The night outside the gorge refused to rest. Stars bit sharp into the sky, the kind of cold brightness that made men feel smaller than dust, and the wind carried every noise farther than it belonged. Luo Chen pressed his back against the rock, breath shallow, eyes trying to widen enough to drink everything at once. Jun crouched beside him with his sling wrapped twice around his wrist, a stone already nested in the pouch. Lyra hooded the lantern until its glow was the size of a coin, no more.
The sound had not returned—iron on stone, measured, deliberate. But silence was worse. Silence let imagination draw edges sharper than truth.
Jun leaned close, his whisper a blade of breath. "If he moves again, I throw. Doesn't matter who he is."
Lyra's hand found his wrist before he could unwind the sling. "If you throw, you choose war. Maybe that's the right choice, but don't let fear make it for you."
Her voice was calm, yet the stillness of her shoulders told another story: she was coiled, every nerve stretched like a bowstring. Luo Chen could see it now—the way she carried herself was not like a villager or a trader. She had lived with knowledge that wanted to bite back, and she had learned to smile with her lips while her eyes stayed measuring.
The figure at the edge of shadow still hadn't moved. Wind picked threads of starlight and laid them on his outline: tall, broad through the chest, a cloak stiff with old travel stains. Where the cloth folded at his shoulder, something glimmered—a sigil ripped away long ago, leaving only the ghost of a sunburst. No farmer wore that. No peddler walked like that. This was a soldier who had quit his banners but carried them in the set of his bones.
Jun's sling tightened. "Say something!" he hissed. "If you're man, speak. If you're wolf, howl. I don't like shadows pretending to choose."
The man finally moved. Not forward, not back. He reached up, lifted his hood, and let the starlight fall across his face. Hard lines, sun-browned skin, the crooked nose of someone who had met too many fists and refused to let any of them win. His hair was cut short as if blades, not barbers, had done the work. Eyes—pale gray, restless, not cruel but not safe. They were eyes that had judged too many battlefields and found all of them wanting.
"You'll throw," he said, voice low enough to make the stones listen. "And you'll miss. Not because you're clumsy. Because I know where to stand."
Jun's breath hitched like a bowstring near breaking. Luo Chen felt the pendant stir cold against his chest, not warning, not welcoming—just weighing the moment.
Lyra shifted her lantern. "You're not Wolffire. Their men don't hide their boots. You're not Sanctum, either—they'd have prayed before stepping." Her tone was even, but every word was a card she played facedown. "So who waits in the dark and counts children like debts?"
The man's mouth twitched—something between scorn and respect. "Not a child-counter. Not anymore."
His silence after was long enough to fill with every danger Luo Chen's mind could invent. Behind them, somewhere far, the horn of Hargel Boarshield rose again, a reminder that danger did not wait politely while men argued about shadows.
It was Lyra who ended the stillness. "We can walk away. You can walk away. Or we can pretend the fire behind us isn't getting closer. Choose quickly."
The man stepped forward then, slow, deliberate, letting stone grind under his boots. Jun raised his sling, muscles shaking, but did not release. Luo Chen could hear the scrape of his friend's teeth grinding. The figure stopped just shy of the lantern's pale reach.
"My name," he said, "was Kael Thorn. Once of the Dawn Sanctum. No longer. The fire behind you belongs to Wolffire riders. They won't stop until they've dragged you to their master. I've seen their hunts. You won't last three nights alone."
Jun spat to the side. "So you hunt with them?"
Kael's eyes flickered—hurt or anger, Luo Chen couldn't tell. "If I did, you'd be ropes already. I don't hunt for them. Not anymore."
Lyra's fingers tightened on the lantern's rim. "Not anymore is not the same as never. What do you want?"
Kael's gaze shifted to Luo Chen. For a heartbeat, Luo Chen felt those pale eyes weigh him heavier than the pendant at his chest. "I want to see whether the stories of fire are true."
The pendant pulsed once, a faint cold light against Luo Chen's palm, and he almost cursed aloud at the betrayal. Jun's sling jerked higher.
"Don't," Lyra snapped, sharp enough to slice the moment in two. "Not here. Not while the wind carries more ears than ours."
Kael Thorn did not move closer. He only stood, patient as stone, waiting for them to decide whether to break or to bend.
Jun's sling never lowered. His whole arm shook now, not from weakness but from rage wound too tight. "You stand there and talk of hunts as if you're not part of them. Maybe you cut the leash, but you still stink of the chain."
Kael Thorn's jaw worked, muscle flexing under his stubble. "You think chains vanish when you break them? They don't. They drag until you die. But better dragging empty than dragging men with me."
Luo Chen's heart drummed against the pendant. He wanted to shout, to demand truth, but his throat clenched. He had seen too many lies written in fire already. If this man was another one, what weight could his words hold? And yet—his presence carried the smell of iron and rain, not oil and ash. Something in his stance said he had fought Wolffire, not drunk with them.
Lyra's eyes narrowed. "You abandoned the Sanctum. You walked away from vows most men carve into their own bones. Why should we believe you won't walk away again—this time with our lives as payment?"
"Because," Kael said quietly, "the riders behind you want the same thing that burned your homes. I don't."
The words landed like stones, heavy, undeniable. Luo Chen flinched. Jun's grip on the sling tightened, but his eyes betrayed the smallest flicker of doubt.
Then the wind shifted. A howl carried across the plain—not wolf, not horse. A horn, deep and wet, the sound of a beast dragged unwilling into brass. The Wolffire were closing.
Lyra's lantern snapped shut. Darkness folded them in. "Decide later," she whispered. "Run now."
No one argued. Even Jun, stiff with mistrust, let the sling fall back against his hip. Kael Thorn moved to the side, not in front, not behind—parallel. As if he knew stepping wrong by an inch would make him target to all three.
They fled the open stones, feet drumming dirt into rhythm. Grass whipped their legs. The stars smeared into silver scratches above them. Behind, the horn rose again, closer, answered by the clatter of hooves.
Jun spat curses under his breath. "They're sweeping the gorge. We'll be cut if we keep straight."
"North," Luo Chen gasped, clutching the pendant like it could drag him forward. "Always north."
"North is death," Jun snapped. "They'll expect it."
Kael Thorn's voice cut through, harsh but sure. "Not if you know which river is dry." His pale eyes flicked toward Luo Chen's chest, as if the pendant itself had spoken.
Luo Chen stumbled. "How—"
"I served in hunts before," Kael said. "I know their maps. The dry river cuts the riders' circle. If you find it, you live."
Lyra's voice sharpened. "Or you lead us into a noose."
Kael did not slow. "Then choose which throat fits better—the one behind you, or the one I offer."
The plain tilted down. Rocks scattered like teeth. Hooves rang louder now, closer, the riders fanning wide. Jun snarled, grabbed Luo Chen's arm, and hauled him toward the darker cut of land. "We're not dying in the open. If it's a trap, we'll kill him first."
Kael Thorn neither argued nor looked back. He ran as if the earth itself had set him to task.
The ground broke under them, sudden, a ravine gaping where shadows had hidden it. Jun swore and leapt, dragging Luo Chen after. Lyra landed light, cloak whispering. Kael followed, boots grinding sparks from stone. The ravine swallowed them in damp air and the memory of water long gone.
For a moment, the hooves above faltered. Riders could not plunge blindly into such dark. Their horns wailed frustration. Torches flared at the rim, orange teeth gnashing the sky. But the ravine held shadow deeper than flame could bite.
Jun leaned against the wall, chest heaving. "We run blind. That's not survival, that's begging for a broken neck."
Kael Thorn lit nothing. He only tilted his head, listening to the echo of water that wasn't there. "Not blind. This cut leads north. I've marched it before. It goes longer than their circle reaches."
Luo Chen's breath shivered in his throat. He wanted to reject the words, to call them poison, but the pendant cooled in his palm as if agreeing. His stomach turned. "If you lie—"
"Then you'll kill me," Kael said, and kept walking deeper into dark.