Chapter 12 — Whispers in the Dark
A chill crept through the mist; an unnatural cold that sank deeper than winter's bite. Auron hated it.
It was the same cold he remembered from the day the snow turned red, the day his grandfather fell. The forest felt alive with ghosts.
He stepped out of his tent, fastening Vowkeeper's strap across his back. Around him, the camp had changed.
Wagons formed makeshift walls, wheels locked and braced. Even though dawn had barely broken, everyone moved with quiet purpose.
Guards polished armor, sharpening swords until sparks flickered in the gloom. Servants tucked small knives into belts or sleeves. No one spoke above a whisper, yet the air pulsed with dangerous energy.
Lucian stood near the central fire, his expression composed though sleepless shadows ringed his eyes.
The duel from the night before had shifted the camp's rhythm. Where men once looked at him with doubt, they now moved aside when he passed.
A young guard who had once ignored his orders now offered him the best cut of salted meat from the morning ration. The nods he received were still uncertain, but they were no longer hollow.
A boy pretending to be a lord was a risk. A leader with no will to lead was death.They had chosen the risk.
Garrick approached, armor dented and beard streaked with soot. He handed Lucian a folded map.
"We doubled the watch on the southern path," he said. "Nothing yet but there's been noise in the woods since dawn. Could be wind. Could be something else."
Lucian unfolded the map, tracing the marked routes. "Keep patrols close. I don't want men wandering too far."
Garrick nodded. "And if they come from the north?"
"That's what we want," Auron said, stepping closer. His tone was calm, but his eyes were hard. "They'll see the opening there and take it."
Garrick frowned. "And if you're wrong?"
"Then we fight," Auron replied simply. "Our last resort is still better than waiting to die."
Lucian's gaze moved between them. "We'll handle what comes. Just make sure every man is armed and ready."
The older knight bowed and left.
Lucian turned to Auron. His voice dropped. "You feel it too, don't you? Something's watching."
Auron's eyes lingered on the treeline, where the mist clung thick as breath. "This forest remembers every death it's seen."
Lucian gave a hollow laugh. "And yet I keep walking into it."
"Perhaps fortune favors you," Auron said, a ghost of a smile flickering across his lips. "Though she has cruel taste."
********
By midmorning, tension hung over the camp like fog. The men worked in near silence, their armor dull under the pale light.
Garrick approached Lucian again. "The water party should have returned by now."
Auron straightened. "How long?"
"An hour past their mark," Garrick said. "They took the stream path, east of the ridge."
"I'll go," Auron said.
Lucian moved to stop him. "Not alone."
Two knights stepped forward before he could argue Sir Taren, lean and quick-eyed, and Sir Rhel, a broad man with burn scars webbing his forearms. Both had served under Asher. Both needed a chance for redemption.
"We'll go with him," Taren said.
Auron nodded. Together, the three slipped into the trees.
The forest swallowed them quickly. Damp earth muffled their steps; the air reeked of rot and iron.
They found the first body within minutes a guard face-down by a fallen trunk. His armor was unbroken, but his throat had been slit clean, almost surgical.
Rhel knelt beside him. "Fast," he muttered. "Too fast."
Auron studied the wound. The edges were smooth, precise. He touched a nearby tree the bark scored with deep, even grooves. "Claws," he said. "But not natural ones. Steel-forged."
Taren's hand went to his sword. "Then they're close."
"Quiet," Auron murmured.
The forest stilled. No wind. No birds. Then came a low growl, vibrating through the fog.
Taren turned, sword raised. "Where?"
"Here," Auron whispered.
A shadow dropped from above. Pine needles exploded outward as it landed massive, hunched, its muscles coiled beneath scarred gray flesh. Fangs jutted from its jaw; amber eyes glowed in the dim light.
Metal claws, long as daggers, extended from its forearms.
Rhel struck first, his sword blazing with red mana. The Beastborn caught the blade with its claw, sparks spitting as steel met steel.
Taren darted behind, his blade flaring blue, but the creature pivoted with inhuman grace. Its tail lashed out, slamming him into a tree with a dull crack.
Auron met the next lunge head-on. The impact jolted his arm to the shoulder. This thing fought with training.
He ducked low, slashing for its knee. The Beastborn hopped back, countering with a downward blow that carved a trench in the soil.
Behind him, Rhel's sword burned brighter. "Move!"
The Beastborn turned toward him. Their blades met again, flame against iron flesh. The creature roared, kicked Rhel hard in the chest, and sent him sprawling.
Auron surged forward, thrusting Vowkeeper toward its throat. The Beastborn caught the strike with one claw and drove the other toward his ribs.
Auron caught the punch on his forearm; pain lanced up to his shoulder. Teeth bared, he rammed his knee into the creature's gut. It staggered, snorting blood.
He retreated, breathing hard, centering himself. The creature came again, faster. Its claws tore his sleeve, leaving a burning line across his arm.
He pivoted, countering with a slash that carved shallow across its chest. The Beastborn only grinned, the wound steaming but shallow.
Taren rejoined the fight, hurling a burst of blue energy that froze part of the creature's shoulder.
Auron didn't hesitate. His sword cut through the frozen flesh, splitting it open. The Beastborn's roar rattled the trees.
Rhel rose again, sword blazing white-hot. "Down!"
Auron ducked. Rhel's strike cleaved through the creature's upper arm, severing one claw completely.
It staggered, bellowing in rage. Auron stepped in close and drove Vowkeeper through its chest. The roar died in its throat.
Silence fell.
Auron pulled his blade free, breath ragged. The body slumped forward. But before relief could root, another growl echoed.
A smaller shape emerged sleeker, faster, with claws coated in something black and glistening.
"Poison," Auron muttered.
Taren cursed. "Another one."
It lunged. Auron blocked one strike, but the second caught his side. Fire spread through his veins.
He forced the pain aside. The line from the Sword of Judgment pulsed in his mind: When the sword and the heart beat as one, the first door opens.
He moved like instinct itself. One step forward. A feint. A cut. The blade blurred silver tracing death through mist.
The Beastborn dodged the first strike but not the second. Vowkeeper bit deep into its flank.
Auron locked eyes with it. "Fall," he whispered.
He twisted the blade free. The Beastborn crumpled, gasping.
"Tie it," Auron ordered. Rhel bound the creature's limbs tight with coarse rope.
Taren crouched beside it, examining the black coating on its claws. "They wanted one of us alive."
"For interrogation," Auron said. "They're learning how we fight."
**********
Back in camp, the air thickened with dread. The captured Beastborn was tied to a post, its amber eyes dull but defiant.
Lucian stood before it, hands trembling around his dagger. "Who sent you?"
The creature's cracked lips twisted. "You know his name already."
Lucian's voice hardened. "Asad Al."
The Beastborn smiled. "The Lord of Fangs. He comes for the blood that sings."
Auron stepped forward, eyes narrowing at the sigil carved into its chest twin lines twisting into a circle. "A noble mark," he murmured. "You are not of common descent aren't you?."
The Beastborn's smirk flickered.
Garrick crouched beside it. "You were scouts," he said. "Sent to bleed us before the pack arrives."
The creature's breathing grew shallow. "We do not fight," it said. "We hunt."
"And when the hunt begins?" Auron asked.
The Beastborn grinned a broken, savage thing. "At the next blood moon. When the wind changes, the pack follows."
Before anyone could react, its body convulsed. Blue light flared beneath its skin. The smell of burning flesh filled the air.
Lucian stumbled back. "What happened?"
Auron's eyes darkened. "A mana shard. Implanted suicide spell. They die before they speak."
Garrick spat. "Savage creatures."
"No," Auron said. "That's discipline. Belief that death serves purpose."
Lucian's voice shook. "Belief?"
Auron looked toward the forest. "blind belief, causes strange things."
*****
Night fell heavy.
Men ate in silence. The fires burned low.
Lucian sat apart until Auron approached. "When is the next blood moon?" Lucian asked quietly.
"Two days," Auron said. "If the scouts were right, they'll strike before dawn of the second."
Lucian nodded slowly. "Then we use every hour we have."
Garrick came with two knights, each carrying a map and torch. "We checked the ridgeline," he said. "It's narrow but defensible. If they come that way, we can funnel them into a choke point."
Lucian steadied himself. "Good. Fortify it first."
The knights began arguing over placements, marking lines and trenches. The sound of their voices grew sharper, steadier. Fear turned into focus.
Auron watched them quietly. For the first time, the camp did not feel fractured. It felt barely like an army.
Lucian turned to him, nervousness flickering beneath his calm. "Do you think we can hold?"
Auron's gaze drifted toward the horizon. A pale red moon had begun to rise. "Hold, yes. Win, no."
Lucian frowned. "Then why fight?"
"Because running makes us prey," Auron said. "and i will never run.... again."
Lucian met his eyes. "Neither will I."
The two stood side by side as the wind shifted.
Then came the sound low, rhythmic, distant. Drums.
Rhel looked up. "What in the gods' names is that?"
Taren's expression hardened. "Not a call to battle."
Lucian turned slowly. "Then what?"
Auron's hand tightened around his sword. "A warning."
The drums kept beating, slow and patient, like a heartbeat beneath the earth.
The fire wavered. Eyes turned to the forest And in the distance beyond the mist, beyond sight something watched.
Waiting for the moon. Waiting for blood.