Rita slipped away from the Cave of Falcon just as the forest light softened into a green-gold hush. The swamp lay deeper within Thundarr Forest, a quiet basin where ancient waters gathered beneath tangled roots and hanging moss. Among the soilmen of old, the place was whispered about as a natural wellspring, its mineral-rich waters believed to renew skin and calm the spirit. Rita knew the truth behind the legends. The swamp carried a subtle current of natural energy, not magic exactly, but something older, something that resonated gently with her body as the Shecon.
She waded into the water slowly, letting the cool swamp wash over her legs, then her waist, then her shoulders. The surface rippled with soft rings as she moved, the water reflecting leaves and sky in broken patterns. She closed her eyes and breathed, letting the tension of recent battles melt away. For a moment, there was only the forest, the water, and her own steady heartbeat.
What Rita did not let show on her face was that she was not alone.
She had sensed Faro long before she reached the swamp. His presence had followed her from the cave, careful but unmistakable, a familiar energy moving through the undergrowth. She smiled inwardly. He was trying to be discreet, but the forest always spoke to her first. From behind a curtain of broad leaves and twisted vines, Faro watched, unaware that his cover had already been gently uncovered.
Rita splashed the water playfully, letting droplets run down her arms, exaggerating her movements just enough to sell the illusion of vulnerability. Then the swamp stirred.
The water behind her bulged unnaturally, reeds snapping aside as something massive forced its way forward. A low, wet growl rolled through the trees. The Dreadmurk rose from the swamp like a nightmare given flesh, its moss-covered body dripping with sludge, its glowing eyes burning through the mist. Its claws broke the surface with a violent splash.
Rita gasped loudly and stumbled forward, her heart pounding in deliberate rhythm. She turned just enough for Faro to see the fear on her face, fear carefully crafted and perfectly convincing. Inside, she was calm. She knew every weak joint, every balance flaw in the creature’s hulking frame. With her Shecon strength and skill, she could have ended the fight in seconds.
But she didn’t move to strike.
She remembered Ronda, screaming as the red serpent coiled and lunged days earlier. She remembered Faro stepping forward without hesitation, the power ring blazing as he saved Ronda from death. Rita had watched that moment from afar, unseen, and something quiet had stirred in her chest. Not jealousy, not weakness, but a simple, human desire.
She wanted that too.
So she ran.
Water exploded around her as she splashed forward, the Dreadmurk roaring behind her, its heavy steps shaking the swamp. Rita cried out, her voice carrying just enough desperation to cut through Faro’s restraint. That was all it took.
The bushes burst apart as Faro emerged, his expression shifting from shock to resolve in an instant. The orange falcon symbol flared to life on his chest as he stepped between Rita and the monster, power gathering around him like heat before a storm.
The battle unfolded exactly as Rita knew it would, but seeing it up close made it no less breathtaking.
Faro planted his feet in the sucking mud as the Dreadmurk surged forward, water exploding around its legs. The creature’s roar shook the hanging vines, its claws slashing through the air where Faro’s head had been a heartbeat earlier. Faro twisted aside on instinct, feeling the wind of the strike brush his shoulder as his boots slid through the swamp. He barely had time to breathe before the monster came again, faster than its bulk should have allowed, its moss-covered body rolling forward like a living wall.
Faro raised his ring hand and fired. A tight beam of orange energy ripped through the mist and struck the Dreadmurk square in the chest, lighting the swamp in a sudden blaze. The creature staggered back with a howl, steam rising from its cracked, bark-like hide, but it did not fall. It never did. Instead, it slammed its claws into the water and charged again, rage burning in its glowing eyes.
Rita watched from behind him, her breath held, her body tense with the effort of not stepping in. She could see Faro adapting in real time, learning the monster’s rhythm, turning fear into focus. He ducked under a sweeping arm, rolled through the water, came up on one knee, and fired again, this time aiming low. The blast tore into the Dreadmurk’s leg, staggering it just enough for Faro to close the distance.
They collided in a spray of mud and water. The Dreadmurk’s claws locked around Faro’s shoulders, lifting him partially off the ground as it tried to crush him. Faro gritted his teeth, muscles screaming, the orange glow intensifying around his hands and chest. The falcon symbol flared brighter, heat radiating through his body as the ring answered his will.
With a raw shout, Faro pushed back.
Power surged through him, not as a beam this time, but as pure force. He broke the creature’s grip, drove his hands under its massive torso, and straightened. The swamp groaned as Faro lifted the Dreadmurk higher and higher, water cascading from its body in sheets. The monster thrashed, claws scraping at empty air, but Faro held firm, legs trembling, every muscle drawn tight as steel cables.
For a moment, time seemed to pause.
Then Faro roared and heaved upward with everything he had left. The Dreadmurk’s advance shattered completely as its massive body tipped backward, its balance broken, its dominance undone. It crashed down into the swamp with a thunderous splash, the shockwave rippling outward until it struck the tree roots and vanished into the distance.
Silence followed.
The mist drifted back into place. Leaves settled. The water calmed to slow, widening rings. Faro stood there, chest rising and falling, mud and water clinging to him, the falcon symbol fading gradually as the surge of power ebbed. Across the swamp, the Dreadmurk lay stunned and retreating into the depths, its presence dissolving back into the shadows it had come from.
Only the sound of breathing remained. Faro’s. Rita’s.
And in that quiet aftermath, Rita knew she had made the right choice.
Rita hurried to him as the danger passed. She wrapped her arms around Faro, pressing close, her relief entirely real now. She looked up at him, eyes warm, proud, grateful. Before he could speak, she rose onto her toes and kissed his forehead softly.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice low and sincere. “My hero.”
Faro flushed, caught somewhere between embarrassment and joy.
Rita smiled and took his hand. “Come,” she said, tugging gently. “You’ve earned a proper meal.”
She turned toward the deeper forest, toward the hidden entrance of her Shecon cave. “Your favorite,” she added, glancing back at him with a knowing look.
Together, they left the swamp behind, the water settling once more into quiet stillness, as if the Dreadmurk had never existed at all.
The Dinner
As the fire settled into a steady glow, Rita moved through the Shecon cave with practiced ease, the stone walls holding warmth from the day and the scent of forest herbs clinging to the air. She cooked without haste, stirring and tasting, occasionally glancing back at Faro with a knowing smile as he watched from his chair, content and quietly amazed. The cave felt different now, softened by laughter and the simple rhythm of a shared evening. When she finally brought the pan to the table, steam rising in gentle curls, Rita offered Faro the first taste, studying his reaction with playful seriousness until his grin told her everything she needed to know.
They ate together as night settled fully over Thundarr Forest, the sounds outside shifting to crickets, distant water, and the hush of leaves moving in moonlight. Conversation came easily, drifting from the battle to small stories, memories, and unspoken understandings that needed no words. The firelight painted their faces in gold and shadow, and for a while the world beyond the cave felt far away, as if even the forest itself was standing guard to protect the quiet moment they shared.
Later, with mugs warm in their hands and the fire reduced to glowing embers, they sat together near the cave’s mouth, watching the moon hang above the trees. Rita leaned back, satisfied, her earlier performance in the swamp now just a private smile between them. She had let Faro be the hero, not because she needed saving, but because sometimes strength also meant choosing when to step aside. As the night deepened, the tale of the Dreadmurk ended not with a roar or a clash, but with peace, warmth, and the steady comfort of two figures resting safely within the forest that knew them both.