The night split open with snarls. Red eyes glimmered beyond the broken wall of the shrine, shifting in the dark like coals in ash. The hounds padded into view one by one, their bodies lean and twisted, their jaws leaking wisps of smoke that curled into the freezing air.
Arya's chest clenched. His palm flared beneath the bandage, casting pale light across the walls. The whispers in his head grew sharp and frantic. Teeth. Fire. Don't falter.
Mira gripped her staff tightly, planting her feet on the stone floor. "I was hoping for sleep," she muttered. "Guess that's too much to ask."
"Yes," Yeshe said calmly, lifting her face toward the howls. "Tonight you will not sleep, but you will learn."
The hounds surged forward. Arya barely raised his hand before lightning burst from his palm, blindingly bright. The bolt slammed into the first beast, tearing it apart in a spray of sparks and smoke. Three more leapt over its dissolving form.
Mira was already moving, staff spinning. She ducked under a lunging beast, driving the staff into its ribs with a crack, then pivoted to smash another square in the jaw. Her movements were sharp, desperate, but precise. The smell of scorched fur and iron filled the shrine.
Yeshe remained near the mural of the goddess, her cane tapping once, then twice. The sound seemed small, but each tap made the air quiver. The hounds hesitated with every strike, their snarls faltering as though invisible threads tugged at their limbs.
Arya's chest burned. Lightning gathered again, but this time it came slower, heavier, his muscles straining with the force of it. He gritted his teeth and thrust it outward. The bolt split into two arcs, striking beasts that had flanked Mira. They collapsed in a crackle of sparks.
Then the earth trembled.
From the ridge above the shrine, a deeper growl rolled across the hollow. The surviving hounds drew back, circling the walls but not retreating. Their red eyes shifted toward the broken arch.
A shadow stepped into view.
It was taller than the rest—lean, muscled, its horns curving back like sickles. Its eyes glowed brighter, its claws longer. When it snarled, the sound shook snow from the stones. Smoke poured from its jaws like a forge.
Mira's voice cracked with disbelief. "That's no hound."
"No," Yeshe said, her tone grim. "That is a general."
The beast descended the ridge in slow, deliberate steps, claws leaving grooves in the stone. The pack tightened behind it, waiting for its signal.
Arya's storm roared inside him, demanding release. His mark blazed brighter, the whispers turning into shouts. Strike. Burn. End it now.
The general bared its teeth, then roared. The sound shook the shrine itself, scattering loose stones. At once the pack surged forward, faster, more vicious, their howls layering into a terrible chorus.
Arya raised his hand again. Lightning cracked, scattering three into smoke, but more swarmed through the gap. One leapt at his chest—he stumbled back, barely managing to fling a desperate spark that dissolved it before it struck. Another lunged at Mira, but she met it head-on, her staff smashing down with a sickening crunch.
The general leapt onto the shrine's roof, its claws tearing through tiles. Smoke poured from its mouth as it glared down at Arya, its horns outlined in firelight.
Arya's breath caught. For a heartbeat, he felt frozen—caught between terror and the storm surging inside him. The whispers screamed louder. Kill. Kill. Kill.
"Yeshe!" Arya shouted, panic lacing his voice. "What do I do?"
The monk's reply was sharp, cutting through the chaos. "Stand. Do not fear the storm. Use it."
The general leapt.
Arya raised his hand just in time. Lightning burst forth, striking the beast mid-air. It shrieked, crashing into the shrine floor with a force that rattled every bone in Arya's body. Smoke curled from its hide, but the beast rose again, shaking off the attack like a dog shedding water.
Arya's chest heaved. "It's not enough," he whispered.
The beast's eyes locked on him, blazing with fury. Its claws scraped against the stone, drawing sparks. Then it lunged again.
Mira darted in front of Arya, swinging her staff with both hands. The blow cracked against the general's shoulder, staggering it for a moment. But it swatted her aside like a twig. Mira slammed into the wall with a cry, her staff clattering across the stones.
Arya's blood ran cold. He reached for her, but the beast was already towering over him, its claws raised for the kill.
The whispers erupted into a single, deafening command. Fight.
Arya's mark blazed, the light pouring from his palm so bright it lit the entire shrine. Lightning surged upward into the storm clouds, then came crashing down in a pillar of fire and sound. The general roared, its body caught in the torrent. Sparks burned holes into the shrine's roof.
The beast staggered, smoking, its claws twitching. For the first time, it seemed uncertain.
Arya's knees buckled beneath him. His chest felt hollow, his body drained, but he forced himself to stand. His hand shook, but he raised it again.
The general's red eyes narrowed. Smoke curled from its jaws.
The battle was far from over.