The next morning came with smoke on the wind.
Outpost Virex rose slowly from its uneasy slumber. Duncan stood atop the cracked battlements, his arms folded as the sun crept over the horizon. Below, wild clouds drifted across the jungle line. Flocks of carrion-birds circled in silence—too many for mere coincidence.
Brannoc joined him, two cups of bark-root brew steaming in his hands.
"No beasts for miles," he said. "But the birds never lie."
Duncan took the cup but didn't drink. "You feel it?"
Brannoc's eye twitched. "Yeah. The forest is waiting."
They sipped in silence.
That's when the horn sounded.
Three long blasts.
Approach of rank.
Duncan's gaze snapped east. Along the ravine road, five black-cloaked riders appeared, flanked by two ballista-bearing wagons and a sealed standard: silver phoenix on black.
Dominion High Command.
Not a supply run.
A purge unit.
The Envoys of Command
They dismounted in silence. Their leader, a tall woman clad in obsidian armor, removed her helmet and handed it to an attendant.
Her eyes were glassy, nearly reflective. Not blind—augmented. Highborn.
"I am Envoy-General Yelra Cassan," she said, voice like a blade through parchment. "We are under direct orders from the War Council. We seek Field Lieutenant Duncan Haleth."
Brannoc's stance stiffened. "He's under my command."
"Not anymore."
The silence crackled between them. Brannoc stepped aside, jaw tight.
Duncan descended the steps to meet her, feeling the weight of every eye in the outpost.
"Field Lieutenant," Yelra said, not offering a hand. "You've been touched by a forbidden anomaly."
Duncan kept his face neutral. "I was assigned to investigate it."
"You didn't just investigate. You activated the Hollow. Awakened Oldblood resonance. Set off a continent-wide beast surge. And now," she narrowed her eyes, "your name is being whispered in shrines."
He frowned. "Shrines?"
"The Beast Cults."
Yelra leaned closer. "They think you're the returning one. The Wild-Blooded King."
Duncan's blood ran cold.
A Test of Loyalty
Back in the war room, maps and missives lay scattered across the table. Yelra tapped a parchment bearing the seal of the War Council.
"High Command is split," she said. "Some want to study you. Others want you executed."
"Why not just kill me here?" Duncan asked flatly.
She gave a thin smile. "Because half of Virex's scouts reported your squad's survival in impossible odds. You've tamed no beast. Wield no magic. Yet the beasts avoid you."
"I didn't ask for that."
"Doesn't matter. The Dominion fears what it can't control. So I'm giving you a choice."
She placed a second scroll in front of him—this one unsealed.
"Return to Bastion Citadel. Submit to testing. If you pass, you'll be reassigned… to lead the Wildfront Legion."
Duncan blinked. "That's suicide."
"It's control," she corrected. "We keep the masses in check. The beasts stay hunted. You become a symbol of Dominion supremacy—not Wildblood prophecy."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then I'll call in a Black Lance squad," Yelra said coldly, "and erase this whole outpost. Pave it over. Claim plague. Your bones won't even get a tag."
Duncan stared at her.
He could hear the wind outside.
Hear it howl.
Like it wanted to speak.
A Warning in the Wild
That night, Duncan didn't sleep.
He stood alone beyond the outpost perimeter, watching the tree line. The jungle was deathly still. No chirps. No rustles. Just wind.
Then—
A crack of branches.
He drew his blade, spinning.
From the dark emerged a creature—but not an enemy.
It was an elk, ten feet tall at the shoulder, eyes glowing dimly gold. Not a beast of aggression, but one of omen. A Wyrd Elk, last seen two decades ago during the Nightflood Wars.
It approached slowly.
Stopped five paces from him.
And then knelt.
Duncan's breath caught.
Its antlers bore carvings—ancient symbols that matched those in the Hollow.
The creature rose and turned, vanishing into the trees.
No threat.
Just… a message.
He turned back toward the outpost, the weight in his chest heavier than before.
Brannoc's Advice
"You can't trust her," Brannoc said, staring into the firepit. "Yelra's a political blade. If she can't cage you, she'll gut you."
"I figured that out."
"So what will you do?"
Duncan stared at the glowing coals. "They want me to lead a legion I didn't ask for. Against beasts that aren't my enemies. To prove I'm loyal to a system that fears me."
Brannoc raised a brow. "You saying you won't?"
"I'm saying I'm going to redefine the battlefield."
Brannoc smirked.
Then grew serious.
"If you go that route… you won't come back a soldier. You'll come back a symbol. And symbols don't get to live quiet lives."
Duncan didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
The forest already knew.