Elias woke before dawn.
Not because of habit—though he had many of those—but because the camp never truly slept. Even in its quietest hours, there were footsteps, hushed arguments, the occasional clatter of metal, and once or twice, a muffled scream quickly silenced.
He had fallen asleep leaning against the wooden post Arin had shown him, his body forcing itself into rest despite the unfamiliar setting. Now, with the sky still dark and the chill of early morning brushing his skin, his eyes opened, clear and sharp.
His chest ached again.
A slow, pulsing pressure deep inside the fractured core. Not the tearing, chaotic pain he had lived with since childhood—but a new discomfort. Controlled. Contained. Heavy.
Changing, he thought.
And not by his choice.
He sat up, brushing dirt from his clothes, and scanned the camp with stillness practiced long before this life.
Shapes moved between the tents—silhouettes of hunters returning late, or rising early; mercenaries checking gear; a healer lighting incense for some ritual; a pair whispering too urgently for it to be casual.
A place built not for community, but for necessity.
Everyone here was either running, hiding, or hunting something.
Arin had been right: this camp wasn't a home.
Elias stood and stretched, feeling the stiffness in his muscles from days of constant stress. The sky was a deep blue now, the first hints of dawn brushing its edge. Smoke from last night's fires drifted lazily upward.
A few meters away, Arin crouched beside a small crate, sharpening his spear tip with focused strokes. The rhythmic scrape of metal against stone blended strangely well with the muted camp noises.
Arin didn't look up as he spoke.
"You didn't scream in your sleep," he said. "Good sign."
"I didn't plan to," Elias replied.
"No one plans to," Arin said. "But everyone who comes from that forest usually does."
Elias didn't answer.
Arin slid the stone across the metal one more time, then set it aside.
"You look better than yesterday," he said.
"I'm not," Elias replied.
Arin snorted. "At least you're honest about it."
He stood, stretching his shoulders before slipping the spear's leather strap across his back.
"We should get food before the lines get long," Arin said. "Then Ressa will probably assign you work."
Elias followed without comment.
The camp was beginning to wake.
Torches were extinguished, fires rekindled. People emerged from tents with weapons strapped to their sides or slung across their backs. A handful of mages—weak ones, from the faint flickers of energy Elias sensed—stood near a crude formation etched into the ground, checking runestones and muttering adjustments.
Elias paused, watching the formation.
It was crude, but functional: a warming array powered by a cluster of stones. The runes were sloppy, but he could trace the intent behind them. Heat distribution. Mana cycling. Structural anchoring—poorly placed.
Too much loss through the grounding lines, he thought. Half the output is leaking into the soil.
He didn't say anything aloud.
No one here cared about optimization. They cared about survival, not efficiency.
Arin nudged him lightly. "Don't stare. They'll think you're judging their work."
"I am."
"That's the problem."
They reached a wooden platform where a woman with broad arms and a scarred cheek ladled hot stew into bowls. A line had formed, and the smell—thick, savory, slightly burnt—wafted through the air.
Arin waited his turn, then handed Elias a bowl.
"Don't ask what's in it," Arin said.
"I wasn't planning to."
They moved to the side where crates served as makeshift tables. Elias took a cautious sip.
It was… edible.
Barely.
He ate anyway.
Food was fuel. Taste didn't matter.
A few mercenaries sitting nearby whispered while glancing their way. One of them kept looking at Elias with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.
Arin noticed.
"Word's spreading," he murmured. "People talk fast around here. Someone's already told half the camp you walked out of Duskwood."
"Let them talk," Elias said.
Arin gave him a look. "Talking leads to questions. Questions lead to attention. And you don't want attention right now."
"I don't want anything from them," Elias said.
"Doesn't matter. People see what they want, not what you want."
Before Elias could reply, a voice called from behind them.
"Valdor!"
Arin turned.
Ressa was striding toward them, leather coat half-buckled, hair tied back, expression sharp even at this early hour.
She stopped in front of them and looked Elias over with the same scrutinizing stare from yesterday.
"You're up early," she said.
"I'm awake," Elias replied.
"That's not an answer."
"It's the one you're getting."
Arin covered a laugh with a cough.
Ressa didn't smile.
"Good. You'll need that attitude today," she said. "We've got a problem."
Arin straightened. "What kind?"
"The kind with teeth," Ressa said. "And too many legs."
Elias raised a brow. "Beasts?"
"Pack of them. Something's driving them out of the ravine east of here. They hit a caravan last night. Two dead, one missing. We need a scouting pair."
Arin nodded slowly. "Me and who?"
Ressa looked at Elias.
"You're sending him?" Arin asked.
"You brought him in," Ressa said. "If he can walk out of Duskwood, he can handle a few beasts."
Elias met her gaze evenly.
"What's the payment?" he asked.
"You get a bed for the night," Ressa said. "And food for three days."
"And if the beasts kill us?"
"Then you die fed," Ressa replied.
Arin muttered, "She's joking."
Ressa gave him a flat stare. "No, I'm not."
Elias stood. "I'll go."
Ressa raised a brow. "Just like that?"
"I need resources," Elias said. "I'll earn them."
"Good." Ressa crossed her arms. "The trail starts at the east ridge. Find out what's stirring them up. If you can kill a few, kill them. If not, come back with information."
Arin nodded. "Understood."
Ressa turned to leave, but paused.
"And Elias?"
"Yes."
"If you snap or go mad out there," she said, "kill him first." She pointed at Arin. "He's worth more to me than you."
Elias didn't react. "Then don't give me a reason to snap."
Ressa blinked, then shook her head and walked away.
Arin groaned. "Okay… maybe try not to antagonize the woman who runs this place."
"She asked for honesty."
"No. She asked for obedience," Arin corrected. "Big difference."
Elias finished his stew, set the bowl down, and adjusted the knife Arin had given him.
"Let's go."
Arin sighed, grabbed his spear, and followed.
They left the camp through the east path, a narrow track winding between tall grass and scattered stones. The sun had risen fully now, painting the fields gold. Birds called from distant trees. The wind carried the faint scent of something metallic—blood, faint but present.
Arin noticed it too.
"That caravan didn't die clean," he said.
"No deaths are clean," Elias replied.
They walked for several minutes in silence, scanning the ground for tracks. Soon they reached a small rise overlooking a deep, shadowed ravine. Rocks jutted out of the earth like broken teeth.
Arin knelt, running his fingers along the dirt.
"Tracks," he muttered. "Fresh."
Elias crouched beside him.
The impressions in the soil were uneven, clustered, overlapping. Some were paw-like. Others had elongated grooves—claws dragging.
"How many?" Elias asked.
"Hard to say," Arin replied. "At least ten."
A faint clicking echoed from below.
Not the sound of rocks falling.
Something moving.
Elias moved closer to the edge, careful not to dislodge stones. The ravine floor was dark, shadow pooling between jagged formations. A faint movement caught his eye—something shifting in the darkness.
Not one thing.
Many things.
Arin followed his gaze.
"That's more than a pack," he whispered. "Something's driving them up here."
Elias didn't answer.
He was listening.
Not to the beasts.
To the shadow pulsing inside him.
It wasn't agitated.
But it wasn't calm either.
It recognized something.
Arin lifted his spear. "Okay. We should—"
A sound cut him off.
A chittering, clicking screech that rattled the stones under their feet.
Half a dozen eyes glinted in the dark below.
Then the creatures climbed.
Fast.
Elias stood, blade already in hand. Arin moved beside him, planting his feet, spear angled for the first strike.
The creatures emerged.
They were shaped like wolves—if wolves had too many limbs, segmented armor-like hide, and mandibles instead of jaws. Their bodies were low and sinuous, tails tipped with bone-like spikes.
Arin swore. "Ravenspined Crawlers. Haven't seen this many in years."
Three climbed the slope toward them.
Four more skittered along the sides.
Two leapt.
Elias moved before thinking.
Shadow—not from the forest, not from the ground, but from him—coiled around his wrist, guiding his arm into a sharper arc. His blade cut upward, slicing across a crawler's throat.
The creature hit the ground and spasmed.
Arin impaled another mid-jump, twisting his spear to tear the wound open.
"Two down!" Arin shouted.
Elias didn't bother counting.
Another came at him from the side. He stepped back, letting it overextend, then slashed its leg joint, severing the limb. Before it could turn, Elias stepped in and drove the knife into its exposed throat.
Three bodies now.
Three still climbing.
Arin fought two at once, spear flashing, breathing steady. Elias glanced at him briefly—Arin knew how to fight. Not polished. Not trained formally. But efficient.
A crawler lunged at Elias.
He ducked, rolled, and—
Something inside him pulsed.
His shadow stretched unnaturally, flickering across the ground. For a heartbeat, he saw through it—felt the shape of the crawler, the angle of its limbs, the tension of its spine.
He rose and struck with precision impossible for someone his age.
The crawler collapsed.
Arin finished his opponents and backed up to Elias's side, panting lightly.
"Okay," he said. "That's… seven?"
Elias didn't answer.
His eyes were on the ravine.
Where silence had fallen again.
Too quickly.
Arin followed his gaze.
"Oh no."
The shadows below shifted.
Something much larger moved.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Arin tightened his grip. "We should run."
Elias's pulse steadied.
Not fear—
Calculation.
He stepped back one pace at a time.
Arin grabbed his shoulder. "Elias—"
"Move," Elias said.
They ran.
Not in panic—in strategy.
Arin took the lead, guiding them along firmer ground. Elias followed, glancing back every few strides.
The ravine trembled.
A shape rose—
Huge.Segmented.Armored.Breathing like stone grinding on stone.
A Ravenspined Alpha.
Arin nearly cursed aloud. "That thing shouldn't be here! They live deeper—much deeper!"
Elias's mind clicked through possibilities.
If the alpha was here…
Something else had driven it out.
He didn't want to meet that something.
"Faster," Elias said.
Arin didn't argue.
They sprinted across the hill, boots pounding the earth as the alpha surged out of the ravine, mandibles snapping.
They reached a dip in the land just as the alpha lunged.
Arin shoved Elias aside.
The ground exploded where Elias had stood, dirt spraying.
Elias rolled, came up, and ran again.
The alpha screeched, the sound piercing, vibrating in Elias's shattered core.
Something inside him responded—
Darkness curling, building—
Not now, Elias thought fiercely.
The shadow recoiled but didn't vanish.
Arin glanced at him. "Plan! Tell me you have one!"
"Yes," Elias said.
"Good—what is it?"
"Don't die."
"That's not a plan!"
"It's a starting point."
They crested the last rise and saw the camp's palisades in the distance.
Arin shouted at the guards.
"OPEN THE GATE! BEASTS!"
The guards took one look at the charging alpha and scrambled.
Elias felt the shadow rise again inside him.
This time, he didn't push it back.
He let it sharpen his movements.
Just enough.
Not fully.
Not dangerously.
He grabbed a fist-sized stone, hurled it with unnatural precision at the alpha's exposed eye cluster. The stone struck one eye, cracking the outer shell.
The alpha reeled, screeching in rage.
Arin swore again. "You pissed it off!"
"That was the point."
The gate opened.
They sprinted in.
"CLOSE IT!" Arin shouted.
The gate slammed shut as the alpha rammed into it, shaking the entire structure.
The guards held the beams in place, shouting orders. The alpha struck again, but the palisade held—barely.
Ressa stormed toward them.
"What in all nine hells did you bring here—"
"The truth," Elias said.
Ressa glared at him.
Then at the alpha.
Then back at him.
"…I hate today," she muttered.