The sky cracked open before sunrise. Serena woke beneath a cedar whose needles still dripped last night's rain. She stretched, felt yesterday's bruises pull like wet rope across muscle, and rolled her shoulders until the scythe's weight felt familiar again.
< 23 days remain >
---
The trade road south was a ribbon of cracked stone. She walked it alone, Umbren padding a dozen paces ahead. Every third milestone bore claw marks—some fresh, some old—signposts left by Aurora's mandate to mark the chase.
A mile on, the forest thinned. Thunder rumbled above the canopy; clouds bruised violet. Serena tasted iron on the wind and quickened her pace.
Three-Rivers was less a town and more a collection of bridges strung between three swift channels. Water roared beneath plank walkways; the air smelled of wet stone and frying fish. Market stalls huddled under canvas awnings, their owners already battening canvas against the coming storm.
Serena bought a paper cone of chestnuts, cracked them open as she walked, and listened to gossip.
"…heard the saintess herself passed through at dawn. Left bells on every bridge. Said she was hunting a shadow-demon…"
Chestnut shell crunched between her teeth. Serena tossed the empty cone into the river and crossed the middle bridge.
Aurora waited at the apex.
Rain began—soft, then hard. The saintess stood in the downpour as though water itself dared not touch her. Robes clung to her frame; bells rang like tiny thunder.
"No townsfolk today," Aurora called over the roar of water. "Just us."
Serena answered by stepping onto the bridge.
---
Planks groaned underfoot. Rain blurred vision to silver streaks. Aurora flung a glyph that became a spear of solid light; Serena slid beneath it, scythe carving a crescent that sliced the spear in half. Sparks hissed into the river.
They exchanged three breaths of steel and mandate. Aurora's runes flared, turning raindrops into crystal darts; Serena spun the scythe overhead, the blades becoming a shield that shattered the darts into glittering mist.
A thunderclap exploded overhead. Lightning forked down, struck the railing beside them. Aurora rode the flash—glyphs wrapping her boots—leaping backward to the far bank. Serena followed, boots skimming water, and landed in ankle-deep mud.
They fought along the riverbank—blade against mandate, darkness against dawn—until both were drenched and breathing steam.
Aurora broke first, vanishing into the storm with the same ringing laughter.
---
Serena ducked into a low-roofed shop smelling of ginger and sulfur. An elderly woman with a willow-leaf tattoo over her eye glanced up.
"Storm chasing you?" the woman asked.
"Storm and something worse." Serena laid three more beast cores on the counter—dusk-wolf hearts, still warm. "Blood-staunch salve. Mana-stabiliser. And something to keep bones from rattling."
The woman weighed the cores, nodded, and produced a trio of porcelain vials. "The salve burns when applied. The stabiliser tastes like regret. The third will keep you running."
Serena pocketed the vials, left a silver coin, and stepped back into the rain.
---
A flat-bottomed ferry waited at the southern dock, lanterns swinging wildly in the gale. The ferryman, a stooped man with a beard like wet rope, eyed her wolf and asked no questions.
Halfway across the wide river, Aurora appeared on the opposite bank. She raised one hand. The water between them rose into a wall, solid as glass, reflecting lightning. Serena answered by hurling the scythe; it spun through the wall, shattering it into a thousand silver shards. Both women leapt.
They fought on the ferry itself—planks splintering, lanterns shattering into fireflies. Umbren lunged at Aurora's flank; a glyph flared, hurling the wolf into the river with a splash. Serena snarled, reversed her grip, and drove the scythe's butt-spike into Aurora's shoulder. Bone grated; the saintess hissed, kicked free, and vanished mid-leap into the storm.
The ferry lurched, half-sunk. Serena hauled Umbren aboard and steered the listing craft to the far bank with nothing but stubborn will.
---
Rain softened to mist. She found shelter in a watchtower abandoned since border wars—stone walls green with moss, windows gaping like empty eyes. Inside, she stripped her soaked cloak, bound the cut on her shoulder with the salve, and swallowed the bitter stabiliser.
Umbren shook water from his coat, then curled against her, radiating warmth. Outside, thunder rolled away like distant drums.
< Night-Sewn Path – 47 % mastery >
< Core Bloom 5 approaching >
Serena closed her eyes, feeling the technique coil tighter in her bones, waiting for the final day.
< 22 days remain >