The fog in Hollowpine Valley didn't rise—it breathed.
Duncan stepped through the veil, his boots sinking into loam that pulsed faintly underfoot. The trees here were gnarled, bark like bone, their twisted limbs draped in white moss that whispered when touched. Even the birds refused to sing. Only the wind murmured—carrying voices that had no source.
Behind him, ten of the fittest Wildfront soldiers followed in tight formation. Among them were Brannoc and a wiry scout named Kael, a woman who wore a bone-carved bow and walked like the forest owed her nothing.
"Third circle," Kael said softly, scanning the tree line. "No beasts. No scat. Not even insects. The valley's been hollowed."
Brannoc muttered a curse. "You think the Warden's still sleeping?"
"No," Duncan said. "It's waiting."
They pressed deeper, torches unlit, guided by Kael's memory and Duncan's strange instinct—an unspoken pull, like a compass buried in his marrow.
Echoes of the Oldblood
By midmorning, they reached a clearing where the trees bowed outward in a perfect ring.
At its center stood a stone monolith, etched with glowing runes that pulsed like slow heartbeat. Around it lay shattered weapons, rusted armor, and bone fragments—too clean, as if picked bare by time itself.
"Recognition ward," Brannoc whispered, kneeling by the stones. "Oldblood make. Used to separate the worthy from the rest."
Kael circled the edge. "My mother said there were six such circles in the east, all tied to the 'Beast Paths.' Only fools entered. None came back."
Duncan stepped forward.
The moment his boot crossed the moss-ringed boundary, the monolith flared with golden light.
His vision twisted.
And then he was somewhere else.
The Warden Awakens
It wasn't a place.
It was a memory—but not his.
He stood in a field of white flame, sky black as oil. Before him, a titan of bone rose from the earth—eight-legged, with a skull-faced helm and wings made of iron branches. Where its heart should be was a pulsing red core, suspended in chains of glimmering light.
It looked down at him.
And spoke.
"Bloodless child. Half-marked. You were not meant to return."
The voice rattled in his bones.
Duncan tried to speak but his mouth wouldn't move.
"You carry what was forbidden. The beast in the blood. The memory of kings."
"We are not your enemy—yet."
The creature raised one clawed hand.
"Step forward… or be torn back."
And then—
He woke.
Bone and Ash
Duncan staggered back into his body, sweat pouring from his brow.
The ground beneath the monolith had split open.
A creaking sound echoed through the forest—like a ribcage tearing open.
From the cracked earth rose a shape.
Tall. Skeletal. Antlers of black iron curling skyward.
The Warden of Hollowpine had awoken.
Its empty sockets burned with red light. Its ribs were engraved with ancient symbols. It towered over the squad like a god fashioned from war relics and forgotten fears.
Kael dropped to a knee. "Never seen one so whole…"
Duncan stepped forward, ignoring Brannoc's hand on his shoulder.
"I saw it," he said. "It knows me."
The Warden's head tilted.
Then it screamed.
Not in sound—in mind.
Visions slammed into Duncan's skull: cities buried under vines, Dominion towers burning, a great maw opening in the west where beasts of old returned, not to conquer… but to cleanse.
He dropped to one knee, blood trickling from his nose.
Brannoc raised his spear. "Permission to fire?!"
"No!" Duncan shouted, struggling to his feet. "It's testing us!"
The Trial
The Warden raised its hand.
From the mist behind it emerged three smaller creatures, each the size of a wolf but made of fused bone and smoke. They circled the squad, teeth clicking.
Kael knocked an arrow. "We're not surviving this…"
Duncan stepped forward.
"I'll face them. Alone."
Brannoc cursed. "That's suicide."
"No," Duncan said, drawing his blade. "It's a negotiation."
He stepped into the ring.
The bone-creatures charged.
What followed was not just combat—it was ritual.
The creatures moved not with rage, but purpose—testing reflexes, pushing him to the edge. Duncan moved on instinct, blade flowing like a river, every strike a blend of human skill and something older.
He fell once.
Stumbled twice.
But he never yielded.
And when the last creature lunged, he met it with steel through the eye socket and drove it into the soil.
Silence returned.
The Warden stepped back, lowered its head…
And vanished.
Along with the others.
The fog lifted.
The monolith cracked.
And in its center lay a single item: a beastbone medallion, shaped like an eye.
A Signet of the Forgotten Pact
Kael retrieved the medallion with trembling fingers. "This… this is a mark of command. From the Wildblood Age."
Brannoc looked at Duncan. "That thing just named you. Like one of their own."
Duncan took the medallion and fastened it to his belt. The weight felt unnatural—both heavy and right.
"We need to report this to Yelra," Brannoc said.
"No," Duncan replied. "This doesn't go back to the Dominion."
He turned toward the forest.
"This goes deeper."