The rain had started by the time Kael and Lira reached Maelor's encampment — not a gentle rain, but a sharp, freezing downpour that felt like shards of glass slashing across the skin. The storm clouds churned in spirals overhead, as if pulled by some force beneath the ground they had left behind.
Kael pushed forward through the storm, the Silver Fang glowing faintly beneath his cloak. Lira walked beside him, pace steady, eyes scanning the horizon for any movement too unnatural to be weather.
Maelor's camp came into view through the haze — a ring of tents arranged like an old sigil around a flickering central fire. But something was wrong.
There were no guards.
No scouts.
No sound except the storm.
Kael's grip tightened. "This… isn't right."
Lira stepped in front of him, blade drawn. "Stay sharp. If anything moves, don't wait."
They passed the first collapsed tent — its ropes sliced clean through as if by something weightless and precise. The second tent had scorch marks across the canvas. The third… was empty, but a single symbol had been burned into the dirt at its center: a spiral with three branching lines.
Kael's blood ran cold. "The Veilborne were here."
"No," Lira whispered. "This symbol isn't theirs."
She crouched and brushed her fingers across the charred spiral. Her runes flickered. "This is Maelor's mark."
Kael blinked. "He left it?"
"Left it… or burned it as a warning."
Before Kael could respond, a flicker of motion caught Lira's eye — a soft glow rippling from the center of the camp. The main fire hadn't been extinguished. It burned unnaturally bright, white-blue instead of orange.
They approached cautiously.
Something was hovering above the flame — spinning, crackling.
A message.
A riddle.
A mark only Maelor could craft.
Lira and Kael stared up at the swirling letters, each one made of folded fire:
"THE SHADOWS WALK IN THREES.
THE EGG HAS GROWN RESTLESS.
THE BRIGHT NIGHT APPROACHES."
Below the words, more flame twisted into a second line, sharper and darker:
"FIND ME IN THE WINDING MARSHES."
Kael felt his stomach twist. "He knew we'd come back."
"He knew something was coming," Lira corrected quietly. "And he left before it reached him."
Lightning cracked overhead, throwing a stark, blinding light across the empty encampment. For a half-second, Kael swore he saw a silhouette among the tents — tall, thin, barely a shadow.
But when the flash faded, there was nothing.
Lira exhaled slowly. "We should leave. This camp is… marked now."
Kael nodded, but kept scanning the edges of the clearing. Something about the silence felt worse than any roar or scream. The ground still felt wrong — as if something had scraped across it recently. Something large.
"Winding Marshes," Kael murmured. "That's half a day's travel."
"If the weather holds," Lira added.
The clouds above churned harder, as if listening.
Lira sheathed her blade, then turned to the fire. "But we're not leaving without checking the tents."
Kael frowned. "Lira—"
"If anyone is still alive, we won't abandon them."
She strode into the nearest tent before he could argue. Kael followed — and immediately wished he hadn't.
Inside lay a deep, perfect circle burned into the dirt, its edges glassed over from heat. But there was no body. No blood. No struggle.
Just black feathers scattered along the floor.
Kael picked one up, turning it slowly. "This isn't a bird's feather…"
"No," Lira whispered. "It's too thick. Too heavy."
A gust of wind tore through the tent flap, scattering the feathers into the storm.
Kael stood abruptly. "We're leaving. Now."
Lira didn't argue this time.
They stepped out into the rain just as the campfire roared, flames rising higher, twisting unnaturally. The glowing letters dissolved into ash.
Then the fire collapsed inward — into a small glowing ember that looked almost like an eye.
It blinked.
Both Kael and Lira froze.
A whisper breathed through the storm:
"The Veil is thinning…"
Then the ember shattered.
The fire went black.
Everything went silent.
Lira swallowed hard. "Kael… that wasn't Maelor's magic."
"I know."
"Then who left the last part of the message?"
Kael looked into the dark forest surrounding them, where the shadows seemed to pulse and breathe.
He didn't answer.
Because he didn't want to say the name that rose in his mind.
Someone older.
Someone watching.
Someone who shouldn't be here yet.
Not Fate. Not yet.
Something else.
Someone who listens to the dragon in him.
The storm howled, pushing them toward the road.
Lira grabbed Kael's wrist. "Marshes. Now."
And together, they ran into the storm, unaware that dozens of violet eyes had opened in the tree line…
…watching them leave.
…waiting.