other side answered.
Alastor felt it before he saw anything change.
The presence pushed against his magic with a force that wasn’t hostile but wasn’t obedient either.
It had understood the danger he’d shown it, and now it wanted through.
The broken wagon settled harder against his transformed shoulders.
Zestial saw the strain reach his face.
“Al, stop.”
“I already asked.”
“Then take it back.”
“I don’t think I can.”
“You haven’t tried.”
Alastor reached for the connection again.
The presence met him halfway.
His magic tore open.
There wasn’t a better description for it.
Transformations normally moved inward, changing muscle, bone, and instinct within the limits of his body.
This moved outward.
Something pulled at him from beyond his collection of monster impressions and forced space to make room.
The air inside the tunnel bent.
A red line appeared between the trapped survivors and the approaching shadow.
It widened slowly, spilling pale light across the stone.
The uninjured charcoal burner dragged the boy closer.
“What’s happening?”
Alastor couldn’t answer him.
His Arzuros arms trembled beneath the wagon.
The transformation demanded magic, and whatever he’d invited into Earth-land demanded far more.
“Z.”
“I’m here.”
“I’m going to lose the arms.”
Zestial looked toward the wreckage, the trapped survivors, and the widening light inside the tunnel.
“Macao, we need the weight off him now.”
“I noticed.”
Macao slid down the marked section of the slope.
He stopped before reaching Alastor and examined the angle of the wagon.
“Erza, rope around the rear axle.
Don’t pull until Zestial gives the word.”
Erza moved immediately.
She secured a rope around a tree on the stable side of the road, crossed it through a metal ring from Zestial’s field kit, and brought the free end to the wagon.
Scout bounded down beside her.
“I’ll reach the people through the opening,” he told Zestial.
“The child’s bleeding, and the trapped man may be losing circulation.”
Zestial nodded.
“Go.
Stay away from whatever’s coming.”
Erza looked toward him.
“What did Scout say?”
“He’s going inside to assess the survivors.”
“I’ll make the opening larger.”
“Not until we know which beams are carrying the road.”
Erza’s hand tightened around her sword, but she nodded.
Scout slipped through the narrow gap beneath the wagon.
The light inside the tunnel became a vertical tear.
A claw stepped through.
It was small compared with the monsters Alastor had faced in the mindscape, but it was far too large to belong to an ordinary lizard.
Three dark talons pressed into the stone.
Red scales followed, then a narrow foreleg and the leading edge of a folded wing.
The creature forced its head through the opening.
A hard beak curved over its mouth.
Dark markings surrounded blue eyes that moved rapidly across the tunnel.
Small spikes lined the crown of its head, and its red scales remained lighter than those of a fully grown wyvern.
Alastor recognized it.
Rathalos.
Young.
Far younger than any Rathalos he’d expected to face in the arena, but unmistakable.
Zestial stared through the gap.
“You summoned a Rathalos.”
“Looks that way.”
“It’s a juvenile.”
“I can see that.”
“You don’t have a Rathalos form.”
“I know.”
“You haven’t even fought one.”
“I know, Z.”
The young Rathalos pulled the rest of its body through.
It was roughly the size of a large pony, though its wings and tail made it appear larger inside the cramped tunnel.
Its head turned toward the survivors.
The boy whimpered.
The Rathalos went still.
Alastor felt the creature’s attention pass through the bond between them.
It sensed the child’s fear, the injured adults, the unstable stone, and the threat coming through the dark.
Then it looked toward Alastor.
There weren’t words between them.
There was only recognition and a clear question.
This?
Alastor tightened his claws around the wagon frame.
“Protect them.”
The Rathalos couldn’t understand Fioran.
It still understood what he wanted.
The wyvern turned away and placed itself between the survivors and the tunnel.
The approaching creature struck the ground hard enough to shake dust from the ceiling.
Scout reached the boy and knelt beside him.
“You’re safe,” he said in Felyne.
The child heard reassuring meows.
Scout pointed toward the wound on the boy’s forehead, then toward the small medical pouch attached to his armor.
“Safe,” he repeated in rough Fioran.
The boy stared at him.
Scout touched his own chest.
“Scout.”
Then he pointed at the boy.
The child swallowed.
“Tomas.”
Scout nodded.
“Tomas.
Safe.”
The Rathalos spread its wings as far as the tunnel allowed.
A growl rolled through its chest.
The darkness answered.
The creature emerged slowly enough for Alastor to see its shape.
It resembled a salamander stretched to monstrous proportions.
Its pale body scraped both sides of the tunnel, and stone-like growths covered its back.
Its front limbs ended in broad digging claws.
A round mouth opened beneath a blunt head, revealing rings of short teeth.
It had probably lived beneath the road long before the wagon collapsed.
Now blood, noise, and exposed territory had drawn it closer.
The burrowing beast lunged.
The Rathalos snapped its wings closed and jumped aside.
Teeth scraped across its shoulder scales rather than closing around its neck.
It struck back immediately.
One talon raked across the salamander’s snout.
The larger creature recoiled and slammed its digging claw into the Rathalos’s chest.
The juvenile wyvern hit the tunnel wall.
Alastor’s magic surged in response.
The wagon frame cracked beneath his claws.
Zestial saw it.
“Don’t pull.”
Alastor looked toward him.
“Rook’s hurt.”
“Who?”
Alastor’s eyes returned to the tunnel.
The young Rathalos had regained its feet.
It placed itself in front of the survivors again despite blood running between its chest scales.
“I’ll explain later.”
“You named it already?”
“No.”
“You just called it something.”
“Z.”
Zestial took one breath and forced his attention back to the wreckage.
“Explain later.”
Macao reached the wagon.
“Can you hold it for ten more seconds?”
“Probably.”
“That isn’t reassuring.”
“You asked.”
Macao placed both hands beneath the damaged frame.
Purple fire spread around his forearms, casting strange light across the mud without igniting the wood.
He braced himself.
“On Zestial’s count.”
Zestial studied the exposed supports.
One beam held the wagon’s front weight.
A second prevented the road above from collapsing.
A third had already split and was doing nothing except trapping the injured man beneath it.
He pointed.
“Erza, when I say pull, take the wagon two feet toward the road.
No farther.”
“Understood.”
“Macao, lift the rear corner enough to clear that crossbeam.”
“Got it.”
“Al, you’re going to lower your side.”
Alastor looked at him.
“That puts it toward the opening.”
“Only until Erza’s rope takes the weight.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“Then Macao catches it.”
Macao glanced at Zestial.
“I do?”
“Yes.”
“Good to know.”
Zestial crouched beside the broken support.
“Scout!”
Scout looked toward him from inside the tunnel.
Zestial pointed at the beam trapping the man, then made a cutting motion.
Scout hurried over and examined it.
“It isn’t only the beam,” he said in Felyne.
“His coat’s caught beneath the stone.”
“Cut the coat first.”
Scout drew his small knife.
Erza couldn’t understand the exchange, but she saw Scout begin cutting and adjusted her grip on the rope.
The salamander attacked again.
This time, the young Rathalos didn’t evade.
It caught the creature’s head between its foreclaws and drove its beak into one of the rocky growths protecting its neck.
The salamander twisted violently, throwing the wyvern into the wall again.
The Rathalos released a sharp cry.
Alastor’s Arzuros transformation wavered.
“Al,” Zestial warned.
“I’m holding it.”
“You’re watching the fight.”
“I can do both.”
“No, you can’t.
That’s why you called him.”
Alastor looked at his brother.
Zestial’s hands were steady against the broken support, but his voice had sharpened.
“Trust him to do what you asked.”
The words struck harder than the tremor beneath them.
Alastor looked back into the tunnel.
The Rathalos had risen again.
It wasn’t asking for rescue.
It was buying time.
Alastor forced his attention onto the wagon.
“Tell me when.”
Scout cut through the trapped man’s coat and pulled the fabric clear.
He checked the man’s leg, then looked toward Zestial.
“His leg isn’t beneath the beam.
The ankle’s caught between two stones.”
Zestial translated the useful portion for the others.
“He isn’t pinned by the beam.
His ankle’s trapped beside it.”
Erza shifted her stance.
“Can Scout free him?”
Scout examined the stones.
“I’ll need the pressure removed.”
“He can once we move the wagon,” Zestial answered.
The salamander opened its mouth and lunged toward the survivors.
The Rathalos moved across its path.
A burst of fire escaped the juvenile wyvern’s jaws.
It wasn’t the enormous fireball an adult Rathalos could produce.
The flame traveled only a few feet before breaking apart, but it struck the salamander’s face and forced it backward.
Smoke gathered near the tunnel ceiling.
The Rathalos coughed.
Alastor almost smiled.
The little beast looked offended that its fire hadn’t been larger.
“Now!” Zestial shouted.
Erza pulled.
The rope snapped tight.
Macao lifted the rear corner of the wagon with purple fire rolling around his arms.
The wagon shifted toward the road.
Wood screamed against stone.
For one moment, nothing else moved.
Then the rope took the weight.
“Hold!” Zestial called.
Erza planted both feet and leaned back.
The rope cut into her gloves.
Macao’s boots slid through the mud.
Alastor released the wagon and dismissed the Arzuros transformation.
His arms returned to human shape.
Pain followed immediately.
His shoulders felt as though he’d held the entire road rather than one part of a wagon.
His magic dropped lower when the transformation vanished, but the open connection to the Rathalos continued pulling at him.
Zestial saw him sway.
“Sit down.”
“No.”
“You’re nearly empty.”
“Not yet.”
“Al.”
“He’s still inside.”
The salamander rammed the Rathalos into the wall.
The juvenile’s wing bent at an ugly angle.
Alastor moved toward the gap.
Zestial caught his sleeve.
“You can’t fit.”
“Great Jaggi can.”
“And the tunnel’s already unstable.”
“I’m not leaving him.”
“You’re not leaving anyone.” Zestial pointed toward the trapped survivors.
“Help me get them out first.”
Alastor’s jaw tightened.
The Rathalos cried out again.
Zestial didn’t release his sleeve.
“You called him to protect them.
Finish what you asked him to protect.”
Alastor looked at the child.
Tomas had both arms wrapped around Scout.
The Palico was attempting to inspect the wound on his head while remaining inside the boy’s grip.
The second man struggled to pull the trapped worker free.
Alastor crouched at the opening.
“What do you need?”
Scout answered immediately.
“The stones around his ankle need to be separated.
The larger one can roll, but not while he’s between them.”
Alastor translated.
Zestial removed two narrow metal wedges from his field box and passed them through the opening.
Scout placed the first.
The uninjured man placed the second under Zestial’s direction.
“Strike them together,” Zestial said.
The man looked around.
“With what?”
Alastor reached through the opening.
“Kulu.”
His right hand changed.
The fingers lengthened, and the nails hardened into dark gripping claws.
He caught a loose stone lying beside the broken beam.
Zestial’s head snapped toward him.
“One hand.”
“I know.”
“No other form.”
“I know.”
Alastor passed the stone to the man.
“Hit both wedges.
Alternate sides.”
The man struck the first.
Then the second.
The stones shifted apart by less than an inch.
Scout pulled at the trapped worker’s boot.
The man screamed.
“Again,” Zestial said.
The salamander’s tail struck the Rathalos and sent it sliding toward the survivors.
The juvenile dug its talons into the stone before it reached them.
It looked toward Alastor.
Pain moved through their connection.
So did anger.
The anger wasn’t directed at Alastor.
The Rathalos wanted permission to stop holding back.
Alastor didn’t know what that meant from something so young.
He answered anyway.
Protect them.
The Rathalos turned.
The salamander charged.
Instead of meeting it head-on, the young wyvern waited until the final moment and jumped.
Its wings struck the ceiling, preventing true flight, but the movement carried it over the salamander’s head.
It landed on the creature’s back.
Both hind talons drove between the rocky growths along its spine.
The salamander thrashed.
The Rathalos held on.
Its tail whipped sideways, striking the tunnel wall and then the creature’s neck.
Once.
Twice.
The third impact broke one of the stone growths.
The man struck the wedges again.
The trapped worker’s ankle came free.
Scout shoved him toward the opening.
“Move!”
The man understood the urgency if not the word.
Alastor reached through and caught his forearm.
Macao released one hand from the wagon long enough to seize the man’s coat.
Together, they dragged him onto the slope.
“Next!” Zestial called.
The uninjured charcoal burner pushed Tomas toward Scout.
The boy refused to release the Palico.
Scout flattened his ears.
“This is inconvenient.”
“You wanted to help him,” Alastor said.
“I still require the use of my legs.”
“Work it out.”
Scout looked offended.
Alastor reached through and lifted both of them.
Tomas clung to Scout with one arm and caught Alastor’s shirt with the other.
Alastor pulled them through the opening and passed the boy toward Zestial.
Zestial caught him awkwardly.
Erza remained anchored to the rope.
“Is he badly injured?”
“Head wound.
He’s conscious.”
“Bring him here.”
Zestial carried Tomas across the marked section and placed him behind Erza on stable ground.
Scout remained attached to the boy.
“Scout,” Zestial called.
The Palico looked back.
“Stay with him.”
Scout nodded.
“I’ll keep him awake.”
Erza heard several meows.
“What does he need?”
“Keep Tomas talking,” Zestial said.
“Scout’s checking for signs of a head injury.”
Erza adjusted her grip on the rope.
“Tomas, look at me.”
The boy did.
“My name is Erza Scarlet.
You’re going to remain awake until we return to the guild.”
Tomas stared at her armor.
Then nodded quickly.
Inside the tunnel, the salamander rolled.
The Rathalos lost its grip and struck the ground beneath it.
The creature’s jaws closed around the edge of one wing.
The juvenile screamed.
Alastor’s Kulu hand changed before he made the decision.
Great Jaggi muscle began forming up his arm.
Zestial caught his wrist.
“No.”
“It has him.”
“The last man’s still inside.”
Alastor looked through the opening.
The uninjured charcoal burner stood between the wreckage and the fighting monsters.
He couldn’t pass without crossing directly behind the salamander.
Macao’s voice came strained from beneath the wagon.
“We’re running out of time.”
The frame shifted.
Erza’s rope creaked.
Zestial looked at the final survivor.
Then at the tunnel wall.
Then at the salamander.
“Al, can you make it turn?”
“Yes.”
“Without entering?”
Alastor studied the gap.
“Yes.”
He dismissed the incomplete Great Jaggi change before it spread farther.
Then he drew upon the Nargacuga impression.
His eyes changed.
The tunnel sharpened.
He saw the salamander’s muscles shifting beneath its pale skin.
Its jaw tightened around the Rathalos’s wing.
Its forelimbs braced to pull backward.
Three breaths.
That was all he had permission to use.
Alastor found a loose stone and threw it.
The rock struck the salamander’s damaged neck.
Its head jerked toward the opening.
Alastor met its eyes.
The Nargacuga impression rose inside him, recognizing another predator and demanding that he answer the challenge with speed and blood.
Alastor smiled instead.
“Come get me.”
The salamander released the Rathalos.
It charged the opening.
The last charcoal burner pressed himself against the wall.
“Down!” Zestial shouted.
The man dropped.
The salamander passed over him.
Alastor dismissed the Nargacuga eyes on the third breath.
The world dulled.
The charging creature didn’t.
“Move!” Macao shouted.
Alastor threw himself aside.
The salamander struck the wagon from beneath.
The remaining supports broke.
Erza pulled with both hands.
Macao lifted.
The wagon rolled toward the road as the slope collapsed beneath it.
Zestial caught the last charcoal burner’s arm when he lunged through the widening gap.
Alastor seized Zestial around the waist before both of them could slide into the depression.
The wagon crossed onto stable ground and overturned.
Crates shattered.
The road collapsed behind it.
Mud and broken timber poured into the exposed tunnel.
The salamander clawed its way upward through the falling debris.
Alastor dragged Zestial and the survivor clear.
Macao climbed after them.
Erza released the rope and drew both swords.
The salamander emerged from the depression with blood across its face and one stone growth broken from its neck.
Alastor stepped in front of Zestial.
He didn’t have the magic for a large transformation.
He had enough for the forms he knew.
The salamander lunged.
Alastor shifted into Great Jaggi legs and moved.
He crossed beneath the creature’s head, dismissed the legs, and brought out an Arzuros arm before his next step ended.
His fist struck the damaged side of its neck.
The creature reeled toward Erza.
She met it with the flat of one blade against its jaw and the second beneath its forelimb.
She redirected its weight rather than trying to stop it directly.
The salamander crashed onto its side.
Macao’s purple fire spread across the ground in front of its face.
The beast recoiled from the unfamiliar magic.
“Back into the hole,” Macao said.
“It lives there,” Alastor answered.
“Then it knows the way.”
Alastor changed his arm back before the Arzuros instinct could settle.
His body protested the quick exchange.
Pain ran from his shoulder into his spine, but it remained manageable.
The creature turned toward Erza.
She raised both swords.
A cry came from the broken road.
The young Rathalos climbed from the depression.
One wing dragged through the mud.
Blood marked its chest and shoulder, but its eyes remained fixed on the salamander.
The larger creature saw it.
The Rathalos spread its good wing and released a sharp challenge.
Alastor felt the intent travel through their connection.
Not prey.
Not helpless.
Mine to protect.
The salamander charged.
So did the Rathalos.
Alastor moved with it.
The juvenile struck the salamander’s head from one side.
Alastor used Great Jaggi legs to reach the other, dismissed them, and drove a Kulu-hardened fist into the broken growth along its neck.
The salamander twisted toward him.
Erza’s sword struck its forelimb with enough force to buckle the joint.
Macao’s purple fire flared in front of its eyes.
The Rathalos jumped onto its back again.
This time, Alastor understood what it intended.
“Erza, left!”
She moved without asking why.
Alastor struck the salamander’s damaged neck.
It turned away from the blow and exposed its right side.
The Rathalos drove both hind talons into the wounded section.
The salamander convulsed.
Its legs gave out beneath it.
The Rathalos released it and jumped clear before the body struck the ground.
For several seconds, no one moved.
The salamander breathed.
Alive.
Unconscious.
Macao extinguished his flames.
“Good,” he said.
“The request didn’t include killing the local wildlife.”
Alastor’s transformations receded.
His knees almost followed.
Zestial caught his arm.
“Sit.”
“I’m fine.”
“You summoned a Rathalos, changed forms repeatedly, held up a wagon, and nearly fell into a collapsing tunnel.”
“When you list it like that, it sounds tiring.”
“You’re shaking.”
Alastor looked down.
His hands were trembling.
He sat.
The young Rathalos remained beside the unconscious salamander.
Its head lowered.
The tail stopped moving.
Alastor felt the connection between them weaken.
“No.”
Zestial knelt beside him.
“What?”
“He’s fading.”
The Rathalos’s outline shimmered.
Alastor felt the same distant threshold from which the creature had emerged.
His magic had opened a passage, but now it was trying to close.
The young wyvern looked toward him.
Its injured wing dragged through the mud.
It had answered a call from someone it didn’t know, protected people it had never met, and fought a creature larger than itself because Alastor had asked.
Sending it back felt wrong.
Not because Alastor needed its power.
Because it had chosen to come.
Alastor reached through the connection again.
The effort hurt.
Zestial felt his magic move.
“Al, what’re you doing?”
“Keeping the door open.”
“You can barely sit upright.”
“If it closes now, he goes back.”
“Maybe that’s where he belongs.”
Alastor looked at the Rathalos.
The juvenile watched him without moving toward the fading threshold.
“He doesn’t want to.”
Zestial studied the creature.
The Rathalos’s attention shifted to him.
It didn’t growl.
It waited.
Zestial looked at the injured wing, the blood along its scales, and the trapped survivors now resting beside the road.
Then he looked at Alastor.
“This isn’t a transformation.”
“No.”
“It won’t become part of your forms.”
“No.”
“If you keep him here, he’ll be alive here.
Injuries, hunger, growth, everything.”
“I know.”
“You can’t treat him like something you summon whenever you need help.”
“I know.”
“You don’t know how large he’ll become.”
Alastor glanced at the young Rathalos.
“He’s gonna get huge.”
“That wasn’t the point.”
“I know.”
The shimmering around the Rathalos grew stronger.
Alastor’s vision darkened at the edges.
Zestial closed his eyes.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then he placed one hand over Alastor’s wrist.
His Requip magic stirred.
It couldn’t summon the Rathalos for him.
It couldn’t pay the cost or take control of the connection.
It could recognize a door.
Zestial’s magic settled around the edges of Alastor’s, reinforcing the shape long enough for Alastor to finish what he’d begun.
Their magic resisted each other first.
The contact sent a sharp pulse through both brothers.
Then the two powers shifted.
Alastor held the connection.
Zestial stabilized its boundary.
The young Rathalos stepped forward.
The fading light passed over its body from head to tail.
Its outline solidified.
Weight settled into the mud beneath its claws.
The connection changed.
It no longer felt like an open door drawing magic from Alastor.
It felt like a line between two living beings standing in the same world.
The Rathalos remained.
Alastor’s strength disappeared all at once.
He tipped sideways.
Zestial caught him badly, and both brothers landed in the mud.
Erza hurried toward them.
“What happened?”
“He made the summon permanent,” Zestial said.
Erza looked at the Rathalos.
“You can do that?”
Alastor opened one eye.
“Apparently.”
“That wasn’t permission to speak,” Zestial said.
“You didn’t ask me a question.”
“I wasn’t speaking to you.”
Scout approached with Tomas still following close behind him.
The Palico stopped several feet from the Rathalos.
They studied each other.
Scout spoke first.
“You protected the child.”
The Rathalos heard only a Palico’s voice, but something in the tone crossed the distance.
It lowered its head.
Scout nodded once.
“Good.”
Erza looked at Zestial.
“What did Scout say?”
“He approves.”
Scout glanced at him.
“That translation was acceptable.”
Zestial looked mildly surprised.
Macao approached the unconscious salamander and checked that it continued breathing.
“We’ll need to report that.”
“The tunnel beast?” Erza asked.
Macao looked toward the Rathalos.
“All of it.”
The young wyvern limped toward Alastor.
Zestial started to move between them.
Alastor caught his sleeve.
“Wait.”
The Rathalos stopped in front of him.
Up close, the juvenile’s head was nearly as large as Alastor’s chest.
Its beak could’ve broken bone.
Its talons had already cut stone.
It lowered itself carefully.
Alastor lifted one hand and placed it against the scales between its eyes.
The Rathalos released a low sound.
Not a growl.
Not quite a purr.
The connection between them carried exhaustion, pain, pride, and the stubborn certainty that it had done what it came to do.
Alastor looked at the place where it had stood between the trapped child and the tunnel beast.
It had held its ground like a wall.
Like a tower planted in the path of anything trying to pass.
“A rook,” Alastor murmured.
Zestial looked at him.
“What?”
“He needs a name.”
“You’ve known him for less than an hour.”
“He’s been busy.”
The Rathalos opened one blue eye.
Alastor tapped the scales beneath his palm.
“Rook.”
The juvenile considered the sound through their bond.
Then it pressed its head into Alastor’s hand hard enough to push him backward into Zestial.
Zestial caught him.
“That appears to be agreement.”
Alastor smiled.
“Rook it is.”
Tomas stepped closer.
Erza moved to stop him, but Scout touched her boot and shook his head.
She didn’t understand his quiet explanation, but she understood the gesture.
Tomas approached slowly.
Rook watched him.
The boy reached toward the young Rathalos’s snout, hesitated, then placed his fingers against the red scales.
Rook remained still.
“He saved us,” Tomas said.
Alastor looked at the juvenile wyvern.
Rook’s damaged wing rested in the mud.
His chest rose and fell unevenly.
He’d entered Earth-land less than an hour ago and already needed medical attention, food, shelter, and an explanation that none of them knew how to provide.
Alastor’s smile softened.
“Yeah,” he said.
“He did.”
Zestial examined Rook’s wing without touching it.
“We need Porlyusica.”
Macao looked at the ruined road, the destroyed medicine, the unconscious tunnel beast, the injured survivors, and the juvenile Rathalos sitting beside two exhausted brothers.
“We also need a working signal lacrima, a replacement wagon, and an explanation for Makarov.”
Alastor leaned against Rook’s shoulder.
“Makarov likes animals.”
Zestial stared at him.
“This is a Rathalos.”
“He’s young.”
“He’ll stop being young.”
“Not today.”
“That’s your argument?”
“It’s worked so far.”
Erza sheathed her swords.
“We should return to Magnolia immediately.”
Rook looked toward the south road.
Then toward Alastor.
The question passed through their connection without words.
Where now?
Alastor pushed himself upright with one hand against Rook’s shoulder.
His legs shook, but he remained standing.
“Home,” he said.