Arden Kaelthorn slowed his horse as the fortress came into view. The gates of Kaelthorn were already closed.
That was unusual. Patrols normally returned at dusk, not before it.
Rain drifted across the valley in thin sheets, turning the road into dark mud beneath the horse's hooves. The animal snorted as it stepped forward, clearly unhappy with the weather.
Two guards stood beneath the stone arch of the gate, cloaks pulled tight against the wind. Both of them straightened immediately when they saw him approach.
"My lord."
Arden dismounted and handed the reins over without a word. The younger guard took them quickly, though the man's expression looked strained.
Arden noticed it immediately.
"How many?" he asked.
The guard hesitated before answering, which told Arden enough already.
"Three patrols didn't return," the man said quietly. "Northern ridge."
Arden glanced past the walls toward the distant mountains. Dark forest climbed their slopes like a frozen tide.
The northern ridge again.
It had started two weeks ago with missing scouts. At first everyone assumed the men had simply gotten lost in the forest.
Then the bodies appeared.
"What did the corpses look like?" Arden asked.
The guard swallowed before answering.
"They were cut apart."
Arden frowned slightly. "Claws?"
"No, my lord."
The guard lowered his voice instinctively. "Clean cuts."
Rain tapped softly against the stone walls. For several seconds neither of them spoke.
Clean cuts meant blades. Blades meant people.
Bandits were possible, though unlikely. Bandits preferred supply caravans, not military patrols.
"Who was with them?" Arden asked.
"Six soldiers."
The guard hesitated again.
"And a cultivator."
Arden's gaze shifted back toward the mountains. Even the weakest cultivator should be able to deal with ordinary beasts.
For one to die this close to the fortress meant something stronger was moving in the forest.
Unless the patrol had not been fighting beasts at all.
"When were the bodies found?" Arden asked.
"This morning."
Arden nodded slowly. Too recent.
Whatever killed them could still be nearby.
"Send word to the barracks," Arden said. "I want the captains in the war room within the hour."
"Yes, my lord."
The guards moved quickly now, clearly relieved to have orders. Arden stepped through the gate and into the fortress courtyard.
The place was quiet.
Too quiet.
Normally the evening shift filled the courtyard with noise—soldiers arguing, blacksmiths hammering iron, stable hands shouting across the yard.
Now most of the conversations were hushed. Groups of soldiers stood together near the barracks, speaking in low voices.
Fear spread quickly in frontier territories.
Especially when patrols started dying.
Arden crossed the courtyard toward the keep. The doors opened before he reached them.
His father stood inside.
Lord Mathen Kaelthorn leaned against a cane, his posture straight despite the obvious stiffness in his injured leg.
"You heard."
Arden nodded once. "Three patrols."
Mathen studied his son for a moment before answering.
"Four."
Arden stopped walking.
"Four?"
"We found another body this afternoon," Mathen said. "A messenger."
Arden exhaled slowly. So the patrol had realized something was wrong.
Which meant they were not ambushed immediately.
That narrowed the possibilities.
Arden walked past his father and toward the hearth where a small fire burned. Rainwater dripped from his cloak onto the stone floor.
"If it were bandits," Arden said after a moment, "they would attack caravans."
Mathen nodded slightly.
"And beasts don't use blades."
"No."
The two men fell silent.
Mathen rested both hands on the head of his cane. "You're thinking about the ruins."
Arden didn't answer immediately.
Beyond the northern ridge lay a stretch of mountains most travelers avoided. The locals called it the Silent Valley.
Old stories claimed ruins were buried beneath the forest there. Ancient tunnels, stone halls, and relics from a civilization that existed before the kingdom itself.
Most people dismissed the stories as frontier nonsense.
But ruins attracted things.
Treasure hunters.
Sect scouts.
Creatures that should have remained buried.
"I think something woke up," Arden said finally.
Mathen sighed quietly. "You're not the only one who thinks that."
Arden looked up.
"What do you mean?"
Mathen walked to the window overlooking the courtyard. Torches flickered below as soldiers prepared for the night watch.
"Tomorrow," Mathen said, "the sects arrive."
Arden's expression shifted slightly.
Sect recruitment.
Every few years the cultivation sects traveled through the frontier regions searching for new disciples among the noble houses. Most of them ignored Kaelthorn entirely.
But this year they were coming.
Mathen continued speaking as he watched the soldiers outside.
"If something valuable truly exists in those mountains, the sects may already know about it."
Arden followed his father's gaze toward the northern walls. Rain blurred the distant forest beyond the ridge.
Four patrols dead.
A cultivator killed.
And tomorrow powerful outsiders would arrive searching for opportunity.
"We should move first," Arden said.
Mathen glanced back at him with a raised eyebrow. "You're fourteen."
"And the patrols are dead."
For a moment Mathen almost smiled.
"You sound like your mother."
Arden didn't respond.
His mother had died defending the northern border years ago. Since then Kaelthorn had slowly declined.
Mathen tapped his cane lightly against the floor.
"If you go," he said, "you won't go alone."
"Of course."
"And not tonight."
Arden nodded. He had already expected that answer.
Tomorrow everything would change.
Sect disciples.
Noble envoys.
Cultivators strong enough to tear through armies.
All of them would arrive searching for opportunity.
And if the Silent Valley truly contained ancient ruins—
Kaelthorn would become the center of a storm.
Arden stepped toward the window one last time and looked out at the distant mountains.
The rain hid most of the forest, but he could still see the shadow of the ridge where the patrols had died.
Something had started moving there.
And it had only just begun.