Kael’s breath ca ragged at first, his chest rising and falling as though he had surfaced from deep waters. The cold sweat clung to his skin, the echo of that nightmare—the Harbinger’s laughter—still clanged like iron in his skull. He bolted upright.
His first instinct was panic. His hand flew to his side—where the burn should have been. Where the molten agony had branded him just before he blacked out.
But...
There was nothing.
No pain. No scar. No trace.
The skin beneath his palm was smooth—undisturbed. His brow furrowed, eyes narrowing in confusion. Had it been a dream? A hallucination?
"Lyria," he croaked, voice dry and uncertain.
In an instant, her arms wrapped around him.
"Kael!" Her voice cracked as she buried her face against his chest. She trembled, and he could feel the heat of her tears against his skin.
Her embrace wasn’t just relief—it was desperate. Possessive.
He blinked in surprise, uncertain of what to say. Her scent—lavender and steel—was overwhelming, grounding him in the present.
"I thought you weren’t going to wake up," she whispered into his collar. "You were thrashing... yelling. Like you were being torn apart."
"I’m okay," he murmured, voice softer now, ant for her alone. "I promise."
He didn’t want to ruin the mont with questions he didn’t have answers to. Not yet. Her arms tightened around him.
She tilted her face upward to look at him, lips parted, eyes glassy with emotion. And sothing else.
Longing.
It was unguarded, almost feral—a raw hunger behind the tears. Her hand ca up, brushing a damp strand of hair from his forehead. Her fingers lingered at his temple, trailing down his jawline, then his throat. The way she looked at him was worshipful. Dangerous.
He didn’t move. Couldn’t.
"You don’t get to die, Kael," she whispered, her voice dipping into sothing darker. "Not without taking with you."
Before he could respond, the door creaked open.
Gondor stepped in, a sharp shadow against the hall light. "What the hell is all the noise ab—"
He froze at the sight of Kael awake, Lyria curled around him like a lover shielding a precious thing.
Kael t his gaze.
"...Who are you?" he asked.
A flicker of sothing unreadable passed across Gondor’s face.
"That’s a question we’ll both be asking each other soon," he said grimly, stepping further into the room.
---
anwhile, in the forest surrounding Umbra’s End...
Bane crouched at the edge of the clearing where Will had almost died. The forest was quieter now. Too quiet. No birdsong, no rustling of unseen creatures. Just the slow creak of trees swaying in heavy fog.
The burn marks on the trees had faded. No blood. No footprints.
Nothing.
Whoever the cloaked man was, he had vanished without a trace.
Bane sighed, standing. "Great. All this and not even a boot print."
He scratched the back of his neck, gaze scanning the canopy.
Garrik Veymar was a sword user.
This guy used a scythe.
So who the fuck is he?
He moved on, trusting instinct over evidence. He knew better than to press too deep—beyond 20 kiloters was the next forest layer, and what lurked there was far more dangerous than beasts.
He kept to the fringe, moving fast but cautiously. That’s when he spotted it—a clearing not marked on their maps. Strange glyphs had been carved into the bark of several trees around it, pulsing faintly in the gloom.
A camp?
He stepped forward carefully, boots crunching leaves. He reached for his blade on reflex—just in case.
That’s when the voice ca.
"I thought I was clear when I said not to co back."
It ca from above. Sowhere in the trees.
Bane froze.
"Yeah, we heard you," he replied. "I ca alone."
A pause.
"You shouldn’t have co at all."
The cloaked man dropped from the branches, landing silently behind him. Before Bane could fully turn, a cold ring of steel kissed his throat—the edge of a curved scythe.
"State your business."
Bane didn’t flinch.
If anything, awe flickered in his eyes. He’s fast. Ridiculously fast.
"We were sent to find Garrik," he said calmly. "My team."
"Garrik?" the man repeated, the edge of suspicion sharp.
"Yes—"
"By whose orders?" the man snapped.
The blade pressed a hair closer.
"Thadeus," Bane said carefully. "He sent us without informing the rest of the Vanguard."
The tension shifted.
The cloaked man hesitated, then slowly lowered the scythe.
Bane exhaled quietly.
"If I may ask," he said, straightening, "who are you?"
The man pulled back his hood.
"Na’s Phil."
He was younger than Bane expected—shaggy black hair, piercing gray eyes, and a scar that ran from cheekbone to chin. His gaze held the weight of soone who’d seen far too much to be that young.
"You a friend of Garrik?"
"You could say that."
"You know where he is?"
Phil’s eyes flicked toward the north.
"We split up to cover more ground. But I have a good idea of where he’s headed. The question is..." He looked back at Bane. "Why are you really here?"
Bane paused.
"To find out the truth," he said finally. "About what’s happening in Umbra’s End. About these creatures. About why the Guild’s hiding things from its own Hunters."
Phil smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
"Then follow at your own risk. You’ll find truth... and more than you bargained for."
He turned toward the trees, vanishing like smoke.
Bane hesitated only a second before following.
---
Back at the lodge...
Kael sat on the edge of the bed, fingers pressed to his bare chest. The wound was still gone. But now sothing else had taken its place.
A faint shimr beneath the skin. Just over his heart.
A sigil—barely visible—etched like light caught in water. It pulsed once. Then faded.
He stared down at it, his pulse loud in his ears.
"What the hell’s happening to ..." he whispered.
A soft thump snapped his head toward the window.
A crow lay dead on the sill, neck twisted at an unnatural angle. Its eyes still glowed faintly green.
Kael’s stomach twisted.
Sothing had followed him back from that dream.
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