1. Roa and the Antlered Shade
Her slate bore the image of a creature with twisted antlers and hooves like shattered bone. They called it the Antlered Shade—a beast that lived in the frozen pinewoods east of Ikanbi, only seen in fog or storm. Some said it could vanish like smoke. Others claimed it wasn't a beast, but the ghost of one.
Roa found no tracks. Only silence.
She followed the cold for two days, deeper into the glacial hollows where sound did not echo. Her breath steamed in the still air. Every tree looked the same.
Then—movement.
Not in front of her. Not behind.
Above.
The creature dropped like ice.
She rolled as antlers struck the earth beside her, splintering a rock in two. She rose, spear in hand, circling. The Shade was tall, lanky, its limbs too long. Pale white fur shivered in the wind. Its breath hissed steam.
It charged.
Roa leapt left, cutting along its side. The blade glanced off the bony ribs. The creature kicked, caught her shoulder. She hit a tree, coughed blood.
But she grinned.
"You're real," she whispered.
Again it came. She feinted right, drove the spear under its throat as it lunged. The tip slid between bone.
She didn't wait.
Roa climbed onto its back, used the shaft as a pivot, and snapped the creature's neck in one brutal twist.
It screamed like a broken wind chime.
Then silence.
She stood, panting, watching the body twitch.
Then it—and she—vanished.
Not a sound. Not a spark. Just snow where she had stood.
2. Tolan and the Mireback Horror
The swamp was thicker than rot, the water too cold to breathe. Tolan waded waist-deep, breath slow, eyes scanning.
His slate showed a creature with a flat tail, ridged back, and many eyes. They called it the Mireback. It slept under water, waking only when blood hit the surface.
So he cut his own arm.
One drop.
That's all it took.
The water exploded. A body like a mountain erupted, jaws wide, tail flailing.
Tolan didn't flinch. He dove toward it.
It snapped—but missed. He rolled, plunged his spear down—but it bounced off the armored back.
No good.
He swam under.
Climbed the beast's side.
It thrashed, but Tolan wrapped one arm around a spike near the neck ridge and began stabbing into the side of its neck. Again. Again. Again.
One of the beast's many eyes locked on him.
It rolled.
Crushed him under water.
Everything went dark.
Then—air. His hand burst from the muck.
He gasped. Blood ran down his face. But he stood.
The beast floated, silent.
His final strike had pierced the underside of the skull.
Then—he vanished.
3. Sira and the Feathered Serpent
High in the cliffs west of Ikanbi, the wind howled with teeth. The creature was fast, silent, and winged.
The Feathered Serpent.
Its body moved like smoke, with feathers that shimmered green and black.
Sira crouched between stone crags, waiting for the shriek. It came—high, shrill, unnatural.
She didn't blink.
She raised her weighted bolas and spun it above her head. When the serpent dove, fangs bared, she hurled it.
The weapon wrapped around the beast's neck and one wing. It twisted midair—but clipped a rock. It shrieked, crashing down in a storm of feathers and claws.
Sira lunged.
The serpent was already rising again, despite the torn wing. It struck at her leg, tearing the calf muscle. She screamed but didn't fall.
With her good leg, she stomped the serpent's head and drove her knife through its eye.
The beast convulsed once, twice—
Then stillness.
Then nothing.
She was gone.
4. Kren and the Iron-Tusk
The tundra shook.
Kren's slate showed a beast like a boar, but four times the size, with tusks like curved swords.
He found it grazing alone in a snowy field—steam rising from its back.
He crouched. Waited.
Then ran.
It saw him, snorted, charged.
Kren ran at it.
At the last moment, he dropped to his knees and slid beneath the creature's belly, jamming a thick wedge of sharpened stone into the soft underside between its ribs.
The beast screamed.
It turned, blood pouring, and came again.
Kren took the first tusk in the arm.
Used the moment of impact to climb onto the back, where he stabbed repeatedly between the armored spine plates until the beast collapsed.
He stood over it, blood-covered.
Then—gone.
5. Nyra and the Bone-Eater
Nyra's prey was small—no larger than a child. But the Bone-Eater was silent, fast, and struck only when its victim was alone and tired. It left behind nothing but clean-picked bones.
She walked the dead forest for hours, letting exhaustion set in.
When the first whisper came, she didn't turn.
When the second came from behind, she spun and slashed—hitting only air.
Then came the hiss.
From the branches above.
The Bone-Eater dropped, claws stretched wide.
Nyra took the blow to her shoulder, rolled, and rose with two bone daggers in her hands. The creature hissed—gray skin, eyeless, ribs like blades.
It struck again.
She dodged, barely. Then again. It nicked her thigh. Again.
She ducked low—and drove both daggers into its gut as it leapt.
It landed on top of her. She screamed.
Then it stopped moving.
She shoved it off.
And vanished.
6. Dren and the Stone-Crawler
His beast lived underground. A burrowing horror with limbs like pickaxes and teeth that grated like stone.
Dren spent a full day digging bait pits with spiked traps.
When the Stone-Crawler emerged, it was enraged—half its belly pierced by sharpened spears. But it lived.
It clawed toward him, furious.
Dren ran, leading it between narrow boulders.
Then he leapt to a stone above, hurling a spear with all his force.
It struck the creature's eye.
The beast shrieked, slammed into a boulder—and crushed its own skull.
Dren watched it collapse.
Then—he was gone.
7. Ilan and the Fire-Wing
The high cliffs held her target: the Fire-Wing, a bird of prey so fast it burned the air in its wake. Its wings shimmered with red-gold feathers. Its scream left ears bleeding.
Ilan used silence.
She set traps: nets made of tightly-wound sinew and weighted stones. Baited them with fish soaked in her blood.
The Fire-Wing circled for hours.
Then dove.
It was too fast—avoided the first net. Evaded the second.
But the third—triggered by a falling rock—caught one wing just enough.
It shrieked, tumbling.
She was already running.
It tried to rise—but Ilan drove her knife into its chest before it could fully stretch its wings again.
Its blood steamed.
It shuddered—and died.
Then she vanished with it.
8. Vosk and the Deep-Biter
Vosk was a swimmer. His beast lived in a mountain spring—clear, cold, deep. The Deep-Biter was like a serpent, but thick as a tree trunk, with double jaws.
He waited at the edge of the water for hours. Then dived.
The world below was quiet—until the sudden blur of movement.
He dodged the first strike. Barely.
Then he swam deeper.
The Deep-Biter followed.
In the narrow crevice of the rocks, Vosk turned—jamming a bone spike between its jaws as it lunged.
It bit down—snapping its own mouth in half.
Vosk kicked upward as blood clouded the water.
He broke the surface—
And was gone.
9. Zeri and the Ice-Brow
Her beast was blind. An old predator. It used sound and tremors. Walked on four thick limbs, its head lined with spines.
Zeri used patience.
She moved barefoot. Wore only a leather wrap. Each step was placed with care.
The Ice-Brow stalked the frozen flatlands. She walked into its path, then dropped to her knees—motionless.
It neared.
Stopped.
Sniffed.
She waited.
When it passed, she rose like smoke, crept up its back, and drove an obsidian blade between two vertebrae.
It reared—but she hung on.
It rolled—but she didn't let go.
Until it collapsed.
Then she was gone.
10. Hren and the Crater-Jaw
The Crater-Jaw was born in the mountains—a beast with a lower jaw so heavy it carved ditches when it walked.
Hren hunted from above.
He waited on a cliff as the beast passed below.
When the creature paused to sniff a rock, Hren jumped—spear aimed for the neck.
The point struck—but glanced.
The beast thrashed.
Hren rolled off its back, drawing two short blades. He danced around its bulk, striking legs, tendons, belly.
One tusk clipped his ribs. Broke two.
But he lunged up and stabbed both blades into the roof of its mouth when it roared.
The beast dropped.
So did he.
Then both were gone.
11. Sena and the Cloud Howler
The wind screamed across the mountain pass. Her beast was rarely seen—its howl mistaken for the storm. It had wings and four legs. A mouth full of curved fangs. And eyes that glowed white.
Sena waited in the open.
She screamed into the storm.
The beast came.
Like a ghost.
It struck, slashing her chest. She fell back, drew blood.
When it circled again, she raised a crude reflective disk—crafted from polished bone and frozen water.
The light bounced into its eyes.
It screamed.
She threw her blade—
straight into its mouth.
It choked.
Collapsed mid-air.
She was gone before it hit the snow.
12. Noro and the Root-Beast
His prey lived in the forest—under the earth. A mimic of vines and roots. It strangled prey in their sleep.
Noro tied himself to a tree. Dozed.
He woke to the sound of his own heartbeat—and the brush of something across his throat.
The Root-Beast was already wrapping him.
He let it.
Until it pulled him tight—then he cut the rope, fell with the beast down the slope, tumbling.
Mid-fall, he hacked its tendrils and jammed a shard of bone into its brainstem, exposed during the roll.
They landed hard.
Only he stood again.
Then he disappeared.
13. Jilu and the Glass-Horn
The final warrior. Her beast was beautiful—sleek, silver hide, and a single long horn like crystal. It was gentle—until provoked. Then it was unstoppable.
She did not use traps.
She sat. Waited.
The Glass-Horn came.
It sniffed her. Curled beside her.
She wept.
Then stabbed it through the throat.
It didn't fight back.
Only stared.
As it fell, its horn shattered into snow.
She stood over it, shaking.
Then vanished.
Ben stood on the edge of the forest, long after the sun had set.
He had said nothing since morning.
One by one, they would return.
Or they wouldn't.
But one truth had already been carved into the heart of Ikanbi:
The Outer Edge had begun their trial.