Ragnarök, Eternal Tragedy.
Chapter 61: The hunt isn’t over.

Chapter 61: The hunt isn’t over.

The aftermath of the battle was everywhere—shattered earth, snapped branches, and the lingering scent of burnt energy hanging thick in the air. Scyl guards moved quickly, their boots crunching against the wreckage as they scanned every inch of the destruction, searching for any signs of life.

Then, they found him.

Prince Erling lay sprawled across the dirt, his crystal armor cracked and dull. His breathing was shallow, his body unmoving, barely clinging to what little strength he had left.

The guards hesitated for only a moment before rushing to his side.

"Is he alive?" one muttered, kneeling next to him.

Another checked his pulse, his expression tense. "Yeah—but just barely."

More guards arrived, grim-faced as they took in the sight of their prince—beaten, unconscious, and humiliated.

Then came Fjorn and Rurik.

They stepped into the clearing, their presence commanding, their sharp gazes locking onto Erling’s crumpled form. Fjorn’s jaw tightened, a flicker of frustration passing through his otherwise composed expression.

"This is bad," Rurik murmured.

Fjorn exhaled sharply, eyes scanning the area. "We don’t have time for this. We split up—two groups. I’ll take one, you take the other. We find those three. Now."

Rurik hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "Understood."

With orders shouted, the guards scattered, weapons drawn, moving with precision as the search began.

The trio pressed forward through the dense forest, their breaths heavy and uneven. Every snapped twig, every rustling leaf sent a fresh wave of paranoia down their spines. They knew they were being hunted.

But right now, they had one goal—reaching the campsite where Apollo’s father had last been.

As they broke into the clearing, Apollo’s chest tightened. It was empty. No fire, no movement. Just cold, unsettling silence.

Andre slowed, scanning the scene, his jaw tight. "He should be here," he muttered.

Apollo’s stomach twisted. "Then where is he?" His voice was strained, frustration creeping in.

A rustling in the bushes.

All three stiffened, hands instinctively reaching for whatever weapons they could grab. Amari shot Andre a wary look, and the older man nodded slightly. They were ready.

Then—a voice.

"Apollo!"

Apollo froze, his pulse spiking.

That voice—

His grip loosened, his breath catching.

"...Dad?"

The bushes shifted, and out stepped a familiar figure—the weary face, dirt-streaked clothes, exhaustion written in every line of his expression.

Apollo didn’t hesitate. He rushed forward, his chest tightening as relief flooded through him. He practically crashed into his father, arms wrapping around him, his breath uneven.

"I—I’m sorry," he choked out. "I was too weak—I couldn’t—"

His father gripped him tightly, firm and steady. Then, suddenly, he pulled back, placing both hands on Apollo’s shoulders. His eyes were sharp, unwavering.

"Enough," he said, his voice low, controlled. "No explanations. No time."

Apollo swallowed hard, nodding despite the emotions clawing at his chest.

His father’s gaze flickered to Andre, and for the first time, some amusement crossed his face. "And what exactly happened to you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at Andre’s lack of clothing.

Andre opened his mouth, but before he could answer, Apollo’s father tossed him a pair of pants and a shirt. "Don’t even bother explaining. Just get dressed."

Andre muttered something under his breath but quickly pulled on the clothes, shaking his head in mild frustration.

Then Apollo’s father straightened, his posture rigid. "We need to move. Now."

No hesitation.

They took off, boots pounding against the forest floor, shadows stretching long behind them as they fled into the unknown.

A deep horn blared through the forest, rolling like thunder, its eerie echo bouncing between the trees. The sound was unmistakable—straight from the Scyl village.

Amari slowed slightly, catching his breath as he listened. "They’re retreating," he muttered. "Calling off the search."

Apollo glanced back, heart hammering. "Does that mean we can stop running?"

His father didn’t hesitate. "No." His voice was firm, unyielding. "We keep moving. Until I say otherwise."

Andre raised an eyebrow. "If they’re done searching, wouldn’t this be the best time to regroup?"

Apollo’s father shook his head. "And what happens if they change their minds in five minutes? If that horn was some kind of signal for reinforcements? I’m not taking that risk."

Without another word, he picked up the pace again, forcing the rest of them to keep up.

Their footsteps echoed through the trees, heavy, uneven.

...

As the sun finally started to rise, golden light slicing through the thick canopy, they stumbled upon the shimmering river.

Apollo’s father scanned the area before nodding. "We’re close to Algoria," he said, voice steady. "Rest here. Drink. You’re going to need it."

Amari was the first to kneel, cupping water in his hands and splashing it onto his face, washing away the dirt and sweat of their escape. Andre followed, rubbing at his sore muscles and muttering something about exhaustion.

Apollo crouched beside the river, dunking his hands into the cool water before bringing it to his lips, gulping it down greedily.

The moment he pulled back, his vision swam.

His limbs felt heavy—too heavy.

The world spun.

Then—darkness.

His body crumpled to the ground with a dull thud.

"Apollo!" Amari’s voice cut through the quiet, urgency snapping in his tone.

Apollo’s father was already beside him, fingers pressing against his pulse, his face tightening.

"He’s exhausted," he murmured. "The fatigue finally caught up to him."

Apollo’s father adjusted his grip, carrying his son with steady determination as they pressed forward. The distant glow of Algoria’s city lights shimmered against the horizon, a beacon of hope after their relentless escape.

"Almost there," Andre muttered, his steps slowing slightly as exhaustion crept in. Amari glanced at Apollo, still unconscious, his body limp against his father’s back.

They pushed on, the towering gates of Algoria coming into view. The guards stationed outside stood tall, eyes scanning the night as they noticed the approaching group.

Apollo’s father didn’t hesitate. "Help!" His voice was firm but urgent. "My son—he needs medical attention."

The guards stiffened, their hands instinctively reaching for their weapons before their eyes landed on Andre. Recognition flashed across their faces, and within seconds, they rushed forward.

"Andre?" one of them exclaimed. "You’re alive?"

Andre scoffed tiredly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Barely."

The guards wasted no time, gathering around the group, assessing their condition. One stepped forward, eyeing Apollo’s unconscious form. "Get him inside. We’ll take care of him."