Tarrin sat alone in the courtyard, tucked away in one of the many forgotten corners of the base—his unofficial hideout from the world.
A thin stack of files lay open on his lap, the pages flickering in the breeze like grim little prophecies.
He flipped through the pages with a slow, sinking dread. Each entry on the Scarbanes native to the Ember Basin read like a death threat dressed up in clinical jargon.
'I should've deserted when I had the chance.' The thought was oddly comforting now. 'Life in hiding on the C-Isles? Honestly sounds like paradise compared to this.'
His eyes narrowed at one particularly unpleasant entry. He hissed under his breath. "What do you mean the snake grows to eighty feet when mature? Are you kidding me?"
But the real punch came when he turned the page and saw the profile on the Bleeding Howl. Just looking at the image made his skin crawl.
It was like something ripped straight out of a fever dream—worse than any nightmare he'd ever managed to wake up from.
Quadrupedal. Jet-black flesh, shot through with pulsing crimson veins that spiraled in jagged, unnatural patterns.
A mouth filled with iron-forged teeth, capable of unhinging to a full 180 degrees. Everything about it was just… wrong.
Tarrin grimaced, flipping to the next section labeled "The Howl."
Produces an essence vibration—feels like pressure on the eardrums or an "itch" along the brainstem.
Known to:
Disrupt basic essence channels, causing short-term nausea or vertigo in weaker Scarlings
Induce auditory hallucinations, typically in the voices of loved ones or past memories.
Dull motor response with extended exposure, particularly during coordinated "chorus" howls.
Tarrin blinked, reading the paragraph again just to be sure he hadn't misread it.
"What the hell is this? Sounds like something I absolutely, one hundred percent, do not want to fight."
After nearly an hour spent memorizing the pages, Tarrin finally stood up with a sigh and a plan. Maybe if he shared what he learned, he wouldn't have to leave everyone behind when things inevitably went to hell.
He made his way to the training grounds first, where Olivia and Klein were locked in what looked like an overly serious sparring session.
Probably working off nerves. Maybe even trying to convince themselves they were ready.
"Hey," he called out, waving them over. "Need you two for something."
They followed without much resistance—either too tired to argue or curious enough to care.
Next stop: the bunks. Most of the others were already there, scattered across beds or leaning against the walls, trading rumors and bad jokes while waiting for the evening to come.
Everyone was present—except for Nick.
'Where's that little guy hiding now?'
He turned toward Sabrina. "Hey, uh, Sabrina, could you get your friend? I'm about to go over something important."
She looked at him, silent, expression unreadable. A curt nod was her only response before slipping off to find Nick.
'Another stoic one? Or just shy?' he thought. 'Do all nobles come with a built-in aversion to talking to us lowly people?'
From the way she and Nick carried themselves, it wasn't hard to guess they came from some level of prestige.
Probably children of second-rate forces—maybe even had a Scarwarden dad somewhere in the family tree.
A soft elbow jabbed his side. Tarrin glanced down to see Lena grinning up at him.
"So what's the big emergency?" she asked. "Wait, let me guess—this is the part where you declare yourself Supreme Leader of the team, right?"
Lucas, who had somehow materialized near the back without a word, gave a short, wheezing chuckle.
It sounded more like the tail end of a long jog than actual laughter—but for those who knew him, that alone was shocking.
Jayden grinned, jumping in. "No way. Lucas laughing? And people say miracles don't happen."
Then came the sound of raised voices—arguing, sharp and echoing down the corridor. Two figures approached, their silhouettes growing clearer with each step.
"Why should we listen to him? Who does he think he is?" The male voice rang out, a little too loud to be accidental.
Tarrin raised an eyebrow, amused. Oho… reminds me of a guy I used to know. Wonder how he's doing these days.
The two arrived, halting just shy of the group. Unlike the rest, they didn't sit. They stood apart—arms crossed, posture stiff. A statement in and of itself.
Tarrin clapped his hands once and addressed them all. "Alright. Now that everyone's here, let's begin."
With a thought, he summoned the file Irene had given him. The pale shimmer of essence coalesced in his hand as the packet appeared. A few eyes widened. Most just frowned, unsure what to make of it.
He stood upright, like a teacher at the front of a classroom, calm and composed.
"This file contains everything currently available about the Ember Basin. Nothing classified, just surface-level data, but still a hell of a lot better than the zero intel we had before."
Some faces tightened in focus. Others—less disciplined—relaxed slightly, perhaps reassured.
Across the room, Nick leaned toward Sabrina and whispered something low—too low for even Tarrin's heightened senses to catch.
Ah, there it is. Kid's already bristling. Tarrin kept a neutral face, but inwardly? He was ready. I've had plenty of practice humbling cocky kids. This one's welcome to join the collection.
"Listen carefully," he continued. "This isn't some bedtime story. It's the kind of knowledge that keeps you alive out there."
From the corner of his eye, Tarrin caught Nick's reaction—the slow furrowing of his brow, the twitch in his jaw.
Here it comes…
Sure enough, the boy stepped forward.
"Who's your source?" Nick asked, voice loud and flat. "I don't know you. So why should we trust a single word you say?"
His eyes flicked to Celith, gauging her expression like a man hoping for a look of approval.
'Did this guy hit his head? Does he think I've invited him to a dick measuring contest or something?'
Tarrin had no idea where Irene had pulled this intel from, and frankly, he didn't care. When in doubt, he fell back on his best skill—bullshitting with confidence.
"These are standard military-issue briefings," he said coolly, holding up the file as if it bore the seal of the High Command itself. "Used to prep soldiers for field deployment. I had to pull a few strings in the archives to get my hands on them. But if you're not interested? Feel free to leave. In fact—anyone who doesn't care to listen, there's the door."
He turned in place with a casual spin, arms wide, the picture of indifference. A silent dare.
No one moved.
Nick cast a glance at Sabrina, clearly hoping for some silent alliance—some backup in his little rebellion. None came.
She didn't so much as blink in his direction.
That was enough to break whatever posturing he'd clung to. With a sharp exhale and a muttered curse under his breath, he turned on his heel and stormed out.
Tarrin watched him go, unimpressed. 'Like a toddler denied his toy.'
"Tch. Wonder how he survived at Centauri."
From the top bunk, Riko called out with a smirk, "Right?"
Tarrin cracked a faint grin. With that bit of nonsense out of the way, he slipped back into his instructor's voice, stepping forward and raising the file again.
"Alright," he said, voice steady now. "Let's get back to the good part."
And with that, he resumed relaying the contents of Irene's mysterious files, turning notes into lifelines for the soldiers gathered before him.
After nearly an hour spent breaking down the Ember Basin's twisted terrain, dangerous fauna, and even its oddly hostile flora, there was only one thing left to cover—the Bleeding Howl.
Tarrin exhaled and straightened. His tone dropped a few degrees, heavier than before. "Alright. Here's the file on the gruesome bastards we're supposed to hunt."
He raised a hand, revealing the image stapled to the front of the last page—the Scarbane in question. Monstrous. Wrong in shape, even in the stillness of print.
He expected Jayden to flinch, maybe mutter a curse under his breath. But the guy didn't make a sound. Just stared, jaw tight, teeth grinding in quiet focus.
Even Riko, usually good for a sarcastic quip, stayed silent.
Tarrin passed the file to Celith first, then continued, his voice steady.
"It's a newly discovered species. Bleeding Howls have bodies built for violence—stronger than any of us, one-on-one. Fighting them head-to-head is suicide. Two-on-one is our best bet. Maybe three."
He paused a beat, letting that settle in the air like dust after an impact.
"They're pack hunters. Operate in groups of ten when they're out looking for prey. Matriarchal hierarchy. They serve a single alpha—the queen. That thing's the core of the nest."
The weight in the room shifted, heavier now. Everyone seemed to feel it.
Tarrin gave them a grim look before moving on.
"But their worst trick? 'The Howl.' It's not just sound—it's an essence vibration. Gets into your skull. We can't block it with essence shielding just yet, so we're going to feel it."
He gave a dry laugh, no humor in it. "If you start hearing your dead uncle calling your name? Time to draw your damn sword."
"That's about all," Tarrin finished, closing the file with a flick. His gaze slid toward Sabrina.
"Now, if you could pass this along to our dear friend Nick, that'd be great. We wouldn't want one uninformed teammate getting someone killed out there, would we?"
She nodded once—calm, precise. Her eyes held a strange stillness, not quite cold, but distant.
As if she was staring through the walls, through the world itself. Seeing something the rest of them couldn't.