**Chapter 10: The Grin That Bleeds**
The ledge was a knife's edge, the Teeth mountains snarling around it, and Vaelreth stood like he owned the night. The Starvein's hum thrummed in his blood, a whisper that felt like a dare, while the green-glowing rune in the rock pulsed under his fingers. Below, torchlight wove closer—Varn's men, or maybe Lyssa's Veiled Order, hunting them. Kaelith's dagger gleamed, her eyes sharp with fury, and Jorath stood frozen, his secrets heavier than the wind. Vaelreth's grin was a spark, wild and sharp, but the Starvein's pull was a weight he hadn't asked for.
"Decide, Shadow," Kaelith snapped, nodding to the torches. "Run or fight?"
Vaelreth's laugh was a blade, cutting the cold. "Why choose? Let's make them regret chasing."
His fingers pressed the rune, its glow flaring like a wound. He whispered a word, tasting ash and iron, and the ledge trembled, not collapsing but singing, a low hum that matched the Starvein's. The air shifted, heavy with magic, and shadows moved below—not just torches now, but figures, too many, too fast. His grin tightened. He'd wanted a game, but this was a board with too many players.
Jorath grabbed his arm, voice low. "Don't. The Starvein's watching. You wake that rune, it'll know you better."
Vaelreth yanked free, his eyes green as the rune's light. "Let it. I don't hide."
Kaelith's curse was drowned by a shout below—Varn's men, their armor clanking, spears glinting. No Veiled Order, not yet, but Vaelreth felt Lyssa's shadow in the Starvein's hum, like a hand on his throat. He stepped to the ledge's edge, his cloak snapping in the wind, and raised a hand. The rune answered, a crack splitting the rock, sending a shower of stone onto the pursuers. Screams echoed, but more kept coming.
"Stubborn bastards," Vaelreth muttered, his smile alive with thrill. He turned to the rune, its glow now a pulse in his chest. Another word, and he could bring the cliff down, bury Varn's men—and maybe them. Tempting, but sloppy. He needed precision, not a grave.
Kaelith shoved Jorath forward. "Move, heretic, or I'll gut you myself."
Jorath stumbled, his voice a rasp. "The Starvein's not just power, Shadow. It's a mind. It wants you because you're reckless."
Vaelreth's grin didn't waver, but his eyes narrowed. "Flattered. Now run."
The path twisted upward, a goat trail barely holding against the mountain's wrath. Vaelreth led, the rune's hum fading but the Starvein's still clawing at his blood. He saw flashes—ash skies, bone thrones, his hands breaking worlds. Visions or warnings, he didn't care. They weren't boring.
A spear whistled past, grazing Kaelith's arm. She hissed, blood dripping, but kept moving, her dagger flashing back in warning. Vaelreth spun, his fingers weaving a spell, not a rune this time but a spark of raw magic, a flare that blinded the nearest soldier. The man screamed, tumbling off the trail. Vaelreth's laugh was wild, but the Starvein's hum grew louder, like it approved.
"Vaelreth!" Kaelith shouted, pointing ahead. The trail ended at a chasm, a rope bridge swaying over a void. Beyond, a cave mouth loomed, dark but humming, another piece of the Starvein's puzzle.
He didn't hesitate. "Cross it."
Jorath froze, eyes wide. "That's no cave. It's theirs—the keepers'."
Vaelreth's smile was a dare, sharp and reckless. "Good. Let's meet them."
As they ran for the bridge, the Starvein's hum sang louder, and Vaelreth felt it shift—not just watching, but calling. The game was no longer his, but he'd play it until it broke.
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