Chapter 45 — Korran Veyle Counts the Gaps
(Korran Veyle POV)
Morning revealed truths the night preferred to hide.
I noticed it before the birds returned.
Before Bran snored himself awake.
Before Selia pretended she hadn't been pacing the perimeter twice already.
Before Shadeblade rose, silent as always, bone-white mask catching the first weak line of dawn.
One bedroll was empty.
Not abandoned.
Not disturbed.
Simply… unused.
Vaelric Dorn had not slept.
That alone would not have troubled me.
What troubled me was that no one had heard him leave.
I set my blade down slowly and stood, letting the stiffness bleed out of my shoulders. Cold air bit through my coat, sharp enough to wake a man properly.
The forest watched us again.
It had stopped pretending otherwise.
"Morning, Commander Grump," Selia said, strolling over with a cup of something that smelled like regret and berries. "You look like you swallowed a nail."
"I didn't," I replied. "Vaelric's gone."
She didn't joke.
That confirmed my concern more than words could.
Bran rolled onto his back, groaning. "If this is about Dorn sneaking off to relieve himself, I don't need the details—"
"He took his cloak," Selia cut in.
Bran froze.
"…Oh."
Shadeblade approached then, movements careful, controlled. No clumsy stumble. No accidental theatrics. He was fully awake now.
"Tracks?" he asked.
I nodded. "Light. Deliberate. He didn't want to be followed."
"And?" Shadeblade pressed.
"And he succeeded," Selia said. "Barely."
Her eyes flicked to me.
She'd seen it too.
Someone else had been out there.
We followed the trail anyway.
Not because it would lead us to Vaelric.
But because leaving questions unanswered gets people killed.
The forest floor dipped toward the ravine, roots twisted like old bones. Morning fog clung low, muffling sound and warping distance. Every step had to be chosen.
Shadeblade moved differently today.
Still Tier-2. Still Disciplined.
But there was intent in his footing now—weight tested, angles considered.
Volrag's fundamentals were settling into him.
I approved.
Selia broke the silence. "You think Dorn's selling us out, or just shopping for better friends?"
"Both are equally dangerous," I said.
Bran grunted. "I knew it. Nobles can't go five days without betraying someone."
From behind us, a quiet voice spoke.
"Not all betrayals are loud."
Aris.
She stood a few paces back, staff resting lightly against her shoulder, hood shadowing her face. Mana stirred faintly around her—controlled, disciplined.
Tier-2.
But polished.
Shadeblade glanced at her. "You sensed something."
"Yes," she replied. "Someone prepared this place before we arrived."
I knelt.
She was right.
Scuffed stones. Faded sigils etched shallow into the earth, intentionally worn down.
A ritual circle.
Incomplete.
Interrupted.
"Black magicians," Selia muttered. "Figures."
"And bait," I added.
The forest answered us then.
A low, wet sound. Like something inhaling through rotten lungs.
Bran smiled slowly. "Finally. Something I can hit."
They came out of the fog in threes.
Beasts twisted by failed summoning—half-flesh, half-concept. Limbs bent wrong. Eyes glowing where they shouldn't exist.
One lunged.
Shadeblade stepped in.
No magic.
No flourish.
Sword angled low—cutting tendon, not bone.
Efficient.
Another beast leapt from the side.
Selia vanished.
Reappeared behind it.
Something important hit the ground.
Bran charged straight through the middle like subtlety had personally insulted him. "COME ON THEN!"
I moved last.
Not because I was slow.
Because I was counting.
Three beasts.
Then six.
Then—
"Behind!" Aris called.
Shadeblade reacted instantly, pivoting too fast—
—and slipped.
I sighed internally.
But instead of falling, he rolled with it, blade flashing upward in a rising cut that split the creature's core.
He came up breathing hard.
Blinking.
Surprised.
Selia stared. "Did you just trip… on purpose?"
Shadeblade froze. "…Yes."
She burst out laughing. "Liar!"
Despite myself, I smiled.
Then the ground shook.
The real problem arrived.
It crawled out of the ravine like the forest had tried—and failed—to bury it.
Tall. Broad. Too solid to be a mistake.
A bound construct.
Tier-3 at least.
Bran cracked his knuckles. "Big one's mine."
"No," I said sharply. "Together."
Shadeblade moved first anyway.
He shouldn't have.
But he did.
Sword met claw. Sparks flew. He was driven back, boots skidding through mud—but he didn't fall.
Didn't freeze.
Didn't panic.
He adapted.
Selia darted in, distracting. Aris raised a barrier—not flashy, not loud—just enough to redirect force.
I struck the joint.
Bran finished it.
Silence returned in pieces.
We stood there, breathing hard.
Shadeblade stared at his hands.
Not trembling.
Thinking.
"I didn't think," he said quietly. "I just moved."
That's how it starts.
We didn't find Vaelric.
But we found proof.
A torn strip of his cloak.
A symbol burned into bark.
A message.
Selia exhaled slowly. "Well. That's ominous."
Bran scratched his head. "Is it bad that I kinda want to punch him more now?"
"Yes," I said. "But later."
Shadeblade turned toward the camp.
Eyes sharp behind the mask.
"Someone wanted us tested," he said. "And someone wanted us watched."
Aris nodded once. "And someone is afraid of what you're becoming."
The forest didn't deny it.
As we walked back, I realized something uncomfortable.
We weren't being hunted.
We were being measured.
And whatever came next?
Would not be accidental.