The night forest swallowed them whole. No moonlight pierced the thick canopy of ancient oaks; there were only shadows layered upon shadows. The air felt oppressive, choked with humidity and the damp scent of rotting earth.
Kael kept his legs moving, boots striking mud and tree roots in a chaotic rhythm. His lungs burned, demanding more air than he could draw in, but he didn't dare slow down. Ahead, Aldric's silhouette moved with an efficiency nearly inhuman for someone his age, gliding between the trunks without ever stumbling.
The three long scratches on Kael's left arm no longer hurt, which scared him more than the pain. The burning sting of the Vesper poison had shifted into a cold numbness, slowly creeping past his elbow. Every time he swung his arm for balance, it felt like a dead log forcibly grafted to his shoulder.
Behind them, the howl echoed again.
It wasn't the sound of an ordinary timber wolf. It was a fusion of metal scraping against stone and the raspy breath of a creature choking on its own blood. Too deep, too resonant. And worst of all, it sounded much closer than it had ten minutes ago.
"They have our scent," Aldric noted without looking back, his voice quiet but carrying clearly over the crunch of twigs beneath their boots. "The poison in your arm. It's like a flare to them."
Kael gritted his teeth, pressing his right hand against his left wrist, trying to feel his own pulse beneath the cooling skin. "How much further to the Valdorian border?" he asked between gasps.
"Three miles," Aldric answered. "If we run without stopping."
Another howl replied from the east. Then one from the west. The pack was spreading out, attempting to box them into a horseshoe formation. Kael recalled the military academy reports. Lycaon. Shadow wolves that hunted not out of a hunger for flesh, but a hunger for life energy. They wouldn't stop until their prey was shredded.
Kael vaulted over a fallen tree trunk, but his left foot didn't clear the height. He tripped, rolling hard over wet leaves, his shoulder slamming violently into a root.
The air was knocked from his lungs.
In a blink, Aldric was at his side. The veteran hauled Kael up with one hand, his grip like an iron vise. "Don't stop," Aldric ordered, his sharp eyes sweeping the darkness behind them.
But before Kael could secure his footing, the darkness to his left churned.
Something tore itself from the shadows of the underbrush. The creature leapt soundlessly, a mass of shiny black muscle and coarse fur that blended with the night. Kael had less than a second to register the true form of the Lycaon as it passed through a sliver of starlight.
It was the size of a pony but gaunt, as if its skin was stretched tight over sharply protruding bones. Its eyes glowed a dull ember red. Its mouth opened, revealing not one, but two layers of double-fanged jaws dripping with thick, dark purple saliva.
It lunged straight for Kael's throat.
Instinct took over. Kael didn't think; he reacted. With his right arm, he drew his steel sword in a twisting motion, bringing it up to parry.
The Lycaon's primary jaws clamped down on the blade with the grinding crack of steel against bone. The creature's momentum slammed into Kael, throwing him back to the dirt. The putrid stench of the monster's breath—like rancid meat and ash—slapped his face.
Kael groaned under the crushing weight. The creature's secondary jaws extended from its throat, snapping wildly in an attempt to shred his face.
Don't use too much Aether, Aldric's warning flashed through his mind.
Instead of channeling magic, Kael used his left knee. He bent his leg and drove a brutal strike into the creature's unprotected stomach. The Lycaon coughed, but its secondary jaws lunged forward even more viciously.
The wet fangs nearly grazed Kael's nose.
In pure desperation, Kael released his sword and rolled sideways, letting the monster's jaws snap the dirt where his head had been a fraction of a second before. The Lycaon roared, its acidic saliva hissing as it hit the ground. The beast pounced again, aiming for Kael's chest.
Scrambling backward, Kael fumbled in the mud until his fingers found the leather grip of his sword. He yanked the weapon up just in time—not swinging it, but planting the hilt firmly into the earth with the blade angled upward.
The plunging weight of the Lycaon did the rest.
The monster fell directly onto the upright blade. Steel pierced its lower jaw, shattered the roof of its mouth, and drove straight into its brain. The beast convulsed violently. Thick black blood sprayed across Kael's face and vest, hot and reeking of sulfur. The creature collapsed onto him, its massive body slowly losing physical form, melting back into a dense clump of Dark Aether that hissed upon touching the soil.
Shoving the shrinking carcass away, Kael staggered to his feet, spitting the bitter black blood from his mouth. His right hand trembled as he wrenched his sword free from the ground.
Beside him, Aldric stood with the Ironforge Blade drawn. Three piles of smoking black ash lay near the veteran's boots—proof that Kael hadn't been attacked alone.
"You were slow," Aldric observed, leveling a cool, assessing gaze at Kael.
"My left arm is numb," Kael countered, wiping his face with a shaking forearm.
The howling erupted again, this time in unison, echoing from three different directions. Extremely close. The grass and bushes around them began to rustle, as if the forest itself were alive and moving to close off their escape routes. Red eyes began popping up between the trees, glowing and blinking like hellish fireflies.
Aldric rolled his wrist, flicking the demon blood from the Ironforge blade.
"They've closed off the eastern and western routes," Aldric stated flatly. He gestured north with his chin. "But the path to Valdoria is still open. They want us to panic and run that way, herding us into the main ambush."
"Then what do we do?" Kael asked, shifting into a defensive stance. His left arm hung uselessly at his side.
"Not we," Aldric corrected. He stepped forward, placing himself between Kael and the tightening sea of red eyes. "You run."
Kael stared at his commander's broad back. "Captain—"
"Three miles north, straight line, no turns," Aldric cut in, his voice cracking like a whip through the night air. "You will see the beacon of the watchtower. Run toward that light. Do not stop, do not look back, and if you meet a monster in your path, do not fight it—ram through it."
"I'm not leaving you here!" Kael protested, his grip tightening on his hilt. He had already lost Dorian when the man held off a monster alone. He refused to let history repeat itself.
Aldric turned his head slightly, just enough for Kael to see his scarred, granite profile.
"This isn't about heroism, Soldier," Aldric hissed, using Kael's rank for the first time since their deployment. "This is about intelligence. The Third Battalion is destroyed. A full-scale invasion has begun. High-intelligence demon castes are making their move. If we both die here, Valdoria will never know what slaughtered them in their sleep."
The red eyes surrounding them narrowed, preparing to strike. A low growl vibrated through the earth.
"Your duty is not here," Aldric said, his tone absolute, entirely unfazed by the horde closing in on them. His eyes locked dead ahead. "Go."
Kael swallowed hard. He felt the weight of Erik's carving knife in his pocket. He had to ensure the deaths of the Third Battalion meant something. He had to warn Valdoria.
Without another word, Kael turned and sprinted north.
Behind him, he heard Aldric's war cry—a ragged sound filled with human fury colliding with monstrous snarls—followed by the heavy clash of steel against fangs.
Kael didn't look back.
He had no idea how long he ran. Time lost its meaning in the darkened woods. There was only the searing ache in his chest, the ragged sound of his own breathing, and the numbness that was now creeping into his left shoulder.
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Every tree looked identical. Every shifting shadow looked like jaws ready to snap shut.
Behind him, the sounds of Aldric's battle had long since faded, replaced by the unnerving silence of the nocturnal forest. Kael tried not to dwell on whether his commander was still alive. He locked his mind on a single destination: North.
Suddenly, a rustle of leaves echoed above him. Fast. Tracking his movements through the canopy.
Lycaons could climb.
Pushing his legs to move faster, Kael realized he was already pushing past the limits of a normal human physique. He could barely feel his feet striking the ground.
A Lycaon dropped from the branch of a massive oak, landing squarely in his path. It was larger than the first, a jagged scar cutting across its double-snouted face. Its crimson eyes fixed on Kael with an intelligent hunger.
Kael didn't break his stride. Remembering Aldric's instruction—do not fight it, ram through it—Kael closed his eyes and summoned the dregs of energy from his core.
The Light Aether responded, sluggish and reluctant from his sheer exhaustion. But Kael didn't command it to flow through his entire body. He focused the energy entirely into his right hand, channeling it straight into the blade.
The ordinary steel instantly flared with a blinding, pale golden radiance. In the pitch-black forest, the sword erupted like a miniature sun.
The Lycaon shrieked and recoiled, its eyes—accustomed to Abyssal gloom—seared by the intense purity of the light. Kael used that split-second opening to swing his sword in a crude horizontal arc. The glowing blade severed the creature's front legs as effortlessly as cutting through empty air.
The monster howled and collapsed, and Kael vaulted over it without breaking his stride.
He instantly retracted his Aether the moment his boots hit the earth. A vicious migraine slammed into his skull. Using magic in a state of severe exhaustion was like drinking saltwater to quench a thirst—it provided a momentary surge, but destroyed him from the inside. His vision blurred at the edges.
Then, he saw it.
In the distance, piercing the dense tree trunks, a steady point of golden-yellow light burned bright. Not a forest fire, but the flame of a beacon blazing within a massive iron brazier atop a stone tower.
The Northern Gate Watchtower of Valdoria.
It was only a few hundred yards away. The forest began to thin, giving way to a vast cleared expanse before the border's defensive trenches. Kael could make out the silhouette of the colossal stone wall spanning the horizon.
However, he wasn't alone.
Two more Lycaons emerged from the brush on his left and right. They were the remnants of the tracker pack that had survived Aldric's slaughter. Both sprinted parallel to Kael, steadily closing the distance. They knew their prey was running on fumes.
Kael stumbled as he broke the tree line into the open. Before him lay a hundred-yard dash to the gates and the spiked trenches. High atop the wall, torches flickered like tiny stars. He tried to shout a warning, but his throat was bone-dry; the sound emerged as a pathetic, raspy croak.
The two Lycaons pounced simultaneously from opposing sides.
Raising his sword with the last of his strength, Kael braced for death as their jaws closed in.
FWHOOSH!
A sharp whistle sliced the night air. Kael caught only a flash of silver out of the corner of his eye before a metallic projectile impaled the right Lycaon straight through the neck. The object tore through the monster's flesh and instantly detonated in a blast of pure Lux energy, blowing the creature's neck apart. Black ash showered over Kael.
Before the left Lycaon could sink its teeth into his arm, a heavy spear plunged from the sky, shattering the beast's spine and pinning it to the dirt. The spear vibrated violently, defensive runes along its shaft glowing brilliant blue, scorching the demon flesh until the creature howled in agony and dissolved into a puddle of dark sludge.
Kael collapsed to his knees, his sword slipping from his grasp. His chest heaved. His left arm was entirely dead to the world, from shoulder to fingertips.
The thunderous rhythm of steel-plated boots echoed from the gates. Border guards marched down the hill in a shield-wall formation, their massive pavises forming a silver barricade under the beacon's glow.
A tall man in thick silver chainmail and the deep blue cloak of the Valdorian military stepped forward from the formation. He wrenched the glowing spear free from the dirt, spun the weapon with veteran grace, and stared at Kael from beneath an open-faced helm.
"You crossed into a dead zone without authorization," the man stated. His voice was a gravelly baritone, accustomed to barking orders over chaos. He eyed Kael's torn uniform, stained with black demon blood. "Who are you, Soldier?"
"Kael," he wheezed. "Special Operations."
The man narrowed his eyes, catching sight of the mud-stained sun crest on Kael's chest. "I am Captain Vance, Commander of the Northern Gate. Only a fool or a madman runs out of Thornwood tonight. What are you doing out here alone?"
Kael looked up, the edges of his vision darkening. "I'm not... alone."
From the shadows of the tree line, another silhouette stumbled into the clearing.
Captain Vance and his men instantly raised their weapons, bows drawn taut, tracking the figure emerging from the dark. The man walked slowly, dragging one leg, his right hand gripping a massive sword slick with thick gore.
"Hold your fire!" Vance bellowed as the beacon's light revealed the man's face.
It was Aldric.
The captain's leather armor was shredded in a dozen places. A deep gash marred his right shoulder, and crimson blood ran down his left thigh, a stark contrast against the black stains covering the rest of his body. Yet the old veteran still walked tall. His gray eyes were sharp and unbroken.
Aldric walked past the guards, who stared at him with a mix of awe and horror, and stopped in front of Vance.
"Thornwood has fallen," Aldric announced, his voice dry but echoing in the stillness of the night. "The demon forces have mutated into a military faction." He held out his free hand, displaying a silver ring engraved with a broken sword. "I am Captain Aldric Ironforge. Take me and the boy to Lord Varen. Now."
Vance stiffened. He looked at the ring, then back to Aldric's scarred face. Recognition sparked in his eyes, immediately followed by the dawning horror of what that report meant. He snapped a quick hand signal.
"Lower your weapons!" Vance roared at his men. "Two of you, assist them! Ready horses from the outpost. And send a carrier pigeon to the Palace. Tell the War Council we have an emergency arrival."
An hour later, the emergency command room in the northern tower felt freezing, despite the roaring fire in the massive hearth in the corner.
Kael sat on a rough wooden chair. A field medic was busy applying a thermal salve to the Vesper scratches on his arm. The salve burned away the corrosive poison beneath the skin, making Kael wince every time the gauze pressed into the wound. But he was grateful, as the numbness was slowly being replaced by a throbbing ache that signaled his blood flow was returning to normal.
Aldric sat across from him, bare-chested, while another healer bound his right shoulder with clean bandages soaked in liquid Lux. The Captain showed absolutely no sign of pain.
The heavy oak double doors burst open.
Lord Varen strode in, his long black cloak billowing behind him. Close on his heels was Magister Corvus, wearing his usual impassive expression, his black wooden staff tapping the stone floor in a rhythmic, almost eerie cadence.
"Captain Ironforge," Lord Varen said without preamble, his piercing blue eyes locking onto Aldric. "Vance's pigeon claimed the Third Battalion is destroyed. Is this intelligence accurate?"
Aldric stood, ignoring the protests of the medic treating him. He delivered the Valdorian military salute—a fist over his heart—and gave a stiff nod.
"We found the remnants of the Third's defensive line on the southern route to Thornwood, My Lord," Aldric reported, his voice filling the room. "They were ambushed on the march. No bodies, only blood and shattered equipment. Based on the patterns, they were forced into a fighting retreat and taken prisoner, or systematically eradicated."
Kael looked down, his hand brushing his vest pocket, feeling the wooden handle of Erik's carving knife. Guilt and fury simmered quietly in his chest.
"And regarding Thornwood," Magister Corvus interjected, his tone calm but laced with sharp intensity. "Your report mentioned a new demon caste."
"Not just a caste, Magister," Aldric replied. "A military. We engaged Vesper, eyeless infiltrator demons that track body heat and Aether. We were hunted by an organized pack of Lycaons. And in the ruins of Thornwood, Kael—" Aldric pointed to Kael with his chin, "—Kael found traces of a clean execution. They didn't kill Sergeant Marcus out of feral hunger. It was a calculated execution."
Varen's eyes snapped to Kael. The commander-in-chief assessed him with a gaze that could pierce steel. "Is this true, boy?"
"It is, My Lord," Kael answered hoarsely, forcing himself to stand despite his body's protests. "They took the dog tags from the fallen soldiers. They were collecting identification. Feral monsters don't do that."
A heavy silence hung over the command room. Only the crackle of burning logs in the hearth broke the stillness.
Magister Corvus slowly rotated his staff. "Malachar has fully awakened," the old man murmured, more to himself than anyone else in the room. "And he is not sending beasts. He is sending an army."
Lord Varen turned to face the massive round table in the center of the room, where a sprawling map of the Teranthos continent lay open. Varen's eyes traced the borderline that had separated human territory from The Void for a millennium.
For a thousand years, humanity had felt secure behind their walls and magical seals. For a thousand years, demon attacks had been treated as sporadic anomalies, not conquest operations.
All of that changed tonight.
Varen raised his hand. His thick, calloused fingers grasped a wooden piece carved into the shape of a black wolf, sitting at the edge of the map. He placed the piece directly over the Thornwood region, knocking away the line of white pieces that represented the Valdorian garrison.
The commander lifted his head. His face hardened into the iron mask of a general bracing for a hurricane.
"Vance," Varen called out without turning around. The Gate Commander standing by the door instantly snapped to attention.
"Yes, My Lord!"
"Seal every gate in Valdoria. Activate the absolute defense formations on every tower. Pull all external patrols behind the walls," Varen ordered with unyielding authority. "Light the red beacon."
Vance's eyes went wide. "The red beacon, My Lord? That means..."
"It means a full-scale invasion," Varen cut in coldly.
The commander walked slowly over to the table. He stood in silence for several moments, staring grimly at the continental map whose order he had just rewritten. A long, heavy breath escaped his chest.
"Convene the War Council before dawn," Varen said, his voice quiet yet carrying to every corner of the room. "Notify the Magic Academy and the royal family."
He fell silent again. A suffocating stillness pressed down on the room, as if the air itself knew what words were coming next. Lord Varen looked straight at Kael and Aldric.
"The Thousand-Year War..." Varen paused, letting the bitter reality seep into the bones of everyone present. "...has begun again."
Kael stared at the map on the table. His eyes locked onto the black piece sitting in Thornwood, the region Erik had been meant to guard. Kael's jaw tightened. He pulled the carving knife from his pocket, gripping it so tightly his knuckles turned white.
I will find you, Erik, Kael vowed internally. And I will kill anyone who took you.
Outside the tower, high above the skies of Valdoria, a crimson fire blazed from the peak of the main beacon, tearing through the darkness of the night, declaring to the world that their false peace was over.
— To be continued in Chapter 20 —