Luken stirred before the first blush of dawn painted the cliffs, his small frame tense beneath the straw mat. Three days had passed since his soul, Noah's soul. had fused with this child's body, and already the dual rhythm of inherited instincts and alien memories pulsed like a storm within.
Last night, I learned something new about Shade. He's changing, or maybe awakening. His power isn't just a reflection of mine anymore. There's something darker, deeper, forming beneath the surface. When he moved through the mist, his body almost blurred, like the shadows themselves bent to let him pass.
Then the mental link to Shade hummed faintly, a constant undercurrent: Mist thickens. Soldiers stir. He slipped from the loft without a sound, careful of the creaking floorboards that betrayed so many secrets in Rock Valley's close-knit huts.
Karen slept soundly in the alcove, her face lined with the quiet worry of a mother who had buried kin to the mist. Daren's side of the pallet was empty; the axe leaned against the doorframe, its edge gleaming from a midnight honing. Luken dressed swiftly in his damp tunic and woolen breeches, then focused inward. Arise.
Shade materialized in the shadowed corner, identical down to the storm-gray eyes, and melted into the night without a word. The feedback was a warm cascade, seamless now after nights of practice.
Outside, the village slumbered under a pall of fog that clung like a shroud. Smoke from dying hearth fires threaded upward, mingling with the faint, acrid tang of yesterday's butchered Mist Crawlers.
Rock Valley's soil pulsed softly with the Universal Key, its luminescent veins dimmed by the pre-dawn chill but ever-present a living web that bound hunter to hunted, life to death. Luken felt it in his soles, syncing with the Core blooming in his gut, stronger each day from Shade's doubled cultivation.
Shade reached the market square first, a ghost amid the dew-slick stones. Chief Hall loomed dark and squat, its thatch roof sagging under mist-weight.
The roster board stood sentinel, fifty slots filled with names in hasty charcoal: Daren Holt near the top, Kael Rovan's father's mark beside it. But Shade's gaze fixed on the soldiers' tent at the square's edge, canvas flaps tied shut, a faint red glow seeping from within.
Altar, Shade thought, the word carrying diagrams etched in Luken's mind: interlocking runes, pulsing like veins.
Luken arrived moments later, feigning a stumble to mask his approach. He crouched behind Goran the smith's forge anvil, heart steady despite the chill. Through the link, Shade phased closer, intangible now for brief bursts, a trick honed in yesterday's tests, and peered through a seam. Inside, Captain Thorne knelt before a low stone slab, its surface carved with an anvil sigil wreathed in thorns. Arrayed around it lay five Mist Crawler cores, excised and glowing, their Key essence siphoned into crystalline conduits that fed a central orb. The orb hummed, veins of crimson light cracking its surface.
Thorne murmured incantations, his scarred face twisted in fervor. "Fifty cores. The breach opens. Demons flood the Veylwood flank. Obsidian Pass crumbles. The king reigns eternal." A parchment fluttered nearby another missive, wax seal broken. Shade memorized it in an instant:
Captain Thorne:
The tithe is no mere levy. Each Tier 1 core holds latent Key sufficient for the ritual. Fifty will tear the veil to the Abyssal Realms. Let Rock Valley's hunters feed the maw. When demons pour forth, the clans will shatter against them. Claim the glory and the silence of witnesses.
High Strategist Varn, Iron Reach
The implications crashed through the link like a cliff fall. Sacrifice. Portal. Demons. Luken clenched his fists, nails biting palms. Not just betrayal. a cataclysm. Shade withdrew soundlessly as Thorne rose, barking orders to his men.
Dawn broke fully as hunters gathered. The great bell tolled once, deep and resonant, summoning the village like a beast to the slaughter. Chief Harlan Rovan ascended the hall steps, the Core Drinker's scale cloak draped over broad shoulders, its obsidian plates catching the light. Flanked by Thorne and his soldiers, he surveyed the crowd: faces gaunt but resolute, children peering from skirts.
"Five days to the Great Hunt's eve," Rovan boomed, voice carrying like forged steel. "Scouts today: North Ridge, South Hollow, Deep Fringe. Maps, nests, counts. We deliver fifty or forfeit all." His eyes lingered on Daren, a nod of iron trust.
Thorne interjected smoothly, silver marks glinting in his pouch. "The crown incentivizes valor. Tier 2 pelt: one mark. Tier 3: two. Loyalty pays."
Murmurs stirred, hope laced with suspicion. Daren's party formed: five hunters, spears tipped with Key-imbued iron, nets woven tight. Luken shouldered a water skin, eyes pleading. "Father, let me carry to the fringe."
Daren ruffled his hair, grip firm. "Fringe only, whelp. Learn the weight."
Karen watched from the crowd's edge, hands twisting her apron. As the party departed, she pulled Luken aside in the hut's shadow. "This tithe reeks of more than hunger. Your father… promise you'll run if the mist turns."
Luken nodded, throat tight. I will. But not alone. Shade had already ranged ahead, a shadow threading the treeline.
The Deep Fringe began where luminescence faded, mist coiling into opaque walls. Twisted oaks clawed the sky, roots veined with faint red. the first hint of corruption. Shade scouted parallel, senses extended: Nest ahead. Twelve Tier 1. Guard molts.
Luken signaled subtly, fist to chest, hunter's code for "ambush right." Daren grunted approval, party fanning out. Spears lanced; Key flared blue along edges. Crawlers erupted in chittering fury, limbs jagged as broken glass. One hunter took an acid slash, screaming as flesh bubbled. Daren's axe cleaved two in a single arc, glowing blade drinking their essence.
Shade struck unseen: a phased hand collapsing a burrow mouth, trapping four. The hunters mopped up, binding eleven carcasses. "Luck smiles," Daren muttered, clapping backs. But through the link, Luken tasted bile, cores pulsing wrong, red taint seeping.
Deeper, Shade pressed alone. The trail widened: claw marks too precise for beasts, runes scorched into bark. At a hollowed oak, another cache: ten more cores, conduits snaking to a hidden altar duplicate. Thorne's design, backup for the main. Whispers emanated, not human: Flesh… Key… open…
Luken masked a gasp as feedback surged. Demons sense us. Shade retreated, but not before etching a counter-rune. subtle, destabilizing.
Midday brought return. Cheers greeted the haul; Chief Rovan tallied, eyes narrowing at the red veins. "Taint grows. Double watches." Thorne smiled thinly, claiming a core for "inspection."
Afternoon dragged in chores: Luken mended nets with Karen, mind split. Shade perched on a cliff overlook, cultivating in cycles. inhale, hold, exhale. Key flooded double, Core swelling to match a twelve-season youth. We near Tier 1 stability, Shade noted. Luken felt the bloom: warmth spreading to limbs, strength coiling.
Daren returned grim from council. "Thorne pushes for deeper hunts tomorrow. Says the king 'demands haste.'" Over stew, Crawler meat turned to ash in Luken's mouth, he recounted whispers:
Veylwood drums louder, Iron Reach banners sighted beyond the pass.
Night fell heavy. The hut settled; snores rumbled. Luken summoned Shade fully in the loft, moonlight striping their forms. They knelt face-to-face, thoughts merging like rivers.
Two altars, Shade began, projecting diagrams. Main in Thorne's tent. Backup in Fringe hollow. Fifty cores ignite the orb, tears veil to Abyss. Demons-Imps first, then Lords, pour to shred Veylwood. Village? Bait. Witnesses silenced.
Luken traced runes in dust. Chief suspects. Saw his glance at Thorne. Pause. We act?
Not yet. Five days. Sabotage cores, micro-pulses invert flow. Overload on activation. Shade demonstrated: phantom hand weaving Key threads.
Not yet. Five days. Sabotage cores, micro-pulses invert flow. Overload on activation.
Shade demonstrated: phantom hand weaving Key threads. Like Elder Mira last harvest, reversing rot in the glowroot. Threads pull back, burst.
The memory flooded unbidden: six moons past, Luken hidden in Mira's herb hut, watching her palms glow over blighted roots. Invert the vein, she'd whispered, Key flipping crimson to blue, rot exploding outward.
Child's eyes wide; boy's mind filed it away. Now, Noah's thoughts overlaid: Like flipping a circuit. Positive to negative, short the board.
Risk: feedback burns us, Shade cautioned. But Key shows the paths now. Tier 1 sight.
Risk: feedback burns us.
They tested: Shade pricked a finger, sensation echoed, sharp but distant. Deeper, a Key spike, Luken's vision blurred, ache blooming. Limit holds. Death alone true pain.
Hours blurred in dual meditation. Shade on cliff, pulling richer Key; Luken in loft, absorbing feedback. Core thrummed brighter, veins glowing faintly under skin.
Tier 1 threshold tomorrow, they synced.
Footsteps creaked, Daren's nightly check. Incoming. Shade dissolved in a blink, warmth folding home. Daren peered, grunted at the "sleeping" form, withdrew. Reformed, Shade tilted head. He watches closer.
He senses strength. Luken lay back. Tomorrow: scout backup altar. Plant first saboteurs.
Outside, mist roiled redder, howls echoing, Crawlers or worse. The bell would toll again at dawn. Fifty cores. One portal. Two hearts beating defiance.
The Great Hunt dawned.
Thorne schemed in shadows.
But shadows schemed deeper still.