The fire had dwindled to embers, but the resolve in Torren's voice burned brighter than ever. By dawn, the party had split. Torren and Taryn sprinted east along the broken ridgelines, hoarfrost trailing from Taryn's enchanted gauntlets as they moved. Every kilometer, they stopped at lookout towers and outpost markers, carving warning sigils into stone or leaving Storm fang tokens of urgency. Lira and Kaelin cut north through the Wind veil Glades, lira razor wing glided over canopies and smoke-burned valleys on her razor wings.
Lira's aerial clan ties granted her swift access to sky breaker aeries Clan, located on a high-altitude settlement—this clan perched too far high above to ever fear ground wars.
Until now.
Each group bore a shared message, signed with Iron fang's sigil and bound by elder blood-seal: "An army stirs in the far West—it breaths corrupted qi, its soldiers are twisted demon beasts."
If that weren't enough...
A corrupting force spreads like rot, led by a second warlord unseen but whispered in Beast Tongue as the ''Anger of the Land.''
Ridge path stronghold – East border clan hold
An aging elder, face carved by storms and time, unwrapped the parchment from Torren's hand.
"This is no mere demonic religion," the elder rasped, his eyes scanning the runes.
"Something ancient...is being reborn."
Beside him, the wind seer of the high cliffs whispered her own omen:
"The skies grow confused. Thunder answers to no storm. Our hawks return… blind."
Sky breaker nest – Glade Quadrant
Lira knelt before the Matron of Wings, "They move faster than nature allows," Lira said, her voice tight. "They don't bleed and if struck down they instantly decay."
The Matron hissed through sharpened beak-plates, "This sounds like the undead."
Behind her, war drums began to thrum across the treetops.
Meanwhile…
Torren rested alone on a frost trail
With Taryn delivering his message to the Boreal Clan, Torren pressed south, toward the remote and reclusive clans that dwelled near the Scorched Basin—territory long believed cursed after an ancient qi quake ruptured the land.
I stopped atop a frost-scarred ridge, gaze cast toward the distant volcanic horizon. Strange clouds churned there. Not storm—not natural.
My Storm fang instincts prickled.
The message must reach them all—but something told me we were already too late for some.
I pulled my cloak tighter fur bristling, a distant sound echoed—a long, low war horn. Not Iron fang. Not any clan I knew of.
It came from the west. A long, low war horn still hummed in Torren's chest like a buried earthquake.
My Storm fang instincts flared with unease. Frost-cracked trees whispered warnings. The wind didn't shift—it froze.
I crept down the ravine toward the sound's origin, beast feet crunching across charred grass. The sky above was grayed, wrong. As if the sun were straining to pierce a veil of dread.
That's when I saw it. The village was gone. Ruined—emptied. Flayed. Silenced. What structures remained were blackened bones of homes.
Slaughter poles ringed the central square, each one impaled with the broken forms of once-proud townsfolk.
Some had clan sigils burned into their backs, others had their beast crystals shattered and smeared across the ground in cruel patterns—ritualistic.
I dropped to a knee, bile rising.
"These were farmers," I whispered, voice cracking. "They weren't even warrior bonded beasts."
Blood hadn't dried. This was fresh.
Too fresh.
WHHHRRRR—CLICK.
WHHHRRRR—CLICK.
The sound crawled into my ears like a parasite.
I whipped around, hand instinctively on the hilt of my qi-forged axe.
From the far end of the village ruins… something moved.
A child. Or… something like a child.
It stood no taller than my waist. A red cap pulled low over its eyes. Skin pale and taut like a corpse. The WHHHRRRR-CLICK came from its sabatons—some kind of wheeled boot.
I narrowed my eyes "Hey—are you—"
BOOM!
The aura hit me like a glacier dropped from the sky! A crushing, spiraling pressure of hatred and silence. It coated the air like oil. My lungs locked up. I staggered back, knees buckling. Qi disruption. Sovereign-level. At least. But there was no beast in sight. No known bloodline. The child's head tilted slowly upward.
One eye.
Just one.
Burning pitch black, with a red vertical slit.
My survival instincts screamed—but I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe, the intent in the air was rarefied terror. The boy raised one finger to his lips; and made a gentle shushing gesture.
''Shhhhhhh you'll wake them.''
All the corpses jerked upright. My breath returned only as a scream tore from my throat!
I leapt back, as the impaled villagers tore free of the pikes!
Their mouths splitting unnaturally wide as they sprinted toward me—eyes hollow,
limbs convulsing in twitching arcs.
"Undying…!?!" I could barely rasp out the words through the oppressive aura of fear.
I ran.
My legs moved before the rest of my upper body caught up.
The WHHHRRRR–CLICK sound came again!
too clean, too artificial, echoing in a way that bent the air itself.
The child in the red cap was chasing me! With curved banded murder stick in hand!
I focused qi into my muscles and ran harder.
My beast-bonded instincts howled in alarm.
Storm fang essence surged as my wolf half screamed "run!"
But my body trembled under the immense pressure of this things fear aura.
Blood dripped from the pikes behind me, and the night breeze carried whispers that weren't wind.
"You looked at me."
The voice wasn't from the child's mouth—it was in my mind.
Twisted, cold, mechanical and yet playful.
My vision blurred.
The ground tilted.
A crushing sensation pressed into my ribcage like invisible hands trying to pop me like a wineskin.
"You remember me, don't you, dog?"
I roared and summoned every drop of qi I had left—an emergency burst of storm pulse evasion.
Thunder cracked.
The air ripped as I vanished in a blink of qi-light.
I didn't look back. Not once.
I ran like a hunted beast—wind slicing my skin, my storm fang eyes glowing wide in terror.
Past the smoking ruins.
Past the distant, empty hills.
I didn't stop.
Not for rest.
Not to piss.
Not even to breath.
Hours blurred.
A branch slashed my cheek.
My foot caught a stone.
I nearly toppled—but I kept moving, kept pushing.
My qi flared unevenly, my beast crystal overstrained, heart hammering in triple-time.
By the time I reached the Iron fang forward camp, I collapsed just outside the boundary wards—bloodied, gasping.
Two scouts ran to me.
"Torren?! What happened?!"
I could barely speak.
But my hoarse whisper was enough to silence the whole camp.
"Red-Cap… is real."
And then, darkness claimed me.
Torren lay wrapped in storm-silk gauze, his breathing steady but shallow.
Qi-healers moved around him in silence, applying calming pulses to stabilize his core.
Inside the Iron fang high den, the fire pit burned low.
Shadows danced across the carved stone walls as the clan's highest voices gathered.
Elder Vash stood at the center, arms folded, storm-gray eyes darkened with unease.
The war council chamber hadn't been this full since the First Breach War.
Kaelin Windstrike paced near the edge of the flame circle, her wings flaring in agitation.
"He said Red-Cap. Are we truly invoking that name? After all these years?"
Elder Grunn, his bear pelt soaked with fresh rain, grunted.
"We never confirmed if it was myth or memory. Now…we have a firsthand survivor."
Soren stood silently, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the floor.
"Torren's bond pulse fractured. He wasn't just injured. Something tore at his spirit."
Lira stepped forward, her feathers slicked back.
"I read the residual qi on his cloak. Necrotic distortion layered with a Sovereign-level presence."
That drew a hush from the circle.
Vash broke the silence.
"Red-Cap is awake."
The old wolf's voice didn't rise.
It didn't need to.
The name alone spread a ripple of ancient fear.
Many in the room were too young to remember the sandy-creek massacre, but the elder warriors flinched.
"He walked among massacres," Vash continued, "always appearing as a child—never aging. Qi weapons phased through him. Beast crystals shattered in his presence. Whole villages erased without a single scream."
Grunn bared his teeth. "And now he returns…as the head of the corrupted army?"
Soren finally looked up.
"Or worse—beyond it."
Kaelin hissed through her teeth.
"What do we do, Elder?"
Vash turned to the southern map.
His finger traced across territories—Iron fang, Bloodroot, Dusk Bane, Storm Cliffs, until it reached the farthest western peaks—uncharted, nameless.
"We gather every clan still loyal. We send a call to the Sky-Sovereigns.
If even one remembers how to stand against him, we need their counsel."
He looked to the storm outside, as lightning flickered on the horizon.
"And someone must inform Ash."
A quiet murmur passed through the chamber.
Lira stepped forward. "He's strong—but still growing."
"That's why," Vash said, "He must know. Before Red-Cap finds him."
A