Snow lay heavy over the dead village. Broken cottages sagged under frost, their thatch roofs torn by claw marks. The old stone fountain at the center was choked with ice, stained black where bodies had been thrown in to keep them out of reach of scavengers. Kael stood with his spear resting against his shoulder, eyes fixed on the distant line of trees.
They'd been ordered here three days ago by Captain Daric, along with two other platoons. The strategy was simple: retake ground, destroy any Dreadborn burrows they found, and hold until reinforcements could shore up a new perimeter. "Simple," Kael thought grimly, was a word men used when they didn't have to stand in the frozen mud and wait for monsters.
Lyren came up beside him, rolling his shoulder under the layered plates of his armor. His breath fogged the air.
"You look like you're trying to will them into existence. You expecting them any minute?"
Kael didn't answer right away. There was something out there — a tingle at the back of his neck, like icy fingers brushing his skin. Ever since the battle at Frostpine, these moments had come more often. Sometimes he'd wake in the night certain that something waited just outside the tent. Sometimes he'd feel his chest tighten, heart racing, and look up to find nothing there at all.
"Just...ready," Kael finally muttered.
Lyren snorted. "I'd rather they didn't come. Not today. My ribs still sing every time I breathe wrong."
Kael gave a ghost of a smile. "You're lucky that's all they did."
"Don't I know it." Lyren glanced over to where Ayla and Garrick were drilling a knot of villagers who'd been pressed into service. Their clumsy stabs were met with curt corrections, sometimes a sharp cuff to the shoulder. Toma and Nell were organizing supply crates, marking down dwindling stocks of salted meat and dry bread. None of them had rested properly since arriving.
Captain Daric approached then, flanked by a pair of hard-eyed scouts. His cloak fluttered around battered greaves. He looked over the square with tight lips.
"They'll come tonight," he said flatly. "Scouts found spore trails along the eastern ridge. At least two crawlers, maybe more. This village matters because it sits on the only stable ford across the Ravin River for leagues. If we hold here, we can push a new supply line south. If we don't — we starve come deep winter. You all understand?"
They nodded. No one liked it, but no one argued. That was the war.
---
They set up fire lines, rigged bottles of pitch to be hurled and smashed under flaming arrows. Traps were dug, simple pits lined with sharpened stakes, masked by thin snow. Kael's hands were numb by the time the work was done. He settled into position with Lyren, Ayla on his other side. Garrick crouched nearby with a brace of heavy javelins. Toma and Nell ranged along the line, checking gaps, speaking low to the nervous conscripts.
Dusk bled out of the sky. Then true dark settled in — the kind that swallowed torches and seemed to breathe against your skin. Kael listened. The village was silent, but the forest beyond wasn't. He could hear low rustling, cracks of ice under heavy limbs. Then — a chittering. Wet, eager. His stomach knotted.
A distant torch flared and died. A scream followed, brief and sharp. Then came the rush — shapes boiling out of the dark, claws flashing in moonlight, eyes like lantern coals.
The Dreadborn were here.
---
Kael didn't have time to think. A massive shape lunged at their section, clearing the pit trap in a single bound. Kael met it with his spear angled up, bracing the butt against a half-buried beam. The impact nearly snapped his arms, but the point slid through gaping jaws, cracking up into the creature's brain. It thrashed, almost ripping the weapon from his hands. Lyren hacked at one of its limbs, driving it sideways until it collapsed.
Behind them, another Dreadborn leapt onto a cluster of villagers. It smashed them apart with sickening ease. Ayla darted forward, slicing tendons, moving with the kind of detached precision that made men whisper about her behind her back. Garrick hurled a javelin that punched straight through another monster's eye socket, pinning it to the ground.
More poured in. Kael fought by instinct, every muscle screaming. His breath came in ragged bursts. A smaller crawler lunged at him — he pivoted, driving his spear in under the jaw, feeling hot slime pour over his gloves. It was almost like the creature let him. Its eyes locked on his, freezing for a heartbeat that stretched unnaturally long. In that space, Kael felt something slide against his mind, cold and curious. Then the moment snapped and the beast went limp.
---
Hours passed that way. The fires burned low. The snow was churned to mud, littered with twisted carcasses. Finally the attacks ebbed. The Dreadborn pulled back into the trees, leaving behind moaning wounded and silence so deep it hurt Kael's ears.
He leaned on his spear, chest heaving. Blood — dark and thin, too dark for human — ran down his gauntlets. Lyren stood beside him, helmet gone, hair plastered to his forehead. They didn't speak. Nothing needed to be said.
They found Nell crouched over Toma's body by the old fountain. Toma had taken a blow to the chest that caved in half his ribs. His eyes were glassy, his lips parted in surprise. Garrick stood nearby, hands curled into fists, blood running down his forearms from where he'd gripped his blade too hard.
"We hold here until they tell us otherwise," Captain Daric rasped when he joined them, voice cracking with exhaustion. "See to the wounded. Burn what we can't save. I'll have orders at dawn."
Later, Lyren shifted closer in the darkness, voice low so it wouldn't wake the others. "Kael… back there by the fire. Your face went white as snow. I thought you were going to drop. And don't tell me it's nothing. I've seen you stare off like that before." His hand gripped Kael's forearm, firm, almost desperate. "If something's wrong— if something's happening to you— I have to know."
Kael didn't answer right away. His throat felt dry, heavy with words he couldn't say. Finally he managed, "It's like… sometimes they see me. Really see me. And they hesitate. Or they reach for me. It's wrong, Lyren. I don't know why. But it's wrong." Lyren didn't let go. His grip just tightened, eyes locked on Kael's like he was trying to anchor him there. After a long breath, Lyren gave a tiny nod. "Then we watch each other's backs even closer. No matter how wrong it gets."
---
That night, Kael couldn't sleep. He sat by the embers of their small fire, Ayla on his left, Lyren on his right. Neither spoke much. Occasionally, Lyren would shift with a wince. Kael pressed his shoulder against him, silent reassurance. Across the way, Nell meticulously cleaned his blade, pausing only to glance at Toma's shrouded corpse. Garrick was nowhere to be seen; he'd wandered off after helping drag bodies to the pyre.
Kael found his eyes drifting to the dark line of trees again. That pulling sensation was stronger now — like a string tied around his ribs, drawing him toward something vast and patient that waited just beyond sight. His pulse quickened. It was familiar in the worst way.
"Don't wander off," Ayla murmured. Her eyes were on him, bright and sharp even in gloom. "Whatever it is out there — it wants you to."
Kael didn't argue. He swallowed and nodded, grateful for her watch. He wondered how long before they'd have to fight again, before more friends died screaming. How long before whatever was inside him finally broke loose.
He closed his eyes, letting the cold air bite at his face, and prayed silently — not for victory, not anymore. Just that the next time it happened, he'd still be himself.
Kael didn't have time to think. A massive shape lunged at their section, clearing the pit trap in a single bound. Kael met it with his spear angled up, bracing the butt against a half-buried beam. The impact nearly snapped his arms, but the point slid through gaping jaws, cracking up into the creature's brain. It thrashed, almost ripping the weapon from his hands. Lyren hacked at one of its limbs, driving it sideways until it collapsed.
Behind them, another Dreadborn leapt onto a cluster of villagers. It smashed them apart with sickening ease. Ayla darted forward, slicing tendons, moving with the kind of detached precision that made men whisper about her behind her back. Garrick hurled a javelin that punched straight through another monster's eye socket, pinning it to the ground.
More poured in. Kael fought by instinct, every muscle screaming. His breath came in ragged bursts. A smaller crawler lunged at him — he pivoted, driving his spear in under the jaw, feeling hot slime pour over his gloves. It was almost like the creature let him. Its eyes locked on his, freezing for a heartbeat that stretched unnaturally long. In that space, Kael felt something slide against his mind, cold and curious. Then the moment snapped and the beast went limp.
---
Hours passed that way. The fires burned low. The snow was churned to mud, littered with twisted carcasses. Finally the attacks ebbed. The Dreadborn pulled back into the trees, leaving behind moaning wounded and silence so deep it hurt Kael's ears.
He leaned on his spear, chest heaving. Blood — dark and thin, too dark for human — ran down his gauntlets. Lyren stood beside him, helmet gone, hair plastered to his forehead. They didn't speak. Nothing needed to be said.
They found Nell crouched over Toma's body by the old fountain. Toma had taken a blow to the chest that caved in half his ribs. His eyes were glassy, his lips parted in surprise. Garrick stood nearby, hands curled into fists, blood running down his forearms from where he'd gripped his blade too hard.
"We hold here until they tell us otherwise," Captain Daric rasped when he joined them, voice cracking with exhaustion. "See to the wounded. Burn what we can't save. I'll have orders at dawn."
---
That night, Kael couldn't sleep. He sat by the embers of their small fire, Ayla on his left, Lyren on his right. Neither spoke much. Occasionally, Lyren would shift with a wince. Kael pressed his shoulder against him, silent reassurance. Across the way, Nell meticulously cleaned his blade, pausing only to glance at Toma's shrouded corpse. Garrick was nowhere to be seen; he'd wandered off after helping drag bodies to the pyre.
Kael found his eyes drifting to the dark line of trees again. That pulling sensation was stronger now — like a string tied around his ribs, drawing him toward something vast and patient that waited just beyond sight. His pulse quickened. It was familiar in the worst way.
"Don't wander off," Ayla murmured. Her eyes were on him, bright and sharp even in gloom. "Whatever it is out there — it wants you to."
Kael didn't argue. He swallowed and nodded, grateful for her watch. He wondered how long before they'd have to fight again, before more friends died screaming. How long before whatever was inside him finally broke loose.
He closed his eyes, letting the cold air bite at his face, and prayed silently — not for victory, not anymore. Just that the next time it happened, he'd still be himself.