The path narrowed into a jagged pass between rust-colored cliffs. Wind whipped through the rocks like screams. Kael walked at the front of the caravan, every muscle tensed.
The compass hung silent at his chest.
Too silent.
Sorella's voice echoed from the back, "Something's wrong. The wind's… too still."
Then—
An arrow hissed. It buried itself in the side of the wagon, inches from Tarren's head.
"Down!" Kael shouted, drawing his blade just as the pass erupted in chaos.
Figures leapt from the cliffs—bandits cloaked in red and black, their faces smeared with blood runes. Behind them came the unmistakable flash of silver helms:
Bloodhunters.
Steel clashed. Screams rang out. The caravan splintered into pockets of desperate defense.
Kael surged forward—and time slowed.
His Blood Core pulsed, and suddenly—Kael saw it.
A bandit lunged at him from the right—but Kael had already stepped aside, blade flashing. Another came from behind—a flick of the wrist, steel through throat.
Not instinct. Memory.
Kael wasn't fighting. He was recalling—the way the Vyr had once moved in war.
Their knowledge now his.
He ducked, parried, spun—cutting through enemies with terrifying precision.
But then he saw the boy.
Barely older than fifteen, charging him with a trembling spear and terror in his eyes.
Blood strengthens blood, the whisper returned.
Kael hesitated.
The spear nicked his arm. He turned, slammed the hilt of his blade into the boy's temple. Not a kill.
But the Blood Core hungered for it.
The ambush left two caravan members dead. Another—a healer named Merin—was wounded badly.
Kael stood at the edge of the broken path, staring down at the blood on his hands. The wind howled through the pass behind him.
"You saved us," Tarren said, limping up. "Without you, we'd be ash."
Kael didn't answer.
Sorella approached, her eyes sharp. "You didn't kill that boy."
Kael finally looked up. "I almost did. Wanted to. It would've made me stronger."
"Then why not?"
He turned back to the jagged rocks. "Because I'm not ready to become what the Blood System wants me to be."
That night, the camp was quiet. No songs. No firelight.
Kael walked alone along the path of bodies—his kills from the day still bleeding into the dust.
Every face blurred into one another.
And yet, one voice echoed clear:
"Kill. Feed. Ascend."
Kael touched the compass. It was glowing again, but dimmer than before. Almost… disappointed.
He looked to the stars beyond the peaks. A storm was coming.
They were nearing the Gate of Bone & Blood.
But first, they had to survive themselves.
Kael whispered to the wind, "If I must become a monster to protect them… I'll decide what kind."
And the Blood Core stirred—not in hunger, but in recognition.