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Opening Verse:
The Crown does not chase.
It hunts.
And when it sends the Hound,
Even silence must run.
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I. Bloodline of Iron
They heard the Champion's rhythm before they ever saw him.
It came in slow pulses at first—thrum… thrum… thrum—like a funeral drum buried beneath the soil. Birds took wing in panicked arcs overhead. Trees tensed as if bracing for a storm. Even the wind hesitated.
The thirty-one conscripts froze mid-march.
"What is that?" Velza whispered, every syllable stripped of breath.
Kael crouched low, pressing a calloused hand to the dirt. "Not a patrol."
Brann's jaw tightened. "No regulars move like that."
Rin didn't blink. "It's rhythm. Too clean to be random."
Kael straightened. "Only Champions march like that."
The silence agreed with him.
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II. The Sound That Hunts
His name was Valis Drenn, but the Crown called him the Hound of Black Signal. A Champion forged under the Eastern Drums—known for breaking rebellions before they began. It was said that his heartbeat had been rewired to Crown tempo, that his breath followed a metronome, and that his eyes only saw in syncopation.
Valis didn't ride.
He walked.
He moved like command incarnate, flanked by no soldiers, bearing no banner. His blades—a pair of obsidian sabres pulsing with dull, rhythmic glyphlight—were sheathed across his back in a double-holster as if waiting for permission from the beat itself.
He didn't speak.
He listened.
And he was listening for them.
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III. Panic in the Pines
By dusk, the air thickened with dread.
The conscripts whispered less. Some held their breath between steps. They had food for a day at most. Weapons scavenged from fallen soldiers or snapped together from barracks ruins. Rusted pikes. Bent blades. One rifle with no powder. Survival was no longer a question of skill.
It was time.
And the time was against them.
"He's closer," Velza said.
"We keep moving," Kael replied. "North barracks is behind us—we make for the southern ridge."
Brann looked between the trees. "If he corners us there—"
"He won't," Rin said. "He doesn't chase. He closes."
The others turned to him.
"How do you know that?" Sera asked.
Rin held up the broken blade at his side. The metal hummed, not faintly now—but with warning.
"Because my sword hears him too."
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IV. The First Strike
Night crept in like a conspirator. Owls ceased their calls. The glade felt like a mouth swallowing its breath.
Kael split the group again—eighteen to the eastern hill under Velza, thirteen under Rin to the glade's southern fringe.
Sera lingered before parting. "You'll know if he's near?"
Rin nodded. "The blade won't stop humming."
"Then if it sings too loud—run."
"No," Rin said. "If it sings loud, it means he's listening back."
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V. The Hound Arrives
They heard Brann scream first.
Not a full scream—just the start of one. Then the sudden, dead silence after.
Velza's voice crackled through the glade. "He's here!"
Then another voice. Then none.
Rin turned.
"Three gone. Just like that."
A fourth sound followed. Not a shout. Not a cry.
It was a step.
Thrum. Thrum. Thrum.
A shadow walked through the trees, silent as a specter. Sabres drawn. Crownsteel shimmering with rhythm-light. His presence alone bent the air.
Valis Drenn stepped into view.
He said nothing.
Just stopped—and pointed at Rin.
Velza's hand reached for him. "We have to run—"
"No," Rin whispered. "He's not after all of us. Just me."
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VI. Clash of Signal and Silence
The humming turned violent.
Rin's broken blade vibrated so fiercely it stung his wrist. He stepped forward.
One foot in rhythm. One foot defying it.
Valis lunged.
The Champion's blades cut arcs of light. Trees buckled. A flash seared the ground.
Rin ducked. Parried. Metal screamed.
Not a scream. A hum.
Rin's blade met Crownsteel—and held.
Not with strength. But memory.
The broken blade, cracked and forgotten, remembered how to dance.
The sabres beat like war drums.
But Rin's sword sang.
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Closing Verse:
The Hound does not miss.
The Hound does not speak.
But tonight, in the hush between beats—
A broken blade dared to hum.