Dawn came blood-red.
The second moon had not faded with nightfall.
Instead, it clung to the sky like a wound that refused to scab—still and watching, casting a rusty haze over Dawnmere Hollow as if the heavens themselves bled in shame.
Jonas stood at the edge of the cliff, overlooking the ravine that separated Kaladorn from the ancient lands beyond. Below, the river called Narrowmourn slithered like a silver scar across the land, its current fast and cold.
He held his blade loosely at his side.
The night's frost had not yet melted.
And his soul had not yet settled.
> "You're quiet," Elena said as she approached.
Jonas didn't answer at first. His eyes traced the jagged horizon, where the shadows of distant forests whispered.
"We split today."
"We do."
"Do you trust them to follow me?"
Elena smiled—not gently, but honestly.
"I trust you to lead. That's all that matters now."
Jonas nodded. His throat felt like stone. "It feels like we're tearing the pack apart."
"You're not tearing it," she said. "You're stretching it. Across time. Across fate. If the world has any hope left, it has to stretch too."
Preparations were swift and brutal.
Gharan would lead the defensive faction south to draw the Fleshbound into the broken teeth of the old border ruins.
Jonas would lead the northern party—a smaller band of Ashfang loyalists, Elena, Elric, and Elias—across the ravine, through the Vyrewood, toward the mist-locked gates of Oshael.
The journey was expected to take nine days on foot, but only if the Hollowborn didn't intercept them. Or the fog. Or the worst things that lived within it.
Before they left, Jonas knelt before the stone altar in Dawnmere's crumbling shrine. It was cold, fractured, and forgotten. Moss clung to the carvings of the Moon Goddess.
He placed a silver tooth—a relic from the Ruined Circle battle—at the base of the altar.
"I don't know what I am," he whispered.
"But I know I'm not alone."
The wind shifted behind him. Elena didn't speak, but she touched his shoulder once.
That was enough.
Day 1 of the Split.
The land beyond Dawnmere was dead.
Not lifeless—but hollow in a way that made Jonas's bones itch. The trees in the Vyrewood leaned away from the path, as if avoiding whatever scent clung to them.
No birds. No insects. Only wind that hissed in forgotten tongues.
Elric muttered a warding charm under his breath every few steps.
"I hate this place."
"It hates you too," Elias said grimly. "That's what makes it fair."
Elena led the way, spear in hand, her posture tighter than usual.
"You feel that?" Jonas asked her.
"Too quiet."
"Too watched."
By nightfall, they found shelter in a forgotten tower—part of the old Watchline that once connected Kaladorn to the Pact cities of the north. It was collapsed, gutted, and half-swallowed by roots.
But it had walls.
That was enough.
Elias prepared the fire.
Elric stood watch.
Jonas stared into the flames, his hands still gripping Whisperfang though there was no immediate threat.
His mind wandered back to the mark on his chest.
It pulsed again.
But this time… it whispered.
> North. North. Come north.
He didn't tell the others.
Not yet.
Day 2.
The dreams started.
Not nightmares.
Memories—but not his.
He saw fields of bone.
He saw children singing in languages swallowed by time.
He saw a crown—not made of gold, but of teeth—set upon a throne carved from wolves.
He saw a man.
Alone.
Wearing his face.
Wearing the Hollowmark.
He woke screaming.
Elena was already beside him, holding his shoulders. "It's the mark," she said. "It's opening more."
"Opening what?"
"Your inheritance."
Jonas shook. "Then burn it. Rip it off. I don't want it."
"It's not a wound," she whispered. "It's a door."
Day 3.
They reached the river crossing.
A narrow bridge made of petrified vines stretched over a canyon so deep it swallowed sound. The river below moved like black oil. Cold. Ancient.
Elias knelt before the crossing and placed a sigil of moonlight ash on the stones.
"This bridge used to be watched," he said. "By the Unseen."
"Still is," Elena replied.
Jonas looked ahead.
He saw movement.
Figures cloaked in mist, barely visible.
No weapons.
No faces.
No sound.
"Do we run?" Elric asked, blades out.
"No," Jonas said.
He stepped forward.
The bridge groaned beneath his boots.
The mist didn't move.
But it didn't attack either.
As he crossed, the mark on his chest pulsed again—brighter this time.
And the mist bent around him like it recognized its king.
Camp that night was uneasy.
Jonas couldn't sleep.
The others didn't either.
Even the stars felt strange.
He sat beside Elena. "Why did they let us pass?"
"Because something in you carries old weight," she said. "They were testing to see if you feared it."
"Did I pass?"
"You didn't run."
She stood and turned toward the forest.
"But we're being followed."
Jonas snapped alert. "How many?"
Elena's eyes narrowed. "One. But it smells… wrong."
They set up an ambush.
Elric, high in the trees.
Elias cloaked in mist.
Elena, silent as moonlight.
Jonas in the open.
He waited.
The wind whispered.
Then it arrived.
A figure—robed in crimson, limbs too long, wearing a mask of stretched skin.
A Fleshbound Seeker.
It didn't speak with a mouth.
It spoke with blood.
Its veins opened on its arms, spelling words across its skin in black ink.
> "Fangmarked. You will kneel."
Jonas stood.
"No."
The creature smiled.
And from its back unfolded wings made of bone and sinew.
Elric dropped onto it first—both blades flashing.
But the Seeker twisted impossibly, slamming Elric into a tree.
Elena threw her spear—it pierced its shoulder, but it didn't bleed.
Jonas charged.
The fight was fast and vicious.
The Seeker moved like mist and screamed like a choir of crows.
But Jonas was faster.
He didn't fight like a man anymore.
He fought like prophecy.
When his blade struck its chest, the Seeker screamed.
Not in pain.
Enjoy.
> "You open it," it gurgled.
> "You're the key."
And then it burst into flames—unnatural and green.
Its body turned to smoke, but its final word lingered in the air like poison:
> "They're coming."
The others gathered around Jonas.
"That was just one," Elias said grimly.
"And the others?" Elric asked.
"Behind us," Elena said. "We need to move. Now."
They ran through the forest.
No sleep.
No food.
The mark on Jonas's chest glowed constantly now.
It didn't hurt anymore.
It thirsted.
He didn't know where they were going anymore.
He only knew this:
Oshael was waking.
And it was calling him home.