Shining and opaque, water frozen in the movement of once-rushing falls decorate the front of the cave. Beyond, a fire had been smoldered, and tanned furs warmed the otherwise cold stone floors. The warmth would die the longer Noa stayed outside, but outings were always necessary for survival. Especially now in the frigid winter of Fox Mountain.

Snow crunched beneath his boots as he walked, his breath hot and humid behind the plump scarf he had wrapped around his neck and lower part of his face. Only a few chocolate strands of hair poke out from his thick hat, gleaming eyes of stone searching for his next meal.

Hunting wasn’t a quick endeavor. Neither for humans nor for the far more adept predators they fought against. Draconem had better hearing, better sight, better smell. But, up here, where the air tasted crisp after last night’s snow and the strong smell of evergreen overwhelmed those delicate senses, Noa still had a hard time tracking the creatures that traversed the night. It probably didn’t help that the scarf keeping his face warm dullened two of his three prominent senses.

Despite the crinkling snow beneath his feet, Noa didn’t fear scaring off potential dinner. Animals didn’t avoid branches because they made sounds. They didn’t bother to avoid rocks that would shift and give away their location. Doing so himself would only cause suspicion should he chance an attempt at silence, so he merely moved as the animals did.

He heard the elk before he saw them bedded down about halfway up the other side of the ravine. From that vantage point, they could easily hear anything coming from above, and the wind would carry the scent of anything from below. Noa’s eyes jumped about, fervently searching for a way over that wouldn’t involve him using the other advantages given to his kind by their gods. Those gifts…they were the reason so many of them were experimented on. Used until the humans discarded them as trash, unmarked graves that burned until nothing remained.

Noa still held out hope for his mother and sister. Part of him truly desired their deaths to be quick and painless, but the other, more selfish part wanted them alive in the torture cells drilled into the base of the mountain. How he’d retrieve them, he didn’t know. And it was only in those moments that his desire for their quiet passing outmaneuvered his desire for their torturous survival.

Bile climbed in his throat the longer he thought about it, and he returned his attention to the task at hand. Most of the elk were up and about, digging through the snow for any kind of vegetation to graze on. Others had found warmth with each other, laying down in small groups of two or three. A deep dropoff into another gorge kept an approach from the south out of the question. But the north was littered with thorned plants that were sure to alert the elk to his presence as they caught on the fabric of his clothes. A hiss escaped him at the conundrum.

Noa had an easy way to get to them. It was a way that would end in either his death or his prolonged, experimental torture.

Aggravated, Noa turned away from the herd and continued searching for food. There was no point scaring the herd off in an attempt that would only end in failure.

Midday came with no luck. Noa’s energy was running low, his eyes swollen and dry from the cold. He found a spot beneath the low-hanging boughs of a looming pine where sunlight warmed the snow-laden ground. Setting his pack on an exposed section of the forest floor, Noa fell to the ground with a soft thump and leaned back against the tree. He had a few pieces of dried squirrel with him that he stuck between his teeth. Enlarged and sharpened K-9s would have shredded the meat immediately—that’s what they were meant for—but Noa purposefully held himself back. He hadn’t gone out this morning for food because he needed it right away. He went out for food because a blizzard was on its way.

The last time he didn’t heed Mother Nature’s wrath, he’d nearly starved to death.

Just like the elk, Noa heard the heavy footfalls of humans before he saw them. It didn’t take long to track the ruckus they were making, though, and he soon found a line of them walking along one of the long-since abandoned trails. At their head, a short man with ashy-blonde hair, his hard-edged voice cutting through the serene quiet of the forest like a jagged knife.

“Come on. I’m shorter than almost all of you; I shouldn’t be this far ahead,” he snapped as he waited impatiently at the crest of the hill.

A few of his comrades slipped and fell, their guns digging into the snow.

The man spit to the side as a redhead joined him. They both looked down on the group, though one merely seemed inconvenienced, and the other—the redhead—watched with malicious poison steeped into his expression. The duo sent chills through Noa’s blood, freezing it solid and making him feel heavy.

Once the group made it, the blonde continued. “We will be walking this path three times a day for the next month.”

A timid voice spoke up, saying, “Does that include the next week?”

Their leader’s eyes hardened. “Why wouldn’t it?” he quietly seethed.

If Noa didn’t have his acute hearing, he probably wouldn’t have heard it. He kinda wished he hadn’t. There were few voices that hard and cold that didn’t belong to those with blood so thick on their hands it might as well be mud.

The man who voiced his concern flinched at the sound. “Well, Lieutenant—”

“Grimsby,” the man corrected harshly.

“Grimsby. There’s a blizzard coming in. I’m sure Matthews can show you some other paths, but this one will be three feet under by Tuesday.”

Grimsby cursed and looked at the redhead with aggravation. “You didn’t tell me about that,” he hissed under his breath.

The redhead held up his hands defensively. “I didn’t fucking know!” he snapped back, his voice just as quiet. “You didn’t exactly give us any time to settle in before you demanded to be given our charges.”

“Fuck,” Grimsby said, returning his gaze to the group under his command. “What’s your name, soldier?”

The man straightened up. “Adam Wheys, sir.”

“Alright then, Wheys. I want a detailed map of paths with similar terrains tomorrow morning. I’ll choose one closer to base for us to walk and speak with Major General Matthews about our next course of action.”

A woman stepped forward, her breath surprisingly even as she said, “Sir. May I inquire what relevance this all has to our training out here? We have many facilities available to use that can produce the same results as this—”

“Name,” Grimsby ordered.

“Natalia Sosa, sir.”

“Good question, Sosa,” Grimsby cooed as he walked back down the path to stand directly before her. “Why waste this time trudging up a mountain when there’s usable equipment?” He walked past her to one of the men who had slipped on the way up. “Soldier? May I?” he asked, pointing at the gun.

The man immediately handed it over. Snow had melted in his grasp, and now stray droplets fell from the pristine metal. Noa’s heart stopped. There wasn’t anything on this gods-forsaken planet he hated more than guns.

“Can you fire a wet gun?” he asked.

The group looked on as though he would continue, but Grimsby just waited for an answer.

“Yes, sir,” Natalia offered in her comrades’ stead. “There are steps to take to ensure it’s fireable, but—”

Grimsby raised the gun and pointed it at another woman who’d slipped. “Go on. Check your weapon, ensure it’s fireable, and fire on me before I pull the trigger.”

The woman startled, freezing as she stared down the barrel of the gun.

“Bang,” Grimsby shouted, making every one of his comrades stumble back. “You’re dead.” Handing the gun back to its original owner, he continued, “No gym or pool or training facility can replicate the conditions you will be fighting in. They may get close, but they won’t do it justice.

“This is proof of that one fact. I counted seven of you imbeciles who couldn’t even find proper footing while you walked. How well do you think you’ll fare if you have to run? In snow, through trees, over this rocky terrain? Huh?” Grimsby was met only by silence. “I was sent here to prepare you for what’s to come. Those scaly, slimy monsters aren’t going to meet you on grounds you know. They’ll come at you in the depths of terrains they don’t think you’re prepared for. They’re cunning, merciless. And if you don’t want to end up being scorched bones on this fucking mountain, you do as you’re told!”

The last words, shouted with absolute authority, had everyone standing at attention. “Yes, sir!” they all chanted in unison. It made Noa’s stomach roll.

When the first combative groups began settling in at the barracks, Noa hadn’t been too concerned about them finding him. They were clumsy and loud. Easy to predict. But this one. Grimsby. He was going to be a problem. Judging by his accent, he wasn’t from the Americas, so he was an outside hire.

Noa didn’t know much about the way humans operated. But he did know this; if someone was hired from outside the country, it meant they were skilled. It meant they were dangerous.

As soon as the group continued around the corner, Noa quietly gathered his belongings and backed away from the path. Grinding one of the stones between teeth at the back of his mouth, he blew into the spark and cast a thin veil of fiery warmth over his steps as he retreated, melting them just enough to make them seem like old tracks.

The thick underbrush welcomed him into its safe haven, and Noa covered ground as quickly and calmly as he could, managing to snag a rabbit before tucking himself into his warm cave. As he skinned and butchered the tiny creature, his mind vigorously ran through everything that had happened over and over and over again. Dread settled in Noa’s gut as only one conclusion arose.

Grimsby was dangerous, and that danger would rise the longer he commanded these addle-minded soldiers. Noa had never killed—he didn’t have it in him. But, to ensure his family’s safety, perhaps the time had come. A kill in necessity. He could live with that…right?

Growling low and silent, Noa shook his head in frustration. No, he couldn’t. Contrary to the belief of mankind, there were draconem that couldn’t—wouldn’t—kill.

Noa wasn’t a killer, and that wouldn’t change. Not now, not ever.