Independent Isles, The Vale
Jovi slinked unconcerned through the sour yellow clouds drifting low across the Vale. His smooth, reptilian skin darkened from gray to charcoal black as the toxins worked over him. A bitter tang coated his mouth, and the faint burn in his poison glands confirmed what he already knew—anyone but a Manoan beastkin would've been long dead.
His black forked tongue flickered in and out, testing the air every few seconds. For hours, he scouted every cave, crevice, and twisted rock formation the island offered, moving with tireless precision.
When his search was done, Jovi waded calmly into the shallows, then launched forward with a whip of his tail. His webbed feet and long, sinuous form propelled him through the water with astounding speed.
The Sea Lynx rocked gently in the bay when he surfaced. Jovi scaled the rope hanging from the port rail, shifting forms as he climbed. By the time he stepped aboard, the sleek beast was gone—replaced by the weathered old monk once more.
Isa and Yun waited, neither surprised to see the dripping Manoan monk emerge from the dark water.
"Tell me something good," Isa said, offering him a thick towel.
Jovi wiped his face, squeezing the water from his scalp. "Sulphur," he said. "Not your typical toxin, but when it settles in thick enough, it's deadly all the same. There's a pit on the north side. Deep—likely bottomless. That's where the clouds rise from."
Instead of worry, Isa's dark eyes sparked with purpose. "Sulphur we can deal with," she said. "We'll need to set some charges and keep our distance from the shoreline."
"Charges?" Yun arched a brow. "You'll ignite the whole island."
Isa nodded. "Exactly."
Edge of the Gathering – Eastern Riverline
Dem waited until the sky turned black before slipping away from camp. He moved low and silent, his body flowing through the grass and underbrush like a shadow with breath. When he reached the river, he didn't hesitate—just walked straight into the water.
It was warm and slow, barely a meter deep, the kind of river that invited quiet thoughts. Dem crossed without a sound.
The spy was already waiting.
Cross-legged. Bare-chested. Unmoving. Whip scars mapped his body like old cartography, and his bald scalp caught a dull glint of moonlight.
"I mean you no harm," the man said softly. His voice carried shock as much as reverence. "I scarcely believed it."
Dem stepped into view, body loose but alert. "Then why were you watching the Gathering?"
"I wasn't," the man replied calmly. "The diluted beastkin don't interest me. You, however…"
He rose slowly to his feet, then bowed with surprising grace. "A male of the Great Beast King's line…"
Dem frowned. "Beast King? You mean Demitri?"
"I do," the man said, straightening. "The Rat King. Your great-grandfather."
"You sound insane," Dem muttered. But the air around them had shifted. Thicker now—charged. And it wasn't coming from him.
The old man's body began to twist. Muscles seized. Bones cracked. Feathers tore through his skin in bursts of gold and brown until, with a final wrenching shudder, a giant eagle stood in his place—majestic and terrifying.
Dem's own instincts erupted. The rat flared out of him in a rush of bone and blood, muscle folding like paper until he crouched in his beast form, sleek and black as obsidian.
"Sire…" the eagle's voice trembled with reverence. "What are you called?"
Dem hesitated only a moment. "Demitri Swiftwind."
The eagle's laughter rang through the trees like wind on high cliffs.
"Of course," he said. "Demitri. From this day until my last, I will serve you faithfully."
The bird of prey bowed low, wings tucked tight, eyes fierce with loyalty.
Dem sat in stillness, his beast-form crouched low, paws settled in soft earth. The rat felt natural—too natural. There was an ease to it that human skin had never offered. Even his breathing felt more honest.
"I don't want to be a king," he said at last.
Bane's old face softened, half-lit by moonlight. "At this point, you aren't qualified," he said without malice. "But surely, you've felt it. Rat-kin aren't meant for ordinary lives. Maybe at the beginning—but if they survive, their fates never stay lowly."
Dem didn't argue. His instincts told him the same.
"You won't harm these tribals?" he asked quietly. He didn't know if he could stop the old man if he tried—but he needed to hear it.
"I won't," Bane said simply. "They've taken you in?"
Dem nodded.
"Good. Likely the best outcome at this stage."
Dem studied the eagle-man, trying to pierce him with questions that couldn't form. The bindings from the blood rite still choked off certain truths—every time he reached for them, his thoughts blurred.
"There are things I can't speak of," he admitted. "Something stops me. I can't even ask the right questions."
"Blood rituals," Bane said, nodding with a wry smile. "Crude, but highly effective. I have some theories. If you can speak in broad strokes, I may be able to help."
Dem paused, then offered what he could. "I have a sister. Born an hour before me, fourteen years ago. Our father is a Duke—from the Beast Kingdom."
"Duscanti?" Bane's eyes narrowed.
"Yes. That name came up during the rite," Dem said. "My mother's name is Ember… I think. I suspect she's in the Independent Isles, maybe leading a pirate crew."
"A granddaughter of the King," Bane murmured. He smiled faintly, satisfied. The threads were coming together faster than he'd dared hope. "I've met your sister. Her name is Isadora. She's bound for the Isles as well. Your father's throne is… unstable. Both friends and enemies are circling."
Dem blinked. He felt no anger, no sadness—just curiosity. "Will he survive?"
"Duscanti is a ruthless bastard," Bane said, "but he's powerful. He won't fall easily."
He watched Dem for a long moment. The boy was composed, sharp-eyed, grounded. Bane had half a mind to take him now—to spirit him away, train him, protect him. But… no. The boy didn't need saving.
"What happens now?" Dem asked.
"The tribals have a rite," Bane said. "Masaat. I'll find you during it. Stay here. Grow stronger."
"And you?" Dem tilted his head.
"I'll find Ember," Bane said without hesitation. "Thanks to you, I'm no longer searching blind."
His sharp eyes flicked down, catching the shimmer of something others would miss. "You received the King's inheritance?" he asked. "A ring? Shadow forms?"
Dem rolled up his sleeve. Twin dagger-shaped brands shimmered faintly at his wrist. "I visited the tomb yesterday."
Bane laughed, a clear sound that rolled across the trees. "Perfect. Grow strong. Form bonds. Gather your strength. When you're ready—ask someone you trust about Emeritas."
"Is that a person?" Dem asked.
"No," Bane chuckled. "Another tribal rite. But they may not remember it exists."
Dem nodded slowly. "My Masaat won't start until I'm seventeen."
"I know." Bane's golden wings spread wide. His gaze rose to the stars. "I'll inform your kin of your survival. And I'll meet you in the Isles. Three years from now."
With a mighty beat of his wings, the eagle launched skyward. Wind surged outward from his takeoff, rustling grass and shaking treetops. Dem watched as the massive shape climbed higher, wings beating steadily until it disappeared into the clouds.
Only then did Dem exhale.
His rat form unraveled like smoke, vanishing as he stood upright once more—naked and quiet under the stars. His scattered clothes waited nearby. He didn't move to dress just yet. He simply stood, eyes closed, the weight of what had passed still settling around him.