Chapter 13 — The Eve of the Hunt
The morning had barely broken when the guard stumbled into the command tent.
He didn't salute. His breath came in short bursts, and mud streaked his face where he had fallen. The torch in his hand sputtered like it shared his fear.
"My lord," he rasped. "The forest - something has changed."
Lucian looked up from the table. The map before him was already worn thin, every path traced a dozen times in fading ink. "Speak."
"East of camp," the guard said, swallowing. "Trees marked. Burned symbols, fangs, circles, bones tied to their roots. Some are arranged like shrines." His voice cracked. "And all of them face toward us."
The silence in the tent tightened like a noose.
Auron, standing behind Lucian, said nothing. His gaze was distant, fixed on the tent flap where mist pressed faintly against the canvas.
Lucian's fingers curled against the map's edge until the wood cracked. "They are consecrating the hunt."
The guard nodded shakily. "Half a mile from the palisade. They're drawing the line."
Lucian closed his eyes, steadying his breath. It begins tonight.
He turned to the messenger. "Wake Sir Garrick. Double the watch and light no fires beyond the walls. Tell the sentries the outer ridge is the new perimeter." He paused, the weight of his next words anchoring his voice. "And tell him... it's time. We're executing the final plan."
The man hesitated, confusion flickering in his eyes, but Lucian's expression left no room for question. He bowed and ran.
Lucian looked toward Auron. "We were supposed to have two days."
Auron's tone was low, controlled. "We have one."
Lucian nodded once. The decision was already made.
He walked out of the tent alone, the air biting and cold. The mist lay heavy over the camp, and every sound felt swallowed by it.
He stopped near a flat stone at the forest's edge and knelt. For a moment, he closed his eyes, gathering what remained of his mana.
His hand trembled slightly as he shaped the Sigil of Steadfast in the air. The faint glow flickered, steadied, then held.
Control. Focus. Purpose.
The sigil dimmed as footsteps approached. Rhel emerged from the fog, his breath clouding the air.
"My lord! The sentries saw movement. Quick shapes, just beyond the northern watch line. They're testing us."
Lucian stood. The magic in his palm faded like breath in winter. "The crimson moon rises tomorrow," he said quietly. "We have no time left. We use the plan tonight."
Rhel blinked. "You mean—"
"Yes." Lucian's voice hardened. "Auron's plan."
He turned toward camp, his cloak brushing the frost. "Gather Taren. Bring the scent oils and torch bags. We move before sunset."
He remembered the meeting two nights ago the day Auron had spoken madness.
The air inside the command tent had been thick with smoke and exhaustion. Maps were scattered across the table, edges frayed, ink smudged by sleepless hands.
"but there is also another method we can use" auron added
"listen"
"Our defenses will not hold," Auron had said, his tone flat, calm, unflinching. "The Beastborn outnumber us. They know this forest better than we ever will. When they attack, it won't be war it'll be a hunt."
Sir Garrick slammed his palm against the table. "Then what do you suggest, boy? A miracle?"
Auron's eyes had lifted, pale and steady. "No. A monster."
The silence had been absolute.
He pointed to the unmapped northern ridge where the lines on the parchment simply stopped. "There is something that rules this forest. my grandfather called it Ursa.
A creature of old blood of forgotten gods. Twelve feet tall, iron-black fur, claws like spears. The king of all predators. it is a four star beast"
Rhel had muttered a curse under his breath. "You want us to fight it? have you lost your damned mind?"
"No," Auron said. "I want to wake it."
Lucian had stared at him, half in disbelief, half in reluctant awe. "You intend to lure it into the Beast born ranks. make the two forces destroy each other?"
"Exactly," Auron said. "We use scent oils and bait markers to lead it through their ranks. If we succeed, Ursa will see them as the intruders and the forest will devour its own."
Sir Garrick had called it madness. Rhel had called it suicide.
Lucian had said nothing for a long time. Then he looked up and said simply, "If the forest wants blood, let it take theirs first."
Auron's only reply had been, "Then it must be done before the beast born attack as and this should be our last possible option."
And now that attack was less than a day away.
*******
By evening, the camp was shrouded in a half-light that felt older than the sun.
Lucian stood by the outer barricade, overseeing the final preparations. The air was thick with smoke and frost, carrying the metallic tang of oil and fear.
Taren checked the seals on the scent vials thick brews of musk and animal blood potent enough to draw any predator within miles. Rhel packed torch bags and rune flares with trembling hands.
Auron approached from the shadows, his cloak damp with mist. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes burned with purpose.
"even if this damned plan works," Rhel muttered, "it might kill us all."
Lucian gave a thin, humorless smile. "Before it kills us, it will kill the Beast born. At least this way, we take them bastards with us"
Taren frowned. "And if that creature follows the trail back to us once it's done?"
Lucian looked toward the ridge, where the fog thickened into something almost alive. "We don't know. But if we do nothing, none of us will live to find out."
He turned to Auron. "You'll lead the trail team. Taren and Rhel will go with you."
Rhel's head snapped up. "My lord, you should come with us, this provide you with an opportunity to runaway —"
"I'm not asking," Lucian said quietly. His gaze softened, but his tone didn't. "The Beastborn want me. If they think I'm here, they'll focus on this camp. You'll have your window."
Auron nodded once. "Then we move at dusk."
Lucian stepped closer, lowering his voice so only Auron could hear. "You said it yourself we're out of time. The crimson moon rises tomorrow. This is our last night to act."
Auron met his gaze steadily. "Then tonight decides everything."
For a moment, neither spoke. The firelight flickered between them, turning their faces into shifting halves of light and shadow two men bound by necessity, neither by choice.
Rhel cinched his pack tight, exhaling through his teeth. "You're all mad," he muttered. "Every last one of you."
"Maybe," Auron said, sliding Vowkeeper into place. "But sometimes madness is all that's left."
They shared a grim, fleeting smile the kind men trade before walking into something they cannot return from.
The red edge of the moon had already begun to rise when Auron gave the signal.
"No fires. No sound," he said. "If the Beastborn strike, you hold the line. If we don't return…" He hesitated, the weight of it heavier than armor. "Then you make sure you give those beast born bastards hell"
Lucian gave a curt nod. "Go."
Auron turned toward the woods, Taren and Rhel falling in behind him. The forest swallowed their forms as they crossed the barricade, step by step into the mist.
The trees waited old, towering, whispering.
Each footfall cracked the frozen earth. Taren moved first, scattering droplets of oil that marked the invisible trail toward the northern ridge.
The scent rose sharp and primal, cutting through the cold. It would call to whatever ruled this land.
Rhel followed in silence, muttering prayers to gods long deaf to mortal fear.
Auron brought up the rear, eyes sharp, every motion deliberate. If we fail, we die taking the forest with us, he remembered saying. Now, that promise felt more real than ever.
The wind shifted. A low vibration rippled through the underwood slow, rhythmic, like a heartbeat beneath the soil.
The drums.
"They've started the hunt," Taren whispered.
Auron looked toward the horizon, where the rising moon bled red through the fog. "Then let it begin."
The three disappeared into the boughs, their shadows dissolving into the living dark.
And behind them, the forest exhaled old, patient, and watchful waiting to decide who the true hunters were.