Inside one of the large chariots that traveled with the caravan, Aldric sat quietly. The chariot was not luxurious, but it was far better than the slave wagons he had known in the past. For the last few weeks, this had been his temporary home.
The wooden walls creaked slightly as the wheels rolled over uneven stone. Through a small window, Aldric could see the mountain walls rushing past under the pale light of the moon. The night air was cold, and faint howls of beasts echoed from distant ridges.
In just two more days, the caravan would finally leave the Blood Fang region.
That thought filled Aldric with quiet relief. His goal was simple: reach Duskendale. What came after, he had not yet decided. The town would be a place to gather his thoughts, consider his path, and decide on his next steps as an arcanist.
His short partnership with Clet, Adrian, and Lionel was also close to ending. Though they traveled together under the same caravan, their relationship was shallow. Circumstance had brought them into the same group, but there was no deep trust or camaraderie between them. Once they reached their destination, Aldric had no intention of lingering with them.
He leaned back against the seat, closing his eyes. His mind wandered back to his training, to the engraved knowledge he carried, and to the creation path he had chosen. His hands itched to continue practicing, to craft and refine more objects. But now was not the time. The caravan was still in dangerous lands, and caution outweighed everything else.
---
Meanwhile, outside, Cedric rode on horseback near the head of the formation. The caravan stretched long behind him, torches flickering like a moving trail of fire through the valley. His black armor gleamed faintly under the moonlight, and his sharp eyes scanned the terrain with vigilance.
The night was quiet for now. Too quiet.
As he rode, Cedric's ears picked up a conversation among the guards riding nearby. Their voices carried easily in the stillness.
"I heard from one of the scouts earlier," one guard said. "A landslide blocked part of the original path. Because of that, we'll need to take a detour. It'll probably delay us half a day before we can leave the Blood Fang region."
Another guard chuckled. "This is a mountain region. Landslides are common. Nothing strange about that."
"True," the first guard agreed. "But the strange thing is that group of Blood Fang Tigers we fought. Did you notice? There was no beast king among them. And the place we found them was barren. They were far from their usual hunting grounds."
A third guard joined in. "Yeah, and not only that. They were exhausted when we found them. Almost like they had already fought another battle. We barely lost anyone in the fight. That wasn't normal at all."
Cedric's grip on the reins tightened slightly. His expression remained calm, but inwardly, he agreed. He had noticed the same things. The absence of a beast king, the exhaustion of the tigers, and the unnatural location. The fight had been too easy.
Then another guard laughed loudly, breaking the tension.
"Maybe that group of tigers were just idiots."
The others laughed as well. "Yeah, it's almost like they ran out of luck," one said.
"Or rather," another added, "like they were forcefully put in that situation."
The laughter continued, but Cedric's body stiffened. His heart skipped a beat, and cold sweat formed on his forehead. His instincts screamed at him.
Forcefully put in that situation.
His thoughts raced. What if the tigers hadn't simply wandered aimlessly? What if they had been driven out, herded deliberately into their path? What kind of existence could push a pack of Blood Fang Tigers away from their territory, exhaust them, and force them to scatter?
The answer was not one Cedric wanted to confirm.
For the first time in years, he found himself desperately hoping he was wrong. The weight pressing down on his chest was heavier than his armor, heavier than any responsibility he had ever carried. Because if his instincts were correct, the entire caravan was already walking into death's jaws.
He clenched his teeth.
And then, before the thought could even settle, a sound split the night.
It wasn't a roar, nor was it the crack of stone. It was louder, deeper—like the sky itself being torn apart. A low, thunderous noise that made the ground tremble beneath the hooves of the horses.
The guards around him froze. Some looked up.
Cedric did the same.
His vision darkened.
Something massive moved above them, blotting out the moonlight and swallowing the stars. The sheer size of the shadow made the mountains themselves feel small. It stretched wide across the valley, and for a moment, Cedric could no longer see the sky.
All around him, torches flickered and dimmed as the shadow spread over the caravan. Horses neighed in terror. Slaves cried out. Arcanists tensed and reached for their weapons.
The air grew heavy.
Cedric's breath caught in his throat. His sword hand trembled slightly—not from fear, but from the sheer realization of the scale of what loomed above them.
The world seemed to hold its breath.
And then, in the next instant, there was nothing but darkness.