The shapes dropped from the trees like ink spilling from the canopy—limbs too long, bodies too thin, eyes like shards of black glass.
Ayla was the first to move, snapping her staff into guard. Kaelen darted ahead, blades flashing in the gloom. The air filled with a dry clicking sound as the creatures' joints bent in impossible directions.
Lior hung back, torn between drawing his weapon and clutching the Core fragment burning at his side. It wanted him to use it—he could feel the way it pressed against his thoughts, whispering movements and strikes he didn't know.
Ayla's voice cut through the noise. "Lior—watch the flank!"
He spun too slow. One of the things lunged, claws scraping across his bracer. Kaelen shoved him aside, taking a shallow cut along his cheek for the trouble.
"Stay awake, or you'll get us all killed!" Kaelen snarled.
The words stung deeper than the wound. Lior's hands clenched, the Core's warmth flaring. The forest seemed to warp—edges sharp, colors bending—until he could see the creatures' patterns of movement, each one like a string waiting to be plucked.
He moved without thinking. A dagger left his hand, spinning end over end before lodging in a creature's throat. The rest froze for a fraction of a second—just enough for Ayla to crush one's skull and Kaelen to open another from shoulder to hip.
But when the fight ended, they didn't look at him with gratitude.
They looked at him with suspicion.
"What was that?" Ayla's voice was low.
"Instinct," he lied.
Kaelen didn't buy it. His gaze lingered on Lior's belt, where the faint outline of the Core fragment pulsed like a heartbeat.