The horses’ hooves sank into the black slush with wet, muffled thuds as the column pressed deeper into the gorge. Sulfurous steam leaked from fissures in the rock, mixing with the metallic tang of ozone and coating every breath with a bitter taste.
Julian guided his horse closer to Ramona. His heavy wool hood was pulled low against the freezing mist, but it did little to hide the unease in his expression.
“You’re reading this terrain like you’ve traveled it before,” he said quietly, his eyes sweeping the sheer rock faces. “The Ministry maps don’t show these secondary defiles. How do you know this ridge doesn’t end in a dead end?”
Ramona kept her attention locked on the cliffs. The gorge narrowed ahead, its granite walls rising sharply on both sides. Her eyes automatically mapped crossfields, kill zones, and choke points—a tactical habit beaten into her during childhood officer drills and forged in the fire of the apocalypse.
She had seen this place before. Not on a map. In blood.
Three thousand soldiers had died across these slopes in her previous life because the Imperial commanders had treated the northern retreat like an ordinary military withdrawal. They had ignored the high ground, failed to scout the subterranean passages, and marched straight into a swarm that had been waiting beneath them.
Ramona pointed toward the left ridge. “Look at the scree.”
Julian followed her gesture. Loose shale covered the slope, but the pattern was wrong. Several sections had been torn apart, exposing fresh earth beneath the frozen surface. Pine roots hung from the cliff where something had ripped them out.
“That’s recent,” Julian said.
“Less than two days.”
He leaned forward to examine the ground more closely. Deep grooves cut through the frozen earth, disappearing beneath the rocks. A slick, oily residue coated the edges, carrying the stench of rotting vegetation, ozone, and copper.
Julian’s hand moved instinctively toward his shortsword. “The scouts reported beast activity from the deep mines.”
“This isn't migration,” Ramona said, her voice dropping into a quiet, razor-sharp register. She studied the trail ahead. “They’re testing the route.”
Julian looked at her. “You mean scouts?”
“A vanguard.”
His expression hardened. “How many?”
“Enough to kill us if we give them the advantage.” Ramona turned in the saddle, addressing the guards behind her with absolute military authority. “No torches. No shouting. Keep the horses under control. If we encounter them, aim for the soft, translucent tissue beneath the jaw. Do not waste bolts against the chitin armor.”
The guards exchanged uneasy looks, but none questioned her.
Julian watched her for another moment, his jaw tight. “You speak as though you know exactly what we're facing.”
Ramona's fingers tightened around the reins. She remembered the blind, chitin-armored horrors tearing through steel barricades on the Da Nang line. She remembered their acoustic pulses vibrating through the ground before they emerged. She remembered raw recruits firing blindly into armor plates, wasting ammunition and turning a manageable encounter into a massacre.
That tactical knowledge had been bought with an entire lifetime.
“I know enough,” she said.
Julian finally nodded, turning to the men. “You heard the Commander. Follow her lead.”
The column continued. The gorge tightened until the remaining daylight became little more than a thin strip of purple between the cliffs. Ramona slowed her stallion, her military training analyzing every echo bouncing off the stone.
Then she stopped. One gloved hand rose.
The entire column halted. Thirty horses stood nearly motionless, their breath drifting in pale clouds.
Ramona listened. At first, there was nothing. Then she felt it—a low, rhythmic vibration rippling up through her stirrups and the soles of her combat boots.
Approaching.
She looked toward a jagged fissure where shattered stone and fallen pine trees blocked the trail. Something moved among the debris.
The first creature crawled into view. Its body was protected by bone-white chitin streaked with black, its elongated limbs folding beneath it as it pulled itself over the rocks. Its head was eyeless, but the translucent membrane around its jaw pulsed rhythmically as it sensed the acoustic vibrations of the surrounding stone.
Another shape shifted behind it. Then another. The subterranean vanguard had been waiting in the darkness.
Julian slowly drew his repeating crossbow. His face had gone pale, but his hands stayed steady. “How many?” he whispered.
Ramona mapped the threat in seconds. “Twenty visible. More underground.”
Ramona reached for a heavy bolt from her harness, loading it into her repeating crossbow with a sharp, metallic clack. Around her, the guards followed her movement, raising their weapons in disciplined silence.
She pointed toward the fissure. “Wait for my signal.”
The creatures crawled closer. One paused. Its head tilted, sensing the air.
Ramona froze, her pulse steady. The moment it moved again, she raised her weapon. “Draw.”
Thirty crossbows pulled back almost simultaneously. The creatures reacted instantly to the mechanical click.
Ramona fired first. Her bolt punched clean through the translucent membrane beneath the lead creature’s jaw. The beast convulsed with a violent shriek.
Thirty bolts followed.
The gorge erupted. The first wave of creatures collapsed across the rocks, black, boiling blood steaming against the frozen ground. Others surged from the fissure, scrambling over the bodies of their fallen.
Ramona immediately shifted her aim. “Second line! Hold the left flank! Target the throat seams!”
The guards obeyed without hesitation. Bolts hammered into exposed joints and jaws as the creatures closed the distance. One reached the front line before a guard drove a short spear through the soft tissue beneath its head. The beast thrashed violently, nearly dragging him down.
Julian kicked his horse sideways and slashed across its exposed neck with a crisp shing, dropping the beast instantly. “More are coming!” he shouted.
Ramona looked down. The vibration beneath her boots had suddenly shifted frequency. Her blood ran cold.
A feint. The surface creatures were just forcing them to stand still.
She turned toward the rear of the column. “Julian, move the horses toward the high ridge! Now!”
He didn't question her. “Fall back! Keep formation!”
The guards began retreating in locked order while Ramona remained near the fissure, firing repeating bolts to cover them.
Then the earth beneath the gorge violently trembled. A much deeper, subterranean vibration rolled through the granite, rattling their teeth and throwing loose shale down the cliff faces.
The vanguard had never been the main force. It had been bait.
Ramona looked toward the fracturing ground as heavy cracks webbed across the ice. Something massive was tearing through the lower strata.
For the first time since resetting the timeline, she felt something dangerously close to fear. Not because she didn't know what was coming—but because she did.
And at the Da Nang line, nothing had survived its arrival.