The portcullis groaned shut behind them, its final clang a sound of grim finality. The air outside the walls was different—unfiltered, carrying the distant scent of pine and loam from the Mournwood's dark line on the horizon.
A dozen Rangers fanned out in a loose defensive perimeter, their eyes scanning the rocky path ahead. At the column's head, Viktor, Nikolai, and Alexander sat astride their horses, the beasts shifting nervously.
Before Nikolai could give the order to move out, a shout echoed from the battlements.
"Wait!"
They turned in unison. Sprinting from a postern gate, armed and armored, was Elvis. He skidded to a halt before Viktor's massive warhorse, his chest heaving. He thrust a sealed scroll up at the Duke.
"From… from the King, my Grace," he panted.
Viktor took it, broke the seal with a thick thumb, and scanned the contents. His expression didn't change. He rerolled the parchment and tossed it back to Elvis. "The King has a soft spot for you as you're the son Master Eldrin, but I don't."
Eldrin bowed. "I promise to be of good use to you, my Grace."
"Fine, get in formation with the others. Don't lag behind."
A wave of relief washed over Elvis's face. He nodded briskly and fell into step beside the marching Rangers, his medical kit bouncing on his hip.
With a silent signal from Nikolai, the column began its march. The rhythmic crunch of gravel under boot and hoof was the only sound for the first mile.
Elvis, his breath recovered, quickened his pace until he was walking beside Alexander's horse.
"The North Tower, Alex?" he asked, his voice low and concerned. "I would have checked on you. I tried, but the guards…"
"It's fine, Elvis," Alexander said, his gaze fixed ahead. "It was… necessary."
"Necessary? They're treating you like a criminal."
"They're treating me like what I am," Alexander replied, the words tasting bitter. "A variable." He shook his head, forcing a change of subject. "I just realized, I never asked. How did the rest of the tournament play out? After I… fell unconscious."
Elvin's face brightened slightly. "It was chaos for a bit, but they finished the brackets. Apart from you, only one other challenger won their title. A quiet guy from one of the western villages. He challenged an Executioner and won. When they asked for his name to record the title, he just walked away. No one knows who he is."
Alexander raised an eyebrow. "A man of mystery. And you? I assume you challenged Captain Elliot?"
Elvin's smile turned into a wry grimace. "I did. It did not go well. Let's just say his 'scratch' was my 'complete systemic shutdown'. I was in bed for a whole day. Mother was furious. But father was proud." He mimed a swinging sword and a dramatic collapse, making Alexander snort a soft, genuine laugh.
The moment of levity was severed as Viktor, at the head of the column, raised a clenched fist. The entire company froze.
The Duke's head was tilted, his body unnaturally still. "Something's coming," he growled, his voice low but carrying to every man. "Fast."
In a single, fluid motion, he unsheathed the colossal greatsword from his back. The metallic shing was echoed a dozen times as Rangers drew blades and nocked arrows, forming a tight, bristling circle.
Nikolai drew his own elegant sword, his knuckles white on the hilt. 'By the Goddess, already? We're not even in the tree line. What is he hearing?'
Alexander's hand rested on the hilt of his black sword, his senses stretching out. He couldn't hear it, but he could feel it—a vibration in the air, a wrongness hurtling toward them.
It burst from the Mournwood's edge a hundred yards away, a blur of mottled fur and distorted limbs. It was a Glimmer.
At first, it was just a hare, a flash of brown against the gloom. Then its shadow stretched too long, and it kept stretching, moving independently of the creature that cast it as it closed the distance with impossible, skittering speed. Its target clear: the largest threat, Viktor.
It was on him in three heartbeats. It launched itself from its final leap, the forelimb of fused, blade-like finger bones, screaming through the air in a vicious arc aimed at his throat. It was too close, too fast. Viktor's own massive sword was still coming up, too slow to intercept.
Nikolai's mind screamed before he could move. 'This is bad! It's going to take his head!'
There was a swoosh of displaced air, a blur of motion to Viktor's left.
The next thing the Duke knew, the Glimmer's body—already dead, its head a cleanly severed ruin—slammed into him and his horse with the force of a battering ram.
The warhorse reared with a shrill whinny, and Viktor, caught completely off guard, was thrown from the saddle. He hit the ground with a grunt, rolling with the impact and coming up in a crouch, his greatsword held defensively.
His eyes widened.
Alexander stood over the twitching carcass, his black sword already unsheathed. A single, precise strike. He hadn't even seen him draw it. Green, viscous blood dripped from the beast's severed neck, and Alexander was calmly flicking a stray droplet from his sleeve before sliding the blade home. He hadn't broken a sweat.
The beast's distorted shadow writhed on the ground for a moment before dissolving into smoke.
A stunned silence gripped the company, broken only by the panicked snorting of the horses.
One of the Rangers whispered, his voice full of awe, "By the Goddess… did you see that speed?"
Another just shook his head, lowering his bow. "I… I didn't even see him move."
Nikolai stared, his own sword feeling suddenly childish and useless in his hand. 'No. That wasn't just speed. That was… premonition. He knew where it would be before it even leaped. How? Is that the demons power the Temple was talking about? Or has he always been this capable, and I was just too blind to see it?' The seed of doubt, planted by the spirit's future words, began to sprout thorns of cold fear.
A wind swept down from the mountains, whipping through Alexander's hair and tugging at his travel clothes. He stood unmoving, his back to the others, staring at the dark tree line. Inside, his heart was a frantic drum against his ribs.
I didn't think. I just… moved. I saw the trajectory, the arc of its attack, as clearly as a line drawn on parchment. That wasn't Crimson. That was me. Wasn't it?
"A flicker of instinct, honed by my presence. Do not grow arrogant, vessel. The true tests lie within."
From his position on the ground, Viktor rose to his full height, dusting off his armor. He looked from the dead beast to Alexander's back, and a slow, predatory smile spread across his face. He leaned close to Nikolai, his voice a whisper meant only for the prince's ear.
"See? I told you he was a dagger."
But Alexander didn't hear him. The adrenaline of the single kill faded, and a new, deeper awareness rushed in to take its place. The world, which had snapped into sharp focus during the attack, did not return to normal. Instead, it shifted again, the colors leaching away into something older, more fundamental.
He didn't see them with his eyes, but with the demonic resonance humming in his veins. He felt a dozen new points of absence snap into being in the trees ahead of them—not just empty space, but voids that actively drank the light and sound of the world. Their hunger synced together, a silent, chiming bell that only the hollow parts of him could hear.
"It's not over," Alexander said, his voice cutting through the Rangers' murmurs. It wasn't loud, but it carried a weight of absolute certainty that froze them all.
Viktor's smile vanished. He followed Alexander's gaze into the oppressive green. "Where?"
"Everywhere," Alexander breathed, his hand falling back to the hilt of his black sword. His knuckles were white. "They're in the trees. A full circle. They were herding us."
The Rangers, disciplined to the core, didn't question it. The sheer conviction in the prince's tone was a command in itself. The brief moment of relief shattered. Bows were drawn back with a unified creak of wood and tendon. Swords that had been lowered snapped back into guard positions.
The company tightened, becoming a fortress of steel and grim determination, facing outward against an enemy they couldn't yet see.
Nikolai swallowed hard, his own sword feeling like a toy. He saw nothing but shadows and leaves. 'Is he mad? Or can he truly see what we cannot?' The doubt curdled into a cold, slick fear in his gut. He alighted his horse and stood beside Duke Viktor, taking a stance.
In the ringing silence, the only sound was the hungry rustle of leaves from a dozen different directions at once.
Viktor hefted his greatsword, his eyes alight not with fear, but with a fierce, brutal joy. He looked at Alexander, a true smile, sharp and approving, finally gracing his features.
"Good," the Duke whispered, the word a promise of carnage to come. "Now we hunt."