The forest swallowed them whole.
Ryn stumbled after Lira, his boots sinking into the damp earth with each step. The towering pines creaked overhead, their branches weaving a canopy so thick that only slivers of moonlight pierced through. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig sent his pulse racing.
Lira moved like a ghost ahead of him—silent, swift, her injured shoulder barely slowing her. The throwing knife still protruded from her flesh, its blade glinting whenever moonlight caught it. She'd refused to let Ryn remove it.
*"Leave it,"* she'd growled when he tried. *"Pulling it now will just make me bleed faster."*
Now, three hours into their flight from the burning tower, Ryn's body screamed for rest. His ribs ached from Vask's kick. His hands still trembled—whether from exhaustion or the memory of warm blood on his fingers, he couldn't say.
Lira halted so abruptly Ryn nearly collided with her.
"Down," she hissed, shoving him behind a moss-covered boulder.
Ryn crouched, his breath loud in his own ears. For a long moment, there was nothing but the forest's nighttime chorus—the chirp of crickets, the distant hoot of an owl. Then—
Hooves.
Dozens of them, pounding the earth in rhythmic unison. Torchlight flickered between the trees, casting long shadows that danced like specters.
"Wolf Crest," Lira breathed, her good eye narrowed. "Malrik's sent the whole damn pack."
Ryn counted at least twenty riders through the foliage, their black wolf-head banners fluttering in the night breeze. At their lead rode a figure in silvered armor—taller than the rest, his helmet fashioned into a snarling wolf's maw.
**[Commander Dain | Wolf Crest High Captain]**
*Malrik's second-in-command*
*Ruthless tactician*
*Bearer of the Moonfang Axe*
Lira's hand clamped over Ryn's mouth before he could speak. They stayed frozen as the riders passed, so close Ryn could smell the oil on their blades. One soldier paused just yards from their hiding spot, his torch held high as he scanned the trees.
Ryn's muscles burned from staying still. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple.
Then—a fox darted across the path. The soldier cursed, then spurred his horse after the others.
Lira didn't move until the last hoofbeat faded. When she finally released Ryn, her fingers left pale imprints on his skin.
"Moonfang," she muttered. "Malrik's not playing games."
Ryn rubbed his jaw. "Who—"
"Later." Lira stood, wincing as the movement jostled her wound. "We need shelter before dawn. And a way to lose those hounds."
She pointed to the distant silhouette of mountains cutting across the starry sky. "The Black Hollow Caves. Half-day's hike if we move fast."
Ryn stared at the jagged peaks. "What's there?"
"Something worse than wolves," Lira said grimly. "Which is why they won't follow."
---
Dawn painted the sky in pale gold by the time they reached the foothills. The forest had given way to rocky outcroppings and sheer cliffs that loomed like broken teeth.
Ryn's legs felt like lead. His stomach growled loudly enough that Lira shot him a glare.
"Quiet," she snapped. "Sound carries in these hills."
She'd been growing paler with each mile, her steps increasingly unsteady. The knife in her shoulder had shifted during their trek, and fresh blood now darkened her entire left sleeve.
Ryn opened his mouth to protest—then froze.
A low, resonant *hum* vibrated through the rocks beneath them. The hairs on Ryn's arms stood on end.
Lira went rigid. "Down. Now."
They flattened themselves against a boulder just as a shadow passed overhead—not a bird, but something *larger*. The creature's wingspan blotted out the sunrise for a terrifying heartbeat before it vanished behind the cliffs.
Ryn's throat went dry. "Was that—"
**[Shadowwing | Astra Beast (Variant)]**
*Territorial cave-dweller*
*Preys on large game (including humans)*
*Highly sensitive to vibration*
Lira nodded grimly. "Our welcoming committee." She jerked her chin toward a yawning cave mouth halfway up the cliff face. "And our ticket to losing Moonfang's hounds."
The climb was treacherous. Lira's injured arm made her clumsy, and twice Ryn had to catch her before she plummeted onto the rocks below. By the time they reached the cave entrance, both were breathing hard, their hands scraped raw from the jagged stone.
Inside, the air smelled of damp earth and something faintly metallic. The darkness was absolute.
Lira slumped against the wall, her face ashen. "Need... to rest."
Ryn caught her as her knees buckled. Her skin burned against his—a fever already setting in. The knife hilt stood out grotesquely from her shoulder, the wound around it swollen and angry.
"You're dying," Ryn said bluntly.
Lira chuckled weakly. "Not... today." She fumbled at her belt with trembling fingers, producing a small leather pouch. "Yarrow. Moss. Bind... the wound."
Ryn's hands shook as he worked. Removing the knife brought a fresh gush of blood that the yarrow paste barely stemmed. He packed the moss over it, then tore strips from his cloak to bind it tight.
Lira didn't scream, but her breath came in sharp hisses. When Ryn finished, she slumped back, her face slick with sweat.
"Listen carefully," she rasped. "Shadowwings hunt by vibration. Step lightly. Don't speak above a whisper." She pressed something into his palm—the shadow-forged dagger. "If you hear wings... run."
Ryn swallowed hard. "What about you?"
Lira's grin was fierce even in the dark. "I didn't survive three wars to die in a cave." She pointed deeper into the blackness. "There's a spring further in. Fresh water. Check for..."
Her words trailed off as her eyes fluttered shut.
Ryn sat frozen for a long moment, listening to Lira's ragged breathing. Then he rose, dagger in hand, and faced the yawning dark.
The cave swallowed his footsteps whole.
Deeper in, the air grew cooler. The walls narrowed, then abruptly opened into a vast cavern. Stalactites dripped from the ceiling like stone teeth. And there, in the center—
A pool of perfectly still water, its surface black as polished obsidian.
Ryn crept forward, his reflection warping in the water's surface. He cupped a handful, ready to drink—
When the water *moved*.
Not from his touch. From *beneath*.
Something vast and pale stirred in the depths. A shape unfolded—a skeletal hand, then another, rising toward the surface with eerie grace.
Ryn stumbled back, dagger raised—
—as a figure emerged from the water.
Not a Shadowwing.
A *girl*.
She couldn't have been older than Ryn, her skin moon-pale, her hair a floating silver halo in the dark water. But her eyes...
Her eyes were pure black. Pupil-less. Endless.
**[The Drowned Seer | Astra Mystic]**
*Oracle of the Black Hollow*
*Bearer of the Sightless Gaze*
*"She knows what the water knows"*
Her lips parted. When she spoke, her voice echoed as if from a great distance:
*"The wind calls its child home."*
Then the water erupted behind her—
—and the Shadowwing *struck*.