Outside the cave, the snowstorm had reached its full fury. The winds screamed as they slammed against the rocks, like starving wolves howling in rage. Inside the cave, the last light of the torch was fading. Grommash had already extinguished the fire so that no smoke would draw attention from outside. In the darkness, only Kyle's heavy, uneven breaths echoed.
Lyra sat beside him, her hand resting on his now cold wrist. Three days had passed… and Kyle's body was no longer the same. His cheekbones had become sharp and visible, and dark circles had formed beneath his eyes. Without food and while constantly battling the Draken corruption, he now looked like nothing more than a fragile skeleton.
"His condition… he's stable, but he's become extremely weak," Lyra whispered in the darkness, her voice trembling slightly.
Arin, who stood guard at the cave entrance, turned back. "Will he regain consciousness by tomorrow morning?"
Lyra slowly shook her head. "No. His body is still processing the broth and my healing. He needs at least one more day… maybe by the morning of the fourth day, he'll open his eyes. But when he wakes up… he won't recognize himself. His body will be so weak that he might not even be able to stand properly."
Grommash, who had been sitting in the darkness like a stone statue, finally spoke. "We don't have another day, Lyra. Umbra's hunters must have realized their scouts never returned. They won't care about the fog anymore."
Lyra gently touched Kyle's forehead. "There's one more thing… something that scares me. The weaker Kyle's body becomes, the stronger Draken's power is getting. When he wakes up, he'll suffer from severe dizziness. His balance will be broken. We'll have to support him… or he'll collapse under the weight of his own power."
Silence filled the cave for a moment. All three of them knew—they were trapped in a pit of death where time was running out. Kyle waking up was their last hope… but it would also bring their greatest challenge.
"Then we wait," Arin said firmly, tightening her grip on her bow. "Until the fourth morning. Even if we have to flood this entire cave with blood to survive."
Lyra looked at Kyle's face, which briefly flickered under the last spark of torchlight before sinking back into darkness. Outside, the storm grew even more violent, as if trying to crush them completely. Time was slipping away… and the silence of Whispering Pass was now a sign of an approaching disaster.
Far away from the frozen peaks of Whispering Pass, deep within the Deadlands, stood the Obsidian Spire. It was no ordinary structure of stone. It looked as if a sharp blade of darkness had pierced the sky itself from the ground. Its entire structure was made of black glass—obsidian—so cold and sharp that bare skin touching it would tear apart instantly.
The atmosphere around the fortress felt like a cursed nightmare. The air didn't flow—it whispered, as if the walls themselves were filled with suffering souls. Sunlight never reached the base of the tower. Instead, a thick, toxic black fog surrounded it… known as "Umbra's Breath."
Inside the main hall, the sight was even more horrifying. From the high ceiling hung not chandeliers, but iron cages… inside which the souls of traitors who had betrayed the Umbra Conclave were trapped. The torches on the walls burned with blue and violet flames, spreading more darkness than light. Shadows constantly shifted in the corners of the hall, as if alive.
At the center of the hall floated a massive Astral Map. It was no ordinary map—it pulsed with living energy. Wherever human settlements existed, golden lights shimmered. But over the region of Whispering Pass, a dark stain was spreading… like ink devouring the entire map.
Standing before this map was Malakor. His heavy black robe dragged across the cold marble floor. The temperature in the hall was so low that each of his breaths formed white mist… yet the cold in his eyes was far more deadly. He stood in silence, but the dark waves radiating from his Shadow Staff revealed the storm raging within him.
The heartbeats of the scouts he had sent… had vanished.
Malakor stood near a massive window, staring toward the north where the fog of Whispering Pass touched the sky. The silence in the room was so deep that he could hear his own slowing heartbeat.
He looked calm… but his grip on the Shadow Staff had turned his knuckles white. One thought kept returning—his scouts should have returned by this morning.
In the history of the Umbra Conclave, it had never happened before that Malakor's chosen hunters disappeared without a trace. They weren't just scouts… they were masters of stealth, assassins who could move unseen. And yet this time… there was only silence. A silence that gnawed at him from within.
"Today is the fourth day…" he muttered under his breath. His voice carried a strange heaviness. His eyes shifted to the map, where the last trace of his scouts ended at the base of Whispering Pass.
A bitter realization was forming in his mind—something had gone terribly wrong. Death? Perhaps. But even death leaves a trace. This felt as if the fog itself had devoured them.
He wiped the sweat forming on his forehead—even in this freezing cold. It wasn't fear… it was a warrior's sixth sense, warning him that he was no longer facing an ordinary enemy.
"If they haven't returned… then it means I must change the rules of this game."
In a sudden burst of anger, Malakor grabbed a glass from the table and hurled it against the wall. It shattered into pieces—but his unease didn't fade.
He turned back toward the window and whispered, "Whoever you are… wherever you are… interfering with my hunt will cost you dearly."
The silence in the hall grew heavier. Malakor paced slowly, dragging his Shadow Staff across the floor. The sound echoed like bones cracking. One question kept echoing in his mind—what exactly was hidden within the fog of Whispering Pass that could erase his scouts completely?
He didn't know about the rogue orc warrior, the skilled archer, or the healer of Lumina. To him, there was only one thing—a mysterious force standing in his way.
"If they didn't return… then someone there knows how to strike from the shadows," he thought, biting his dry lips. "Someone who understands darkness."
Suddenly, he raised his hand toward the shadows. Heavy footsteps echoed… and from the darkness emerged a massive warrior clad in heavy iron armor, a giant sword strapped to his back. His eyes held no emotion—only cold obedience.
"Commander Zeros…" Malakor's voice echoed through the hall. "You are a level 26 warrior. Your blade has slain many powerful magical beasts. I have a mission for you."
Zeros bowed his head silently.
"My previous scouting party has lost contact. I don't know what's there—tribes, a rogue mage, or death itself. You will find them. If they are alive, bring them back. And if there is a threat… eliminate it completely. I want updates every moment."
Malakor snapped his fingers. From beneath the floor came horrifying growls… and three Shadow Hounds crawled out. Their eyes burned like hot coals, and the saliva dripping from their mouths sizzled as it touched the stone.
"These hounds will track their scent and lead you to the exact place they were last alive. Zeros… remember—I want that Vessel whose energy is being felt beyond the fog. Whoever stands in your way… reduce them to ashes."
Zeros tightened his gauntlets and moved toward the massive gates of the fortress, the Shadow Hounds following him.
Malakor remained standing, unaware of who he would truly face. But there was a strange confidence in his eyes—after all, a level 26 warrior and these beasts were more than enough to crush any minor threat.
As they disappeared into the darkness, Malakor gripped his staff tightly. "Let's see… what kind of rat is hiding behind the fog."
Cliffhanger:–
Inside the cave, Kyle's weakening breaths… and outside, the raging snowstorm. But the true catastrophe has already begun moving from the Obsidian Spire. Commander Zeros and his deadly Shadow Hounds are now tracking the scent of death.
Will the exhausted Grommash and powerless Lyra be able to face this new threat? When Kyle opens his eyes… will he find his saviors—or the shadow waiting to consume his soul?
The hunt has begun.