As they wound their way through the Greyvein ridges, the air turned thin and sharp, edged with the cold breath of higher altitudes. Stone and slate flanked the narrow trail, and every footstep echoed longer than it should have.

  Kael slowed his pace, one hand instinctively dropping to the haft of his spear. He angled his chin upward. “See that, Runt?”

  Perched on a jagged stone outcrop above them, half-wreathed in mountain mist, was a solitary creature—its sinewed limbs folded unnaturally, as if ready to spring in any direction. Patches of glowing, thread-like veins pulsed faintly beneath its thin, blistered skin. Eyes like burnt coals stared back—unblinking.

  “Fade-Touched Howler,” Kael said grimly.

  Runt tilted her head. “It doesn’t look that strong.”

  “It’s not,” Kavari replied before Kael could. Her voice was tight. “That’s just a scout.”

  Kael nodded. “They’re pack hunters. Twisted during past Fadefalls. Their flesh glows with corrupted mana, and some of their skin’s so thin you can see what’s underneath.” He flicked his fingers in a short motion, eyes never leaving the creature. “They can blink—move faster than the eye in short bursts.”

  “Blink?” Runt asked, brow furrowed.

  “Means they move really, really fast,” Kavari answered, keeping her voice low.

  Kael continued. “They can howl, too. Not just a sound—something worse. It messes with your sense of balance. Makes it feel like the world’s tilting sideways under your feet. In the dark, up here on the ridgelines, vertigo can kill faster than claws.”

  Runt’s ears lowered slightly. She stayed quiet, watching the still form of the Howler overhead.

  “They usually hunt far from here,” Kael muttered. “When the fadefall nears, they move closer to cities.”

  Kavari’s eyes narrowed. “Fadefall’s pulling them in. The ley line’s acting like bait.”

  Kael glanced over his shoulder at Runt. “That thing means we need to be extra careful when we make camp. The pack will come after dark. They always do.”

  Runt nodded, her usual spark subdued. She understood. She had to.

  They pressed on, weaving through winding paths carved by wind and time. The stone around them shifted from smooth grey to jagged slate, the trail threading beneath a natural arch of weathered rock. A cold gust blew through the overhang, moaning like a distant voice. Kael felt the pressure in the air change—like something ancient and buried had stirred slightly in its sleep.

  Above them, the Fade-Touched Howler remained still. Watching.

  The winding path through the mountains forced them into single file, the slate underfoot slick in places from snowmelt. The air smelled of cold stone and the sharp tang of distant pine. Kael walked ahead, eyes constantly scanning the terrain—shifting ridgelines, choke points, natural overhangs that cast long shadows.

  “See that bend?” he said, pointing with a slight nod. “Too narrow. No cover. If someone wanted to bottleneck travelers, that’s where they’d do it. One rockslide and you’re boxed in.”

  Runt followed his gaze, nodding slowly, her ears perked with focus.

  Kavari walked behind them, her eyes flicking across the slopes above. “Good for an ambush with more people, sure,” she said casually, “but look up. That cliff shelf curves around—steep, narrow, but if someone climbed it, they could drop right down behind you. That’s how my pride handled mountain raids.”

  Kael glanced over his shoulder with a small smirk. “You saying I missed something?”

  Kavari shrugged, her braid swinging slightly. “I’m saying the Pride lands teach you to fight with fewer soldiers and better instincts.”

  He didn’t argue. He just turned back and kept walking. “Fair enough.”

  They continued in silence for a while, broken only by the crunch of boots and claws on stone. Kavari took the lull as her cue.

  “Alright, Runt,” she said, tone sharp but not unkind. “Quiz time.”

  Runt groaned quietly but didn’t protest.

  “What’s the Trial of Scars?”

  “A rite of passage,” Runt answered quickly. “You fight a battle that marks you—physically and spiritually. It’s how you earn your true name.”

  “Good,” Kavari said with a nod. “And the meaning of a Pride’s banner colors?”

  Runt blinked, hesitating.

  Kael stepped in. “Each color tells a story. Red for bloodlines. Gold for strength. Black for loss. Green for rebirth.”

  Runt nodded, storing the knowledge like a soldier rather than a student.

  Kavari arched an eyebrow at Kael. “That’s our version. What about human banners?”

  “More complicated,” he said. “More political. But most travelers won’t care. If they see battle born colors, they run, don’t stop to see the history.”

  He paused near a fork in the trail and tapped the side of his head. “So here’s one—when you make camp, don’t choose the coziest spot. You want a place with good elevation, solid sight lines, and terrain that slows down anything creeping up on you.”

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  “And make sure you know where your back’s going to be,” Kavari added. “Sleep with a wall or a cliff behind you if you can. No blind spots.”

  Kael nodded. “And no fires unless you’re absolutely sure you’re alone. Light draws things you don’t want.”

  Runt’s tail flicked behind her, a small sign of her pent-up energy, but her eyes remained serious. She didn’t argue. She didn’t joke. No sly comments, no sudden detours to investigate bugs or throw pebbles at Kael’s boots like she did in the Iron District.

  She was listening—truly listening.

  And that alone told Kael just how much she understood the stakes.

  She was still excited, still thrilled to be out of the city, but the wonder in her gaze didn’t dull the discipline. Not here.

  Not this far from home.

  As they reached a bend in the trail, Kavari froze—her ears twitching, nose wrinkling at the wind. She raised a hand, signaling a full stop, then dropped to a crouch.

  “Shardmaws,” she whispered, low and tight.

  Kael’s body tensed instantly. Beside him, Runt tilted her head, clearly confused.

  Kael glanced toward Kavari. “Can we go around?”

  She shook her head slowly, eyes scanning the sheer cliffside. “Not unless you want to scale that,” she murmured, pointing to the razor-backed rocks above. “They’re close. I hear at least three. Maybe more.”

  Kael nodded once, then slipped his pack off and quietly helped Kavari and Runt do the same. He tucked their gear behind a cluster of jagged stones, using the terrain to break their silhouette from anything that might glance their way.

  Then he crouched next to Runt and leaned in.

  “Shardmaws are big,” he whispered, voice steady. “Bigger than horses. Think walking siege weapons. Their bite is bad—like, chew-through-metal bad. So don’t aim directly for the face.”

  Runt’s brow furrowed in focus.

  “Because of their size, they’re slower. Covered in thick stone plates. You want to go for the back of the joints—cripple the legs. Then, if you can get behind the skull, there’s a weak spot between the plates.”

  He met her eyes.

  “You ready?”

  Runt didn’t answer with words. Her smile—feral and bright—and the shimmer of her rising aura said everything.

  Battle was breath to her.

  Kavari drew her Pridefang, the curved blade gleaming with faint, blood runes. Her aura flared to life, red-edged and crackling.

  Kael waited for the pulse of the Torrent to rise within him—that rush of power that surged before every fight.

  But nothing came.

  Just the cold breath of mountain air.

  He blinked, unsettled.

  Still, he stood and took the lead.

  The trail widened into a small mountain clearing framed by jutting slate and loose boulders. There, like statues brought to life, stood three Shardmaws.

  Massive, quadrupedal beasts, their bodies were half-stone, half-meat—hides layered with granite-like plates and thick muscle. Their faces were ringed with jagged crystal fangs, translucent and gleaming faintly in the midday light as they crunched mouthfuls of stone from the hillside.

  Kael’s grip tightened on his short spear.

  Each Shardmaw’s breath came heavy, misting the cold air with mineral dust.

  They hadn’t noticed them. Not yet.

  But they would.

  He flicked his eyes to the others.

  They spread out—Runt’s claws clicked softly as she flexed them open. Kavari rolled her shoulders, cracking her neck, a low growl escaping as her aura ignited in full.

  And Kael stood in the stillness of it all, heart steady, calculating angles and terrain. The air shimmered with potential.

  Kael grinned—a lean, sharp expression born from old instincts. The kind of smile that only surfaced right before violence.

  The Shardmaws noticed them.

  Three of the beasts lifted their massive, stone-plated heads, crystal maws grinding together with a sickening screech like bones through a forge press. Slabs of muscle shifted beneath armor-thick hides, and glowing veins pulsed dimly under cracked stone flesh. Then, with glacial force and thunderous weight, they began to move.

  Kael surged forward first, spear already leveled. “Stay wide! Don’t let them herd you!”

  The clearing shook as the Shardmaws thundered into motion—slow, yes, but each step was like a siege ram hitting stone. One charged directly for Kael, mouth aglow with latent mana, crystalline teeth glinting like daggers forged from broken stars.

  Kael ducked to the side at the last second, feeling the whoomph of its momentum slam past. Its bulk tore a trench through the rocky ground, smashing boulders aside like they were driftwood. He spun, driving the butt of his spear into the joint behind its foreleg. The impact made the creature grunt—but didn’t drop it.

  Not yet.

  Kavari met her beast head-on, blackened plate gleaming with mountain frost. Her Pridefang glinted in both hands. She didn’t bother with finesse—just pivoted to the side and slashed low at the exposed ankle joint as the beast lumbered past. Sparks flew. A gout of glowing blood splattered her armor.

  She grinned.

  The creature roared—a low, grinding, stomach-turning sound—and twisted to follow her. Its tail smashed the ground, sending chips of rock skittering.

  Runt danced between them, fast and clever. She baited the third Shardmaw, throwing a stone into its face. It roared and followed.

  It lunged, jaw open.

  She darted to the side, claws scraping along the plates of its shoulder. She moved like quicksilver, always just beyond reach, carving shallow wounds that made the creature angrier but not weaker.

  Kael used the opening. He sprinted, vaulted off a rock, and slammed his spear into the base of the spine. The armor resisted—then gave with a sickening crack. The creature spasmed.

  “Back leg!” he shouted. “Now!”

  Runt dove under it, clawing deep into the joint. Her strike sank between armor plates, finding tendon.

  The beast collapsed to a knee, bellowing.

  Kavari was already charging hers. She ducked under a clumsy swing of its head, planted her boots, and stabbed upward through the soft joint behind its chin. Her blade sank deep. She twisted, and the Shardmaw spasmed, roaring blood into the air like a broken pipe.

  It crashed down, dead weight folding in on itself.

  “One down,” she growled, pulling her blade free with a wet shnk.

  Kael turned as his staggered beast limped toward him. It bared its crystal jaws, breath steaming, and then lunged—not fast, but enough to kill.

  Kael waited until the last second, then sidestepped and drove his spear into the creature’s eye socket. He ripped as he rolled sideways, tearing crystal and flesh from bone. The beast shrieked.

  Another leap—Kael was on its back, stabbing between the vertebrae, finding the crack in the armor again and again.

  It thrashed—but too slowly.

  Then it dropped.

  Two down.

  Runt had baited the third toward a narrow part of the clearing. She ran past a cluster of jagged boulders, vaulted over one, and spun—waiting.

  The beast followed, lumbering fast enough to flatten trees.

  Kael threw his spear—straight and true—catching it in the soft of the throat.

  It reeled.

  Runt climbed the boulders like a mountain goat, then leapt down onto the Shardmaw’s back, claws extended. She gritted her teeth and dug in—slicing, tearing—until she hit the spine.

  Kavari came in from the side like a hammer strike, blade glowing with red blood runes. She swung low and deep, carving the rear leg clean out from under it.

  With a final, echoing scream, the last Shardmaw fell. Its crystal maw shattered on the rocks, fragments scattering like jewels.

  Silence reclaimed the mountain.

  The trio stood panting—splattered in silver-blue blood, steaming in the cold air.

  Kael exhaled and wiped a line of ichor from his jaw. “Well. That was a good fight.”

  Kavari grinned, her breath misting. “You always say that.”

  Runt laughed, kneeling next to one of the corpses. “Can I keep a tooth?”

  Kael chuckled. “Only if you clean it yourself.” As he pulled his spear free.