The fire had long since burned low, and the sky above the ruins bled into a bruised purple dawn. The scent of frost clung to the air, though the witch-elf Aelvara was gone. Kael sat against a half-toppled stone pillar, clutching his wounded shoulder and watching Fenrahl rest nearby, blood still caked in the ancient beast's dark fur.
Neither spoke.
The events of the night weighed heavy between them.
But then — a sound broke the silence.
A deep, mournful horn call, ancient and resonant. It rolled through the hills and forests, making the very earth tremble. The flames of their small fire guttered under its weight.
Kael stiffened.
"Another one…?"
Fenrahl stirred, his eyes snapping open, nostrils flaring.
"No." His voice was low, and for the first time, Kael saw something close to unease in those crimson eyes. "This one isn't of the Court."
The sound came again — closer now. Trees shuddered as a presence moved through them, a storm given form.
Kael pushed to his feet, wincing at the pain in his shoulder. His dagger felt heavier than before, his limbs slower.
I can't rely on Fenrahl again, he thought bitterly.
A shadow emerged from the mist.
At first Kael thought it was another monster — but no. The figure that stepped into the clearing was unmistakably humanoid. Tall, broad-shouldered, clad in ancient armor tarnished by time. A heavy cloak of wolf pelts hung from his shoulders, and a curved greatsword rested across his back.
His face was lined and scarred, one eye clouded white, but the other gleamed with ruthless purpose.
Fenrahl tensed.
"I know that one."
Kael swallowed.
"Who is he?"
The warrior stepped into the clearing, boots crunching on frost-rimed stone. He gave neither of them a greeting, only unslinging the horn from his side and hanging it by his belt.
"You're the Bloodmarked."
His voice was like the grinding of old stone.
Kael kept his dagger raised. "And you are?"
"Varkas. The Hunter of Old." The man drew his greatsword — a relic from a forgotten age, its blade marked by ancient runes. "I've slain things that would make your Court pale, wolf-beast. And I've been waiting a long time for you, half-blood."
Kael's throat tightened.
"What do you want?"
Varkas took a step forward. "A test."
Without another word, he lunged.
Kael barely managed to leap aside, the massive blade cleaving through the stone pillar where he'd been standing. Dust and fragments exploded into the air.
Fenrahl snarled, preparing to leap, but Kael shouted, "No! This is mine!"
The beast hesitated.
Kael knew in that moment — if he kept letting Fenrahl fight his battles, he'd never survive this world. Never become anything but a target, a half-breed monster clinging to stronger shadows.
He gritted his teeth and charged.
Varkas was fast for a man of his size, parrying Kael's strike with contemptuous ease. The dagger scraped against ancient steel, sparks flying. A heavy boot caught Kael in the ribs, sending him sprawling.
Pain bloomed in his chest.
"You're soft," Varkas growled. "Too dependent. That beast's power won't always be there. What will you do when no one comes?"
Kael forced himself up, dagger in hand.
"I'll fight anyway."
He lunged again, feinting to the left. Varkas swung to block, but Kael ducked low, slashing at the man's thigh. The blade bit, drawing a thin line of blood.
Varkas grunted.
"Good. Pain sharpens the weak."
Kael didn't stop — he spun, slashing again and again, forcing the hunter back a step. His mind raced, recalling the feel of Fenrahl's power when the pact had been made.
He focused.
Blood Stone… lend me strength.
A faint heat surged through his veins, the bloodstone's glow flaring briefly in his pouch. His next strike hit harder, driving Varkas' blade aside.
But it came at a cost.
A sharp, searing pain shot through his side as the hunter's gauntlet caught him across the ribs, lifting him off his feet and slamming him into the mossy stones.
Kael gasped, vision swimming.
I can't… I can't win.
He looked up.
Varkas stood over him, blade raised.
"Your spirit's strong. But you lack control. Power isn't just rage, boy. It's focus. Resolve. The will to master yourself."
The greatsword came down.
Kael barely rolled aside, the blade gouging a deep furrow in the stone.
He crawled to his knees.
"You won't break me," he spat, blood in his mouth.
Varkas lowered his weapon.
"Not here to break you." He sheathed the greatsword. "I'm here to warn you."
Kael blinked.
"What…?"
Varkas' expression was grim.
"The Court is only the first tide. There are older things waking. Things neither man nor monster remembers." His gaze flicked to Fenrahl. "You, beast. You know the name Nhar'Thuun?"
Fenrahl's ears flattened.
A growl rumbled in his throat.
"The Devouring Dusk," the ancient wolf-beast whispered.
Kael's stomach dropped.
"What is it?"
Varkas looked to the horizon.
"A god long thought dead. It stirs in the deep places of the world. If you wish to live, Bloodmarked, you'll need to be more than some half-breed scraping by on borrowed strength."
He turned to leave.
"I'll see you again."
His final words hung in the air.
"If you survive the next night."
And then — Varkas was gone, fading into the trees as swiftly as he'd arrived.
Kael collapsed against the stones, chest heaving.
Fenrahl limped over, bloodied but alive.
"You fought well," the beast rumbled.
Kael closed his eyes.
"Not well enough."
And somewhere beyond the hills, the first stars of night began to prick the sky — and with them, a distant, terrible howling.