The morning after their submission to Mashahl and Henry Joel came without sunlight. The sky above the cave was a cold slate grey, not from clouds, but from something far more unnatural—as if the heavens themselves had been veiled to erase hope.
Canya and Allan stood in the mouth of the cave, clad in dark, rune-stitched cloaks that had appeared during the night. They bore no weapons, only a strange talisman each—smooth obsidian marked with the spiral-within-triangle symbol.
Henry stood behind them with a quiet eagerness in his stance, his hands folded behind his back like a professor sending prized pupils on a final exam. Mashahl loomed beside him—taller than any human ought to be, face hidden by a veil of grey mesh, robes whispering with a sound that wasn't made by wind.
"You have each been chosen to retrieve a fragment," Henry said. "Where they are, we do not know. But the Circle has already begun to reshape the earth to your purpose. You will find your own way."
Mashahl spoke next. His voice, though low, twisted the air like smoke. "Bring them to me. Whole. Not corrupted. Not broken. And do not return without them."
No more words were offered. Mashahl raised his long arm, and the ground before the cave split in two directions—one path veering left into mist and frost, the other spiraling downward into a narrow canyon of red rock and thorn.
Without needing to speak, Allan and Canya parted.
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Canya took the downward path, moving slowly at first, her feet unsure. The talisman around her neck pulsed with a strange warmth. As she descended into the canyon, the air grew dry and sharp. Thorny shrubs clawed at her cloak, and strange symbols glimmered faintly on the rock walls, vanishing when she looked directly at them.
The land stretched out before her in unsettling silence. The wind no longer moved. Her own breath was too loud. The soil turned from red to ashen grey, and eventually, the terrain flattened into a vast plain of lifeless earth.
A barren land. The sky here was a pale bruise, as if the sun had once tried to rise and been beaten back down. No trees. No animals. Only scattered stones that stuck out from the soil like broken teeth. Her boots kicked up dry dust that floated and refused to settle.
Fear began to coil in her stomach.
She stopped walking when she noticed her footsteps no longer made sound. She looked behind her. No prints. No dust cloud. The path had vanished.
Panic flickered at the edges of her mind. She pressed a hand against her chest and felt her heart still beating—fast, alive—but the air around her grew colder, a glacial seep.
She turned to walk forward again.
That's when the scent hit her. Rot. Not of death, but of something ancient. Something that had decayed without ever living. A predator's scent—not of blood, but of pure intent.
She ran.
Across the flat land, her cloak snapping behind her. Her breath grew ragged. But no matter how fast she moved, the plain stretched endlessly. There was no cover, no stone large enough to hide behind. Just dry earth and the overwhelming smell of something hunting.
She stopped, panting, and turned.
It stood less than ten meters away.
A creature.
A hyena—or something that had borrowed its shape. Its fur was too smooth, too flawless—silky and shimmering like black glass. Its size was massive, nearly the height of a bull at the shoulder. Each paw pressed into the earth with a softness that denied its weight. But it was the eyes that struck her motionless—eyes red like molten coals, burning with intelligence and cruelty.
It grinned.
Her feet moved on instinct.
She darted left, veering toward a distant rock formation—more a desperate hope than a destination. The creature didn't follow in a straight line. It loped to the side, cutting her off with terrifying precision.
She changed direction again. It mirrored her.
The thing wasn't chasing her. It was playing.
Her lungs screamed. Her legs ached. The talisman thudded against her chest, heavy now, as though pulling her backward. A loose stone tripped her. She fell hard.
Dust rose around her face. Her hands scraped against sharp pebbles, and she rolled to her side, eyes scanning for the creature.
It stood above her.
Its mouth opened slightly—too many teeth, too long, too sharp. Its breath was warm and sweet like spoiled fruit. It leaned closer.
Canya screamed.
But no sound came.
The creature opened its jaws wider—and then, instead of biting, it pressed its forehead against hers.
A red glow pulsed from its eyes.
And in that moment, Canya saw something—memories that weren't hers, deserts where stars fell like hail, cities built from bone, and a great gate of iron that stood beneath the world.
Her mind reeled.
The creature grinned again.
And then, with one swipe of its monstrous paw, darkness took her.