Aeron fell through the fog like a stone tossed by an impatient god.
"Great," he muttered on the way down. "Another spine to snap. Again."
The world below was nothing but gray. Wind howled past his ears. Rocks blurred somewhere beneath him—
—and then he hit.
Hard.
The ground cratered beneath the impact, dirt exploding outward as Aeron's body folded, snapped, and twisted into shapes no living person should have survived.
For several seconds he just lay there, face down in a shallow depression, staring at a lone blade of grass inches from his eye.
"…I hate cliffs," he groaned.
His bones began shifting back into place with unsettling cracks. Ribs snapped straight. His left arm twisted around, reattaching itself with a wet pop. Vertebrae lined up like dominoes.
Aeron pushed himself to his feet, brushing dust off his cloak.
That's when he heard it.
A low rumble.
Not thunder.
Not stone.
Breathing.
Deep, slow, cavernous breathing that made the ground vibrate beneath his boots.
Aeron frowned. "Oh good. A welcoming committee."
Fog continued to swirl, thick as wool. He stepped forward—and stopped when he saw eyes.
Not glowing.
Not bright.
But large. Reflective. Watching.
The creature stepped out of the mist.
It was enormous—taller than any horse, longer than two wagons, its body covered in dark, stone-like plates etched with glowing fissures of faint ember-light. Its head resembled a wolf's skull stretched too long, with hooked fangs and a mane of black, drifting smoke.
Its tail dragged behind it, ending in a heavy, spiked club that scraped grooves into the earth.
Aeron felt his shoulders sag—not from fear, but from the weight of everything else already happening today.
"An Ashrend Beast," he muttered. "Haven't seen one of your kind in… hells, three centuries?"
The creature huffed, a bassy exhale that shook nearby trees.
It lowered its head and pawed the ground, cracking stone beneath its claws.
Aeron lifted both hands.
"Look, big guy, can we not? I've had a long day. Been hunted. Stabbed. Fell off a cliff. I'm really not in the mood to get chewed on."
The beast roared—deep, thunderous, echoing through the ravine.
Fog blasted away from its breath like smoke from a furnace.
Aeron winced.
"I'm gonna take that as a no."
The creature lunged—massive, fast, far faster than something its size should be. Aeron dove aside, rolling under its sweeping tail. The spike-studded club smashed into the ground where he'd stood, sending shards of rock flying.
Aeron flipped to his feet.
"Right. We're doing this."
He drew his sword.
The beast turned, maw glowing with inner fire.
Aeron braced for another charge—
But instead, the creature stopped.
Sniffed.
Stared.
Its ember-lit eyes focused on Aeron's torso—on the faint golden scar the gods' curse had left beneath his shirt.
The beast's body stiffened.
A low, almost reverent growl rumbled from its chest.
Aeron paused mid-stance. "What? Don't tell me you things worship gods."
The beast bowed its head.
Not submissively.
Recognizing him.
Aeron blinked. "Oh no. No. Absolutely not. I'm not dealing with this again."
Before he could step back, the beast stomped once.
The ground trembled.
The fog behind Aeron parted as if something massive was moving toward them.
Multiple somethings.
More glowing eyes appeared in the dark.
More plates.
More fangs.
More beasts.
A whole pack.
Aeron's face went flat with disbelief.
"I swear," he muttered, "if you creatures think I'm your chosen messiah or your lost king or whatever—"
A roar cut him off.
Not from the beasts.
From above.
The Red Talons were descending the cliff, ropes and claws glinting through the fog.
Aeron pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Perfect. Just what I needed. A fight, a fan club, and assassins. All before breakfast."
The largest Ashrend beast stepped forward and growled deeply—protectively—placing itself between Aeron and the descending hunters.
Aeron groaned.
"Oh no…
Don't tell me you're on my side."
The beast roared at the Red Talons, shaking the ravine.
And Aeron realized:
They were.