The ridge bled into a winding slope, where fog pooled in cold layers. The air felt heavier here — not the damp of the forest, but the weight of eyes.
Eliakim's chains twitched against his wrist."Three of them," he said quietly. "One ahead. Two flanking."
Caleb's bowstring was already drawn, the Verdant Whisper humming faintly. "They're trying to funnel us."
Malachi hefted the Saphir Maul, sapphire head gleaming under a slit of pale sky. "Then let's break the funnel."
They reached the basin floor — and the trap snapped shut.
From the front, a Talon dropped from a low branch, lean and whip-fast, his weapon a segmented chain-blade that whirled like a metal serpent. From the left came a hooded figure whose weapon was a longbow strung with black-glass string. From the right, a massive warrior wielding an axe-shield hybrid, its rim lined with jagged teeth.
The chain-blade fighter's voice was a hiss. "They call me Veyth, master of the Serpent Fang Chain-Blade. Your chains won't catch me."Without warning, he spun the blade forward, its segments splitting mid-flight. The strike wasn't meant to cut — it wrapped Eliakim's chain mid-swing, locking it.
Eliakim felt the resistance and tugged — but Veyth's weapon twisted like it was alive, knotting the chain around its own spine. Every pull only made it tighter.
The bowman loosed an arrow that streaked toward Caleb — and halfway there, it bent, curving unnaturally. Caleb twisted aside, loosing his own shot, but the moment his arrow neared the black-glass string, it slowed, almost caught midair.
The Talon smirked. "They call me Selvas, wielder of the Arrowcatcher's Bow. You don't win ranged fights with me."
The axe-shield bearer simply took Gideon's first swing on the rim of his weapon. The molten-crimson blade sparked against the jagged teeth, but the silver half — precise and surgical — glanced off as if it struck water.
"Kaelvryn's bite," the Talon rumbled, "meets Drovak's Maw. Let's see which one eats better."He stepped forward, revealing himself as Dravik, shield-axe champion of the southern Talon clans. He shoved, catching Gideon's haft in the shield's teeth, twisting hard. The fused twin axe groaned in protest.
"Split them!" Eliakim shouted, wrapping his chain backward around a fallen branch to anchor himself. He let Veyth pull — then ran toward him, slackening the chain enough to lunge close. Without distance, the Serpent Fang Chain-Blade lost its advantage. Eliakim's free hand shot out, catching Veyth's mask and slamming a knee upward.
Caleb abandoned his long draw. Instead, he pulled two arrows and stabbed forward like daggers, forcing Selvas to step back. The Verdant Whisper wasn't just a bow — the Elderwood carving was dense, hard enough to parry when held crosswise. Caleb jammed it under Selvas's chin, forcing his aim skyward.
Gideon let Dravik's Drovak's Maw lock his weapon — then twisted his entire body instead of pulling free, dragging the Talon off balance. The moment the man's stance broke, Gideon brought his knee up hard into the rim's jagged teeth. The crunch of bent metal was loud and satisfying.
Malachi had been circling like a storm building pressure. When Veyth tried to retreat from Eliakim's sudden rush, the Saphir Maul came down in an arcing sweep. The impact caught the chain-blade mid-whirl, snapping two segments and sending the rest clattering into the mud.
The Talons regrouped quickly, their confidence shaken. They had come to counter the heroes' best weapons — but now the fight was shifting on stubborn will alone.
Veyth hissed something in Elvish. Selvas nodded, loosing an arrow that shattered mid-flight into a cloud of black motes. The motes hung, crackling in the air. The heroes' skin prickled — whatever that cloud was, it was closing in.
Before the trap could spring, the ground shuddered — not from the Talons, but from something deeper. The fog in the basin swirled unnaturally.
Far away, within the dark heart of the castle, Ezra sat on cold stone. Her wrists were bound in something that felt like obsidian, but with a faint hum — sealing her magic.
She could not see, but the world was not dark to her. Mana perception painted it in currents and pulses. The air here was thick with it — oppressive, heavy, and ancient.
And then… it changed.
The pressure deepened, as though the very walls were holding their breath. Footsteps — not loud, but resonant — moved toward her. Each step pressed against her skin like a slow tide.
"You are the blind one," a voice said. Deep, smooth, and terrible in its calm. "The one who threads paths by feeling alone."
Ezra's breath caught. "You're…"
"I am the King you fear to name," the voice replied. "And you are a thread pulled too close to my hand."
His mana flared — not like a weapon drawn, but like a sun glimpsed through clouds. Ezra's perception shuddered under it. There was no face in her mind's eye, only a vast shape, crowned with jagged peaks of energy, its limbs trailing chains of shadow.
"You think your friends will reach you," he murmured. "They will… if I permit it. And I am not in the habit of granting such mercies."
Ezra steadied herself. "If you could break them, you would have already."
A pause — and then a soft laugh, like dry leaves. "Perhaps. Or perhaps I prefer my prey to run before the snare closes. The hunt, after all, is the art."
His presence withdrew slightly, but the weight in the room did not ease. "Tell me, Ezra Nightfall… when the choice comes between your life and theirs, which will you cling to?"
She had no answer — and the silence pleased him.
"Good. The question is always better than the answer."
The footsteps faded, but the chains at her wrists pulsed once, as if in mockery.
Back in the fog, the Talons pressed their new attack. The black motes tightened into a barrier, hemming the four in. Arrows bent mid-flight, chains snagged on invisible catches, and even Malachi's maul seemed to drag heavier in the air.
"Push through!" Eliakim barked, his chains lashing outward to tangle Selvas's arm. Caleb dove low, sliding past Gideon to plant an arrow into the cloud's heart. The green-veined shaft pulsed — the motes sizzled, breaking apart in a burst of sharp wind.
Gideon seized the moment, both axe heads flashing — crimson smashing Drovak's Maw away, silver carving a shallow but decisive line across Dravik's chest.
Malachi finished it with a driving strike, the Saphir Maul punching into the basin floor, sending a shockwave that forced the three Talons to stumble back.
When the fog cleared, the enemy was gone. But the ground where they had stood bore three sigils, black and burning faintly — the same style as the circle that had taken Ezra.
Eliakim's eyes narrowed. "They're not just hunting us. They're marking the path."
And far ahead, beyond the basin's curtain of trees, the shadow of the castle waited.