The twilight air was tinged with the crispness of impending night as Theory unfurled his cot with a mechanical efficiency, his movements betraying neither fatigue nor emotion. The day had been long, the journey arduous, and fraught with silent tension. 

Theory didn’t bother taking the first watch, nor did he seek to extend the tenuous thread of camaraderie between himself and Niro. Clearly, trust was a luxury Theory could not afford — especially with Niro. Instead, he decided to go to bed immediately after their camp was set. 

Childish? Maybe. Did he care? Not in the slightest. 

            As he lay down, the rustling sounds of Niro moving about the camp prickled at Theory’s senses. He tried to shut out the distractions, to ignore the mutterings and shuffling that emanated from the other side of their small encampment. 

What the hell did he know, anyway? 

The thought lingered unbidden in his mind, an irritating whisper against the backdrop of his exhaustion.

            What right did Niro have to cast judgment when he wasn’t there? No one was there and yet all fingers had pointed to Theory. So easily they had cast him out. 

            He wasn’t the bad guy…but who would listen to a Carrier?

            He closed his eyes, attempting to barricade his thoughts against the flood of memories threatening to surge forth. There were moments, fragments of the past, that he fought to keep submerged, but memories, like water, have a way of seeping through the cracks. 

Tearing his thoughts away from his past that had spent more than enough time plaguing his dreams and waking reality, he shifted to the mission at hand. By the time they reached the village, his heat would soon be upon him. A day or two after their arrival? Somehow he’d have to find a reasonable excuse to stay there until it passed. Even so, they had to ride quick, a delay could put Theory in a precarious predicament.

            Last thing he wanted was to be mounted by Niro.

He shifted on his cot, the coarse fabric scratching against his skin, a physical reminder of his discomfort with the situation. The thought of needing, even inadvertently, to rely on Niro for this mission was a bitter pill to swallow. The intricate dance of their instinctual distaste for each other, woven through with grudging respect and a relentless undercurrent of tension, was complex enough without the added complication of his impending heat. 

The night deepened, and the sounds of the wilderness enveloped their camp. Theory’s mind, despite his efforts, wandered back to Niro. He found himself pondering what Niro’s reaction might be when faced with Theory’s vulnerability. Would he see it as an opportunity to gain an upper hand, or would he, contrary to Theory’s expectations, prove to be an unforeseen ally?

Unlikely, that last one.

The rustle of leaves, the distant call of a night bird, the soft crackle of their dying fire — all these night sounds coalesced into a lullaby that slowly seduced Theory into a restless sleep. In that shadowy realm between wakefulness and dreams, Theory found himself hoping, against all reason and past grievances, for the latter outcome.

Theory's sleep, shallow and restless, was abruptly shattered by an instinctual surge of adrenaline. A soldier's trained response to the unspoken whisper of danger. Heart pounding, he lay still for a fraction of a tick, senses straining in the dark. The campfire had dwindled to a few embers, casting ghostly shadows across the clearing.

As soon as Theory's eyes snapped open, the serene blanket of sleep was violently torn away by the increasing instinctual sensation of peril. His body tensed, every nerve ending firing a warning. He scanned the campsite, his gaze cutting through the darkness. 

His eyes landed on Niro, who was slouched against a tree at the edge of their makeshift camp, his features relaxed in sleep. For a brief, incensed moment, Theory felt a flare of anger. The flicker of irritation at Niro's negligence died as soon as it sparked. Theory's attention was riveted on something far more urgent – the sinister glow of eyes peeking from the brush behind Niro. 

His body reacted with an urgency that preceded conscious thought, time seeming to slow as Theory’s training kicked in. His hand moved instinctively towards the daggers he kept by his side. In a fluid, silent motion, he had his daggers drawn and was crouching protectively over a still-oblivious Niro.

The glowing eyes, unblinking and focused, belonged to something lurking in the shadows, something menacing and feral. The creature, had crept dangerously close, its presence a silent threat in the night.

With a swift, lethal grace, Theory's blade arced through the air, slashing across the throat of the creature that had been creeping up behind Niro – a Kelpie, its form shimmering with a dark, malignant energy. The creature's blood sprayed in a ghastly arc, staining him with its cursed ichor.

The Kelpie, though fatally wounded, let out a guttural snarl, its body convulsing as it tried to lash out in its final throes. Theory, with an unwavering focus, delivered the final blow.

The sharp, agonized screams of the dying Kelpie reverberated through the stillness of the night, but Niro remained eerily unmoved, his eyes closed, seemingly unaffected by the chaos around him.

The immediate threat neutralized, Theory's breaths came out in harsh pants, his heart racing with the adrenaline of the fight.

For a long moment, he remained frozen in this tableau, the night sounds gradually returning as if acknowledging the return of peace. Theory finally sheathed his daggers, his movements deliberate, eyes never leaving Niro’s sleeping form. 

Theory's heart hammered in his chest; the Kelpie’s death cries were sure to attract other, possibly more dangerous predators. They needed to leave, and quickly.

Rushing over, Theory shook Niro's shoulders vigorously, trying to rouse him, but Niro remained limp, unresponsive. A spike of annoyance shot through Theory. He quickly checked for injuries, his hands moving over Niro’s body with urgent precision. Relieved to find no wounds, he noticed Niro’s chest rising and falling rhythmically. He was alive, but inexplicably unconscious.

Seriously? He chooses now to take a nap?

That’s when Theory saw it – the amulet around Niro's neck was glowing, pulsating with a strange, hypnotic rhythm. It emanated a power that seemed both enticing and dangerous. Theory remembered Niro's secretive, almost protective behavior regarding the amulet, not to mention the odd conversations he had with it in the stables. There was something incredibly odd about it, no doubt the cause of his comatose state.

Acting on impulse, Theory reached out and yanked the amulet off. The moment his fingers brushed against the glowing artifact, a wave of uncontrollable rage crashed over him. His head was filled with a garbled, malicious mantra: "Kill. Kill. Kill." The words echoed, a siren's call to violence, seductive and horrifying.

Theory’s breath was cut short, he found himself gasping for air, his throat constricted under the vice-like grip of Niro’s hand. Niro’s eyes, ablaze with a supernatural glow echoed the ominous luminescence of the amulet’s sinister gleam. The shift was jarring –from inert to lethal in an instant.

"Don't touch it again," Niro hissed, the words a low, monstrous growl. Or was it, "Never again"? Or simply, "Don't"? The exact words were lost in the fog of Theory's oxygen-deprived brain, but the message was crystal clear.

Niro released his grip, and Theory stumbled back, coughing and clutching his throat, the amulet dropping from his numb fingers. He looked at Niro, struggling to comprehend the situation. Niro himself seemed to shake off the effects of whatever power the amulet wielded, but his expression remained a mask of fierce aggression.

The tension between them thickened, charged with yet another layer of friction and misunderstanding. 

Theory pushed Niro away with a burst of strength fueled by adrenaline and anger. "You're welcome for saving your fucking life!" he spat out.

When Niro simply blinked at him, not giving a response, Theory’s eyes narrowed, voice cold. "You fell asleep during your watch."

"I wasn’t asleep," Niro retorted, his voice steady, eyes still holding remnants of that otherworldly glow.

"Yes, you fucking were!" Theory's voice rose, his frustration boiling over.

"I wasn’t asleep," Niro repeated firmly, his gaze unwavering.

"Then explain this!" Theory gestured to himself, his clothes stained with the dark, still-wet blood of the Kelpie, and then to the dead creature lying grotesquely nearby.