The horn that rang through the forest wasn't like the calls from before. This one was deeper—older. Meant to pierce bone. Ridgebrook's torches flickered from the vibration alone. Villagers looked around wildly, gripping their weapons. Even the animals in the pens grew restless, kicking and snorting.
"What does that mean?" Lira whispered.
Vlad answered before I could. "It means the hunters are coming."
Orin clicked her tongue. "Wonderful. That's exactly what we needed."
I wished she was joking. But the truth lay in the silence that followed, thick and oppressive. The forest didn't move. The torches beyond the treeline didn't shake. Nothing stirred.
And that was worse than noise.
"Should we wake the militia?" Orin asked.
"No," Vlad said. "They're already awake."
I looked over the barricades. He was right. No one slept tonight. Mothers clutched their children tighter. Men leaned on spears with white knuckles. Even the old blacksmith stood ready, hammer in hand.
The silence stretched for minutes.
Too many minutes.
Then the drums started.
Not dozens. Just three.
THUMP-THUMP.
…
THUMP-THUMP.
A rhythm like footsteps. Almost like breathing.
My spine crawled.
"Vlad…" I muttered.
But he was studying the treeline with a predator's patience.
"They are not meant to attack," he said. "They are meant to test us."
"Again!?" Orin snapped. "How many times do they—"
A piercing whistle cut her off. Sharp. Fast.
Instinct kicked in—I ducked.
The arrow whizzed overhead and embedded into a post behind me, quivering violently. The villagers near the gate gasped and dropped to their knees in panic.
"Archers!" Orin shouted. "Shields up!"
But more arrows didn't come.
Just that one.
A message.
Then the crack of a twig in the distance.
A shadow slid between two trees. Tall. Slim. Fast.
One of the hunters.
I tightened my grip on the spear. "What are we dealing with?"
"Elite trackers," Vlad said. "Silence. Precision. One against five in daylight. One against twenty in the dark."
Lira paled. "Are they Rank 2?"
"No," Vlad said. "But they follow one."
Captain Garron's presence hung over the forest like a noose waiting to tighten.
Then something flickered to the left—movement too smooth to be human.
Another shadow.
Then another.
Three hunters.
"They are circling us," Vlad whispered.
The Ledger pulsed in the back of my mind:
[ENEMY TEAM: WARGUARD HUNTERS]
[THREAT LEVEL: HIGH]
[PURPOSE: PROBE WEAK POINTS]
[DAYS UNTIL NEXT SUMMON: 9]
Nine days left. The siege was accelerating faster than we could repair the walls.
One of the hunters broke from cover—just briefly—before melting back into shadow. The villagers trembled.
"What do they want?" Lira asked.
"To see fear," Vlad said. "Fear invites mistakes. Mistakes invite death."
Orin snarled. "If they want a fight, let's give them—"
"No." Vlad's voice was sharp, final. "They want us to rush into the dark. They want us to scatter."
The hunters were experts. They would strike the isolated, not the strong.
But that meant they were waiting for an opening.
A scream erupted from the south wall.
Orin spun. "Shit—MOVE!"
We sprinted across the village. Another whistle cut the air—a hunter's call sign. When we reached the far barricade, two villagers were locked in panic, pointing wildly outside the wall.
"He—he dragged someone!"
"He just—he pulled him into the dark!"
"Who!?" I demanded.
"The butcher's son!"
Cold washed over the group.
Vlad didn't wait for orders. He vaulted the barricade and vanished into the forest.
"Vlad—!" I tried to stop him, but Orin grabbed my arm.
"Don't follow," she said urgently. "You'll get killed. Let him handle it.
"He's only Rank 1," I snapped.
"Rank 1 or not, he's the only one who can track them in the dark."
She wasn't wrong. But it didn't make waiting easier.
Moments stretched into painful eternity.
Villagers clustered around, whispering prayers or curses.
Lira held her cloak, trembling.
Then we heard it.
A scream—not human.
A wet sound.
Something tearing.
Everyone went silent.
And then Vlad walked out of the treeline.
Alone.
Covered in blood—not his.
Dragging the butcher's son gently over one shoulder.
His face, however, showed something else.
Not exhaustion.
Focus.
A razor edge had entered his expression. His breathing was slow, perfectly even. Even after sprinting through the dark, fighting hunters, and killing at least one man, he looked calmer than before.
Vlad handed the boy—still alive—to his parents.
"He will live," Vlad said.
The villagers stared at him as if he were a spirit of vengeance. Or fear. Or both.
Then Vlad looked at me.
"There were four hunters," he said quietly. "Now, there are three."
Orin's eyes widened. "You killed one of them?"
"Yes."
"How?" Lira whispered.
Vlad stared at his blood-covered hands.
"He was strong. Very strong. But for a moment—only one moment—my body moved faster than his. My breath aligned. My weight centered. And when my blade hit his throat…"
He looked up at me with eerie clarity.
"It felt like I had stepped into a new room."
My heart jumped.
Holy shit—he was describing breakthrough symptoms.
"You're close," I whispered.
"Yes," he replied. "Very close."
Orin muttered, "Then what now?"
"Now," Vlad said, "they will come again before dawn.
My pulse spiked. "Tonight?"
"Yes."
"Why!?"
"Because they lost one of their own."
Vlad stepped forward, gaze intense.
"To hunters… vengeance is sacred.
Before I could respond, the forest drums boomed twice, louder and faster than before.
The villagers froze.
Lira grabbed my arm.
Orin cursed.
My breath trembled—and for a moment, my heartbeat fell into a deep, steady rhythm again.
Qi.
Vlad noticed instantly.
"Prepare yourself, Chief," he said. "Tonight, you will face death."
"And you?"
He smiled a thin, wicked smile.
"I will face my evolution."
The hunters began their approach—slow, circling, patient.
And Ridgebrook braced for the deadliest night yet.