Gareth and Reva led the twelve survivors southward. Kael watched them disappear behind the line of dead trees, small figures limping through the ashen fog, guided by Gareth's massive silhouette and his faintly gleaming shield. Reva moved soundlessly among the branches above, a shadow guarding other shadows.
Then they were gone, and silence swallowed Thornwood once more.
"We move," Aldric said.
They didn't take the same path back. Aldric chose an eastern route, skirting the edge of denser, rockier woods, avoiding the open trails stretching between Thornwood and Valdoria. Kael understood the reasoning without asking. Open trails were invitations for whatever lurked in the sky or beneath the earth.
Kael ran behind Aldric, matching his pace to the older man's constant rhythm. The surrounding forest still bore the touch of Dark Aether. Trees further from Thornwood began showing colors—autumn browns and faded greens—but near the ruins, everything remained white and ashen skeletons. The death zone had a sharp boundary, as if someone had drawn a line in the dirt and declared: here, life ends.
They ran for nearly two hours before Aldric raised his fist.
Kael stopped. His breathing was heavy but controlled, a testament to the months of forced training under Brok in the Valdorian barracks. He scanned their surroundings. The woods here were denser, with low shrubs blanketing the ground and granite outcroppings jutting between the roots of ancient oaks. Sunlight piercing the canopy created golden dappled patches on the forest floor.
A place that should have been peaceful.
"Kael," Aldric spoke quietly without turning. "Use your senses."
Closing his eyes, Kael allowed the Light Aether to flow into his palms. Not a forced push, but the calm current Darius had taught him. Pale golden light pulsed once at his fingertips, then spread like a ripple across still water.
He sensed it.
Not the dense concentration of Dark Aether like in Thornwood. This was subtler, more scattered, like ink dropped into clear water. Thin traces shifting, changing position, never settling in one spot.
Something living.
"There's something around us," Kael whispered, drawing his Aether back before exhaustion could creep in. "Moving traces of Dark Aether. Not large, but there are several. Maybe four or five sources."
Aldric showed no surprise. He merely nodded, as if the answer confirmed a suspicion he already held.
"They've been tracking us since we left Thornwood," the Captain said. "I heard movement in the canopy twice in the last hour."
The hairs on Kael's neck stood up. Twice in an hour, and he hadn't noticed a thing.
"Why didn't you say anything?" Kael asked.
"Because I needed to know if they were trackers or hunters," Aldric replied. His hand moved to the hilt of the Ironforge Blade on his back—a casual gesture that Kael knew could morph into a lethal strike in a fraction of a second. "Trackers follow and report our position to the main force. Hunters attack on their own." He tilted his head. "They haven't attacked. That means they're trackers."
"Which means we have to kill them before they report back," Kael said.
Aldric looked at him. Something flickered in the veteran's eyes, brief and fleeting, but Kael caught it. Not surprise. More like a silent acknowledgment that the young man in front of him was beginning to think like a soldier.
"Exactly," Aldric said. "But not here. We need a vantage point."
They found their position ten minutes later. A rocky depression between two low hills, flanked by a granite wall on one side and thick brush on the other. Aldric chose it because the hollow only had two entry points, forcing anything pursuing them to funnel through a narrow gap.
"Sit here," Aldric ordered. "Pretend we're resting. Let them come."
Kael sat leaning against a rock, his hand never leaving his sword hilt. His heart beat rapidly, not from fear, but from a sharp anticipation. His first real fight. The Krocha in Thornwood didn't count; Aldric had killed it before Kael could react.
They waited.
The sun shifted behind the clouds, and the shadows in the forest lengthened. Kael observed the interplay of light and dark among the trees, trying to catch any unnatural movement.
Then he saw it.
Or rather, he barely saw it.
The shadow beneath a large oak tree to the east moved. It didn't shift like a shadow blown by the wind or tracking the sun; it flowed, like black liquid creeping along the ground. The darkness detached itself from the shade of the tree and moved independently, hugging the rocks, tracing the crevices between roots, approaching their position with a deliberate slowness.
A chill ran down Kael's spine.
"Captain," he breathed, barely moving his lips.
"I see it," Aldric answered with equal calm. "Two more in the west. One behind us."
Four. Four shadows moving independently, surrounding them from three directions.
The closest shadow paused behind a large boulder, three paces from Kael's position. From this distance, its form was clearer, and the sight made Kael's stomach twist.
The creature lacked a fixed shape. Its body fluctuated between solid and liquid, sometimes resembling a human crawling on all fours, other times a formless dark puddle. But one thing remained constant: its head, if it could be called that. A bulbous protrusion devoid of hair, without ears, and most terrifyingly, without eyes. No eye sockets, no lids, nothing. Just a smooth, blind expanse of shiny black skin where eyes should have been.
Instead, on either side of its head, thin membranes pulsed to an inaudible rhythm. Kael watched the membranes expand and contract, expanding and contracting, realizing the creature was listening—sensing the vibrations in the air, body heat, perhaps even his heartbeat.
Its fingers were long and thin, devoid of nails. The tips tapered into sharp, wetly gleaming points, like surgical needles dipped in poison. No brutal claws like a Krocha. These weren't weapons meant for tearing. They were for piercing, precise and deep, straight into vital organs.
These aren't beasts, Kael thought. They're assassins.
"They're Vesper," Aldric murmured, his voice practically soundless. "Infiltrator demons. Eyeless, but they sense vibrations and body heat. Don't move too fast and don't use large amounts of Aether; the energy spike will draw them like blood draws a shark."
"Their weakness?"
"Their bodies are fragile compared to other demons. A single clean strike is enough. But they are incredibly fast and nearly silent." Aldric drew the Ironforge Blade from its scabbard with a slow, controlled motion, minimizing the scrape of metal. "The problem isn't killing one. The problem is the others will strike the moment the first one falls."
Kael tightened his grip on his sword.
"I'll take the ones in the east and south," Aldric whispered. "You take the west. The one behind us, leave to me afterward."
"One on one," Kael noted.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
"Not a duel. An execution," Aldric corrected. "They're trackers, not frontline fighters. Don't give them time to react. One strike. Vital point. Done." The man fixed Kael with a hard, clear gaze. "This isn't the training arena, Kael. Don't look for a beautiful fight. Look for an efficient one."
Kael swallowed and nodded.
"On my mark," Aldric said. "Count of three."
One.
Two.
Three.
Aldric launched from his position like an arrow loosed from a bow. No war cry, no warning, just brutal, efficient movement cutting through the air. The Ironforge Blade flashed once beneath the sunlight piercing the canopy, and the nearest Vesper was cleaved from shoulder to waist before it could even shift its form from shadow to solid.
Thick black liquid sprayed from the wound—not blood, but a dark, viscous substance smelling of rotting iron.
Kael moved.
The western Vesper was already reacting. It shifted from a shadow puddle into a humanoid form in a blink, its body hardening and its tapering fingers thrusting toward Kael. The speed of its transformation made Kael nearly too late.
Nearly.
The creature moved with impossible elasticity, twisting its body so Kael's initial thrust only grazed its shoulder. Before Kael could retract his sword, the Vesper lunged. Its needle-sharp fingers aimed straight for his chest, seeking his heart.
Kael twisted his body sideways in a panic. The creature's three pointed fingers missed his chest but tore into his left arm. Three thin lines immediately burned like acid, sending a wave of pain that white-out his vision for a split second.
Through the agony, Kael didn't retreat. Remembering Aldric's warning about efficiency, he used the momentum of the creature's lunge. Twisting the hilt of his sword, he thrust upward, straight into the Vesper's exposed neck.
The steel tip pierced the shiny black surface with a rubbery, elastic resistance. The Vesper hissed—a high-frequency vibration that set Kael's teeth on edge. Kael drove the blade deeper and jerked sideways, tearing the creature's neck completely open.
The Vesper fell.
Its body instantly lost density, melting back into a black puddle pooling over the rock beneath it. The puddle pulsed a few times, then stopped moving.
Kael stepped back, gasping. His arm stung intensely; the three scratches seeped blood mixed with something black and biting. Poison? No, more like Dark Aether residue lingering from the creature's touch.
Behind him, two wet, consecutive thwacks echoed. Aldric had already finished the second and third Vesper.
Then, silence.
Kael spun around, sword raised, searching for the fourth Vesper. The one that was supposed to be behind them.
Nothing.
"The last one ran," Aldric said, standing between two black puddles slowly seeping into the earth. His sword dripped dark fluid. "It's going to report our position."
"Then we need to move faster," Kael said.
"Then we need to move faster," Aldric repeated, an underlying tone in his voice that sounded very much like approval.
They ran.
Not the measured jog from before, but a lung-burning, muscle-punishing sprint. Aldric led, and though the man was thrice Kael's age, his stride never faltered. Thirty years on the battlefield had built an endurance no training regimen could replicate.
The scratches on Kael's arm throbbed with every motion. The burning sensation didn't fade; instead, it crept slowly upward toward his elbow. Dark Aether residue from the Vesper's claws. Kael recognized the effect—a mild corrosive poison, not lethal, but designed to slow prey, exhausting them before a larger hunting pack arrived.
Patient killers, Kael thought, fighting a grimace. They wound and wait.
"Don't touch the scratch," Aldric commanded without looking back. "The Dark Aether in a Vesper's claws reacts to body heat. The more you touch it, the faster it spreads. Leave it alone until we can wash it with clean water."
"Experience?" Kael asked between breaths.
"Scars," Aldric replied simply. He touched the left side of his waist without elaborating.
They pushed through the forest for another hour. The sky shifted from gray to deep orange as the sun began its descent behind the western peaks. Shadows lengthened on the forest floor, and every shifting patch of darkness drew Kael's heightened vigilance.
Then Aldric stopped.
Not from exhaustion. He stopped because they found something.
Traces of battle.
In a narrow pass between two rocky hills, the earth was churned and torn. Bushes on either side were ripped and folded in the same direction, as if something massive and heavy had plowed through them. Dark stains—some deep red, others pitch black—marred the rocks and dry leaves.
Human blood and demon blood.
"This is fresh," Aldric murmured, kneeling to touch a red stain on a rock. His finger came away wet. "Less than a day."
Kael's heart pounded harder. The southern route to Thornwood. This was the path the reinforcement column from Valdoria would have taken.
Erik's column.
"Captain," Kael's voice hitched. "This is the route the Third Battalion used."
Aldric didn't answer. He was already standing and moving along the battle trail, his steps cautious, eyes sweeping every detail on the ground. Kael followed, a growing weight settling into his chest with every step.
They found the first Valdorian uniform snagged on a low branch. Torn and blood-soaked, but no body nearby. Then a dented helmet, lying among tree roots. A shield split in two.
But no corpses.
"They fought and retreated," Aldric assessed after examining the tracks further. "A defensive formation falling back westward. Organized. Whoever was leading this column knew what they were doing."
Kael wanted to ask if Erik survived. He wanted to ask if Thomas and Joran were there. He wanted to sprint down that trail until he found the answers, but he knew it was a luxury he couldn't afford.
"We can't follow it," Kael stated. The words felt like swallowing shattered glass, sharp and agonizing all the way down.
Aldric looked at him. A long, steady gaze.
"We can't," Aldric confirmed. "The intelligence about the invasion must reach the War Council. That is the priority."
Kael nodded, his hands clenching at his sides.
Then he spotted it.
Among the dry leaves and bloodstains, partially buried in the churned earth, lay a small object that didn't belong on a battlefield. Kael knelt and reached out.
A carving knife.
Small, worn, the wooden handle darkened by years of sweat. The blade was dull, not from combat, but from whittling. Kael recognized the knife. He had watched Erik hold it on quiet nights in the barracks, carving small figures from wood scraps while the others slept. A horse. A house. The face of a girl whose name Erik never mentioned.
The knife now lay in bloodstained dirt.
Kael picked it up. The wooden handle was cold and damp against his palm.
"Belongs to your friend?" Aldric asked.
"Erik," Kael said. One word carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken sentences.
He tucked the knife into his vest pocket, right beside Elara's Healing Crystal. Two items from two people who meant the world to him, both cold against his chest, both holding promises he didn't know if he could keep.
I'll find the answers, Kael silently vowed. I'll find you.
"Kael," Aldric's voice cut through his thoughts. Not harsh, but firm. "We need to move."
Kael stood. His legs felt leaden, but he forced them to step forward. Behind him, the trail of battle stretched like an open wound across the forest, telling a story whose ending he did not yet know.
Night fell quickly in the border woods.
They didn't stop to make camp. Aldric decided to keep moving in the dark, slowing their pace but never halting. The reason was clear without being spoken: the escaped Vesper had undoubtedly reported their position by now.
"How much longer until Valdoria?" Kael asked as they walked, his eyes struggling to adjust to the gloom beneath a canopy that choked out the moonlight.
"If we keep moving without stopping, tomorrow at dawn," Aldric answered. "If we're intercepted again, longer."
They walked in a silence filled only by their footsteps and their own breathing. Occasionally, an owl hooted in the distance, and each time, Kael's hand went to his sword hilt before his brain could process it wasn't a threat.
The scratches on his arm had stopped throbbing, but the surrounding skin was freezing and losing sensation—the lingering effect of the Dark Aether residue slowly dying without a new energy source.
"Captain," Kael said after a long quiet stretch. "At Thornwood, Sergeant Brennan mentioned Trench-worms, Krocha, and the Noctis Guard. Now Vesper. How many more types of demons are out there?"
Aldric walked several paces before replying.
"More than you want to know," he said. "The military calls them the Abyssal Race. Creatures from The Void. They aren't a single species. They're a collection of hundreds of different types, each evolved for a specific function. Assassins, diggers, trackers, siegers, poisoners. Some the size of a cat, some the size of a building." He paused. "And some that look like humans."
A chill unrelated to the night air washed over Kael.
"Like humans?"
"The Noctis Guard walk upright. They wear armor. They speak in languages we can comprehend. They possess military hierarchy and battle strategy. The higher their caste, the more they resemble us." Aldric stared straight ahead. "That's what makes them infinitely more dangerous than a horde of Krocha. Wild beasts can be predicted. Intelligence cannot."
Kael digested the words in silence. The image of his father flashed in his mind—Dorian standing between his family and the Shadow Drake descending from the night sky. The monster was massive and brutal, but it was just one creature acting on hunger and instinct.
What they were facing now was different. This wasn't a single monster. This was an army, with generals, with plans, with objectives beyond mere slaughter.
"We will make it," Kael stated. Not a question. A declaration.
Aldric didn't answer immediately. His pace remained constant, never slowing, never wavering.
"We will," Aldric finally agreed. "Because if we don't, the War Council won't know that death is marching their way."
In the distance, piercing the darkness and the night wind, a faint howl echoed. Not the howl of a normal wolf, but a chorus that was lower, deeper, and hungrier, echoing from the north and spreading eastward.
Lycaon, Kael realized, recalling a name from the reports he had read at the academy. Shadow wolves.
The pack wasn't close. Yet.
However, as Kael glanced back one last time before the forest swallowed his view, he saw it. High above on the branch of the tallest oak, a black shadow vibrated. A pair of thin membranes on the eyeless head pulsed, recording exactly which direction they were running.
The fourth Vesper hadn't left alone, and now, the true hunt had just begun.
Kael quickened his pace, and together with Aldric, they pushed through the dark of the night, carrying the intelligence that might determine whether Valdoria would still be standing by the next sunrise.
— To be continued in Chapter 19 —