The beasts move in the dark.
I feel them before anyone says a word—seven of them. Heavy paws brushing stone, weight shifting with a predator's patience. Their breath rasping across the rock, too slow to be natural. Their presence scratches at my mana-sense like nails across skin.
They're guarding something.
But it's not us they're watching. Not yet.
It's what's pulsing behind them—low, steady, thick as blood through a vein. The scroll. Its mana presses outward in waves, not violent, but deep and coiled. Ancient. Waiting.
And behind that—still water. A shape buried in it. Slow. Colossal. Scales shifting with the current.
A serpent. Rank four, at least.
Lirael's voice breaks the quiet, barely above a whisper. "Something's down there with it."
Julius answers, calm and low. "Seven wolves. One serpent. The snake's guarding the water. The wolves guard the path."
He pauses—his mana flaring just slightly as he focuses, reading the pressure in the air.
"Wolves are Rank 6. Fast, corrupted, but coordinated. They've been trained, twisted into something tactical."
"The serpent's worse. Rank 4. Old magic. Full-body mana density—its whole body's a weapon."
He pauses.
"It's not a random encounter. This is a test."
Rolim clicks his tongue. "Or a trap."
We all feel it—that pressure, the unnatural weight of the air. The wolves are strong. Too strong to be feral. Their mana's warped, but not wild. That means they were made this way.
Kate speaks next, voice like a knife drawn quietly. "Plan?"
Julius is already drawing the formation in the air—I can hear the movement, the short steps, the brush of his glove against stone as he maps it.
"Wyn, Rolim, Kate—you're on the wolves with me. Lirael, Randall—stay back and support. Use elevation if you can. Don't overextend."
A pause. His mana shifts slightly, tilting toward me.
"Annabel, you're with Daniel. Straight for the serpent. Fast. No hesitation."
I nod. "We'll handle it."
Daniel lets out a short breath, half-laugh. "Finally."
The cave holds its breath.
Then Julius drops his hand. And we rush in.
Wolves hear our footsteps and come running at us. Seven of them, lean and twisted, their bodies lined with claw-deep scars and mana that screeches at the edges of my awareness. Their feet barely make noise. Just the sound of air shifting, claws landing, and the instant flare of combat.
I can hear Rolim ignite one mid-leap.
"Ashlash: Ignite and Rend!"
His fire roars like something alive.
Kate flattens another with a column of compressed air and stone.
"Stone Gale—Fall!"
The spell lands with a crushing thud.
Wyn's blades flash as he meets the third head-on. No magic—just speed, timing, and resolve.
I'm already moving—cane in one hand, heat building in the other. Fire bursts forward as I strike—quick, clean, silent. No chant. Just control.
Daniel surges beside me.
"Cragbreaker Surge!"
Stone surges up, lifting him as he launches toward the serpent.
It rises from the water like a monument come to life. Colossal. Coiled muscle and mana. Then it strikes.
I twist aside as the air splits, vaulting left. Another burst of flame arcs from my palm, slamming into its jaw. It hisses, reeling.
Its tail lashes back—I duck, spin, let my flames drag wide across its scales.
Daniel meets it head-on.
"Twin Pillars!"
The ground launches upward, catching the serpent in mid-lunge. Its momentum breaks.
I close in—more heat, sharper now. I drive it into the center of its mass, no hesitation. Fire rakes across soaked hide.
Daniel follows with another brutal slam.
Stone cracks beneath him. The serpent wavers.
"Now!"
I strike deep—flame condensed, unleashed in a single pulse.
The snake screeches.
Not rage.
Pain.
One last thrash—and then it falls.
Daniel pants once, then laughs. "We should tag-team more often."
I shake the ash off my glove. "Only if you stop laughing so loud while getting hit."
The cave begins to settle. Behind us, the wolves are down—five distinct mana signatures gone entirely. Two flickering weakly. One more blink, and they're gone too.
We return to the center of the chamber. The scroll is still there. Hovering midair. Unopened. Waiting.
I feel the mana coming off it, heavy and precise. Not violent—but full. Controlled.
Julius is the first to step closer. "This… this is old," he says, low. "Real old."
Kate says, "Do we open it?"
A long pause.
Then Julius reaches forward and breaks the seal.
Mana bursts outward—not in a wave, but in layers. Like pages flipping open, too fast to track. I feel it down to the marrow—refined, precise, tuned to a specific affinity.
Not just earth. Not stone.
Metal.
A branch. Rare. Pure. Deadly.
"Three uses," Julius says quietly. "Each one carved."
I can't see the scroll, but I can feel it in my hand when I reach out. It doesn't reject me. Doesn't welcome me, either. Might be because i have so many different types of magic
It just waits.
Behind me, Randall lets out a shaky breath. "So we're keeping it?"
Julius: "We earned it."
But I feel it before I hear it.
Something folds wrong in the air. A twist in the weave of mana, sudden and sharp—like a thread snapping somewhere just out of reach.
The scroll doesn't react.
But I do.
I turn—too slow.
There's a wet sound behind me. Tearing. Pressure. A heartbeat cut short.
Randall gasps. Then nothing.
I feel his body hit the stone like dropped meat. Heavy. Lifeless. The way mana leaves a person—it's a feeling I know. And it's gone from him. All at once.
The others react a beat later, turning fast—our collective mana flaring in reflex.
And she's already there.
I don't see her. Not fully. Just the outline—dense mana clinging to her frame like smoke clings to oil. Her mana is twisted, overripe. Sweet in the way rot is sweet. A smear of deep violet and black across my perception.
Randall's mana—what's left of it—is clinging to her hand.
She's holding something.
It pulses. Faint. Dying.
His heart.
She turns it slowly in her palm, like she's curious. Then she smiles—I can hear it in her voice as she speaks.
"I wish I could absorb mana like this," she murmurs, soft and fascinated. "Direct from the source. But no—such powers only my master wields."
She squeezes the heart a little, and I hear the muscle strain under her fingers.
"Elves and humans… so fragile. Especially when they come with nothing special." She glances toward Randall's body like it's no more than discarded cloth. "This ice and water user? Boring. Glad I killed him first."
Her footsteps are unhurried. Each one lands with a soft echo, like she's taking her time. She's not tense. Not afraid.
"Thanks for doing the hard part," she says next, like we're acquaintances, not enemies.
Her mana bleeds into the air—syrupy, broken, fragrant in a way that turns the stomach.
And she's already between us and the exit.
Balanced.
Unshaken.
Too still.
I don't know her. But she's strong. Stronger than a Stage 3. Maybe Stage 2.
Hard to tell through the rot. But I feel it in my spine—the edge of something honed.
And now I think I understand.
Was she wasn't able to open the scroll… because of her affinity? Or maybe the type of magic she uses?
But now it's open.
Now it's just sitting there.
And we're the only thing between her and it.