The eastern gate was barely more than a gap in Haven's Reach's makeshift walls—a jagged tear in the piled stone and salvaged metal that someone had lazily propped a timber frame into. The gate itself was just a reinforced door scavenged from some merchant's warehouse, hung crooked on mismatched hinges. Guarding it was a single watchman slouched against the wall, spear leaned carelessly beside him, eyes half-lidded.
Reven passed through just after dawn, when the light was still gray and uncertain. The Razorwing talon integration made his movements unnaturally smooth—each step flowing into the next with predatory economy, no wasted motion, no telltale shift of weight before a turn. The Emberstone fragment in his chest radiated steady warmth, a constant low-grade heat that had become as familiar as his own heartbeat. He paused just beyond the gate, setting his pack on a flat-topped boulder, and was checking his supplies one final time—bandages, rations, essence vials, whetstone—when a voice interrupted.
"You're really doing this alone?"
Reven turned.
The man standing behind him was massive. Easily six and a half feet tall, built like he'd been carved from granite and then decided granite wasn't solid enough. He wore weathered armor that had seen serious use, and strapped across his back was a greatsword that had to weigh as much as Reven did.
The blade was wrapped in oiled canvas and leather, secured with buckled straps, but even covered, it radiated presence. It was the kind of weapon that had stories. The kind that had earned names.
"I don't recall asking for company," Reven said carefully. His fingers didn't move toward his own blade, but they didn't relax either.
"You didn't. I'm volunteering." The big man grinned. It was the kind of grin that suggested he found danger amusing rather than threatening. "Name's Thane. I've been watching you work for the past week. That sword you fixed for Tomas? I examined it. That's not B-Rank craftsmanship. That's borderline A-Rank work from materials that should've been worthless."
"And?"
"And anyone who can turn trash into treasure is either very skilled or very lucky. I'm betting on skilled." Thane adjusted the greatsword's straps, settling the weight more evenly across his shoulders. "Also, Mira mentioned you're planning to hunt a Mantle Colossus if you survive this. That's the kind of insane I can respect."
"You want to join a suicide mission?"
"I want to join an interesting mission. There's a difference." Thane's grin widened. "Besides, Scorchwings hunt in packs. You're going solo against a bunch of drakes. That's not confidence—that's stupidity. I figure I'll tag along to make sure you don't die embarrassingly."
Reven studied him. The easy confidence. The casual way he wore armor that most hunters would struggle to move in, let alone fight effectively wearing. The greatsword that suggested either incredible strength or incredible arrogance—and from the look of him, probably both. His System signature was muted, deliberately dampened, which meant either skill or expensive countermeasures.
"You don't know me," Reven said. "My System signature is corrupted. My class data is unreadable. For all you know, I'm more dangerous than the Scorchwings."
"Oh, I know exactly what you are." Thane's expression didn't change. "You're someone who survived something that should've killed him and came out wrong. You're carrying essence that scares the scanners and makes mages nervous. You're probably contaminated with something Calamity-adjacent, which means associating with you is a terrible idea."
"Then why—"
"Because I'm also running from something." The grin faded slightly. "Let's just say I'm from a Great Guild family. Expectations were... high. Suffocating, really. And when I couldn't meet those expectations—or rather, when I refused to—things got complicated."
"Which guild?"
"Does it matter?" Thane's tone suggested the subject was closed. "I'm not with them anymore. Haven't been for a long time."
Reven considered. The warmth from the Emberstone pulsed steadily against his sternum. Having backup would increase survival odds significantly. The tactical advantage was undeniable—better positioning, better coverage, someone to watch his flank. And if Thane was volunteering knowing what Reven was, knowing the risks and the stigma...
"Can you follow orders?"
"Depends on if they're smart orders."
"Can you not get yourself killed doing something heroic and stupid?"
"I make no promises." That grin again, quick and irreverent. "But I'll try to keep it to a minimum."
"Good enough." Reven turned and started toward the gate. "Stay close. Don't engage unless I signal. And if things go wrong—if I tell you to run—you run. Understood?"
"Understood." Thane fell into step beside him, somehow making the massive greatsword look like a natural extension of his body. "So what's the plan? Standard pack tactics? Divide and conquer? Or do you have something more interesting in mind?"
"Kill the alpha. The rest scatter."
"Bold. I like it." Thane's grin returned, wider now, and there was genuine anticipation in his voice. "This is going to be fun."
The eastern supply route cut through rocky terrain that gradually gave way to ash plains. Reven could see why Scorchwings liked this area—plenty of thermal vents, exposed cliff faces for nesting, and clear sightlines that made ambushes difficult.
For normal hunters.
They'd been traveling for two hours when Reven held up a hand, fingers splayed. "Stop."
Thane stopped immediately, hand going to the buckled straps across his chest. "What is it?"
"Do you hear that?"
Silence. Just the wind across the ash, the distant hiss of a thermal vent. Then, faintly—a whistling sound. High-pitched. Threading through the air like needles. Coming from multiple directions.
"Wings," Thane said quietly. His hand had found his greatsword's grip. "They know we're here."
Reven closed his eyes and activated his Calamity Sight, pushing his perception outward. The world shifted—colors bled away, replaced by thermal gradients and essence signatures. There. Seven points of intense heat in the sky, circling at altitude. Moving in coordinated patterns, maintaining perfect spacing. Their wingbeats were synchronized.
"They're already hunting us," he said. "Probably have been since we entered their territory."
"How do you know?"
"I can see heat differently now. They're hotter than the ambient air, even at that distance." Reven opened his eyes and pointed at the cliff face ahead, a dark mass against the gray sky. "Nest is up there. Three hundred meters, maybe a little more. They're not attacking because we're not close enough to threaten it yet."
"So they're just watching?"
"Testing. Learning our movements. Waiting to see if we're prey or threat." Reven tracked one of the circling shapes. It banked, adjusted course, and the others shifted in response. "They're patient."
Thane whistled softly under his breath. "Smart bastards."
"The Codex entry warned about this. They coordinate like a hive mind when the alpha is present. It directs them with subsonic calls—below human hearing range, but they feel it." Reven studied the circling shapes, counting their passes, measuring their altitude. "We need to make them commit. Force an engagement on our terms, not theirs."
"How?"
"I approach the nest while you stay hidden in those rocks." Reven pointed at a cluster of boulders thirty meters to their right, a jumbled formation that would provide cover and elevation. "When they dive on me—and they will, once I'm within range—you hit them from the side. Disrupt their formation, break their coordination, whatever else you can think of. I'll target the alpha."
"That's the plan? Use you as bait?" Thane's tone was assessing rather than skeptical.
"I've had practice being bait." Reven's hands flexed, the Razorwing integration making his fingers move with predatory precision. "Trust me. This works better if they think I'm alone."