The figure's head tilted a fraction more, joints clicking softly as it adjusted its balance on the crag. Heat shimmered around it, warping the air, but it made no move to descend.
Drake held his ground.
The name still rang in his ears—not loud, not echoing, but heavy. D'Varen. It didn't trigger memory or recognition. Just a cold awareness that something had been said that wasn't meant to be heard yet.
Kara shifted half a step forward, positioning herself slightly to Drake's left without blocking his line of sight. "You're talking to us," she said, voice steady. "So talk. What are you?"
The creature's gaze slid to her, pupils contracting into narrow slits. "Observers," it answered slowly. "Intruders. Variables." Its eyes returned to Drake. "And one anomaly."
Xander's fingers twitched, lightning whispering faintly along his knuckles before he forced it back down. Elara's stance widened, wind coiling low around her ankles, ready to break into motion at a thought. Luna stayed still—but her aura tightened, more focused than before.
Drake spoke before anyone else could. "You said a name," he said. Not accusatory. Not loud. "Say it again."
A pause.
Then, a sound that might have been amusement—or irritation. "You do not carry it," the creature said. "Yet you answer to it. Interesting."
Kara glanced at Drake, quick and sharp. He didn't look at her.
"What is your master?" she asked.
This time, the pause stretched longer. The creature straightened slightly, its elongated frame casting a fractured shadow across the canyon wall. "Not one you will meet today."
"Then why are you here?" Luna asked. Her voice was calm, but her grip had tightened on the strap at her wrist.
"To confirm," it replied. "To measure. To report."
Drake felt something tighten—not fear, not anger. Calculation. "Report what?"
The creature's eyes flicked briefly to the path behind them, to the ledges they had crossed, the hazards they had survived. "That the threshold has been crossed sooner than projected."
Elara exhaled slowly. "Projected by who?"
Again, that hesitation. Smaller this time. Controlled. "Not you."
The wind surged suddenly, hotter, sharper. Loose stone rattled along the ledge beneath their feet. Kara raised a hand—not a signal to attack, but to brace.
Drake shifted his stance, weight settling evenly. "You keep saying sooner," he said. "Sooner than what?"
The creature's attention locked onto him fully now. Its voice lowered, distortion smoothing into something clearer. "Sooner than the cycle permits. Sooner than you were meant to arrive." A beat. "Sooner than you were meant to be ready."
Xander let out a quiet breath. "Yeah, well. That makes five of us."
For the first time, the creature's focus wavered. Not toward Xander—toward the group as a whole. As if reassessing.
Kara took advantage of it. "We're not here for whatever cycle you're tracking," she said. "We want to leave. Tell us how."
The creature studied her. Then shook its head once. "Exit is not denied. It is… deferred."
"Deferred until when?" Luna asked.
"When the rift releases you," it said simply.
"That's not an answer," Kara replied.
"It is the only one available."
Silence stretched. The molten river below hissed and cracked, sending up bursts of sparks that briefly lit the creature's scaled frame in harsh orange light.
Drake made a decision.
He stepped forward.
Not aggressively. Not recklessly. Just enough to change the geometry of the standoff.
"If you're here to measure," he said, "then you've done it. We're leaving this way." He gestured back along the canyon. "You can tell your master whatever you want."
The creature watched him closely. Then, slowly, it inclined its head.
"So be it," it said. "Observation complete."
Kara frowned. "That's it?"
The creature's body began to fracture—not violently, but as if its outline were loosening, breaking apart into shimmering fragments that lifted into the heated air.
"One more thing," it added, voice fading. "The name you heard is not a gift. Nor a curse. It is a marker."
Drake didn't react. Didn't ask. Didn't move.
The fragments scattered, dissolving into the canyon's light. The pressure that had settled over the ledge eased—but didn't disappear entirely.
For several seconds, no one spoke.
Then Xander let out a slow breath. "I really don't like sentient things that say goodbye like that."
Elara nodded once. "Agreed."
Kara turned to Drake. "You okay?"
He nodded. "Yeah."
It wasn't a lie. But it wasn't the whole truth either.
They didn't linger. Kara signaled a withdrawal along the ledge, and the team moved, careful and quiet, as if the canyon itself might be listening.
As they descended into a narrower pass, Luna walked closer to Drake than before. Not protective. Just… present.
"You don't recognize the name," she said softly. It wasn't a question.
"No," he replied.
"But it bothered you."
He considered that. "It didn't feel like it belonged to me," he said finally. "That's what bothered me."
She nodded, accepting that without pressing further.
Behind them, the ledge where the creature had stood cracked once—then collapsed, sending stone cascading into the molten river below.
Ahead, the canyon narrowed again, twisting into unfamiliar terrain.
And somewhere deeper within the rift, something had just been told that Drake D'Varen had arrived—whether he knew it or not.
The canyon did not grow quieter after that.
If anything, it felt tighter. The air pressed closer to the skin, heat settling in uneven waves that made sleep shallow and fractured. When the team finally made camp again—wedged between two slanted stone shelves above a slow-moving molten flow—fatigue took most of them quickly.
Most of them.
Drake lay still, eyes open, counting the intervals between distant rockfalls. Not because he needed to. Because stillness refused to come.
The name lingered.
Not echoing. Not haunting. Just… present. Like a word written somewhere behind his eyes.
He rose without waking the others.
Careful steps. No armor scrape. No displaced stone. He moved the way he always had when something mattered—quiet, deliberate, already past hesitation.
The canyon stretched ahead in layered shadows and ember-light. The path sloped downward into a narrower fault where heat pooled thick and heavy, the walls streaked with mineral veins that pulsed faintly.
Drake stopped.
Then spoke—not loudly, but with intent.
"You said you were observing."
The canyon answered only with the hiss of molten stone.
He exhaled slowly. "You said your master wasn't expecting me."
Still nothing.
Drake clenched his jaw.
"Then wherever you are," he continued, voice hardening, "you're done watching."
The ground shifted.
Not collapsing. Not cracking. Folding—like layers of stone sliding past one another. Heat surged upward as something stepped out from the distortion itself.
Not the same figure as before.
Taller now. More defined. Less restrained.
Its form was still humanoid, but the resemblance ended there. Its skin carried a dull, metallic sheen beneath layered fractures, as though something denser lay beneath flesh. One arm looked almost human. The other ended in segmented plating that glowed faintly along the joints. Its eyes burned—not red, not gold—but a deep, smoldering amber.
"Bold," it said. The voice was clearer now. Sharper. Amused.
"Most anomalies wait to be summoned."
Drake didn't step back. "You already measured. Now talk."
The being laughed—low, brief, sharp. "Still issuing demands."
It descended fully onto the canyon floor, heat rippling outward with each step. "Very well. You may call me Azael."
Drake committed the name to memory instantly.
"You're not its master," Drake said.
Azael's eyes narrowed slightly. "No."
"And you're not human."
"Not entirely."
Drake shifted his stance. "Then explain."
Azael tilted his head. "Or what?"
The canyon trembled as Drake moved.
Stone surged up from the ground at his command—not wildly, not explosively, but precisely. A curved slab snapped into place as Azael lunged, deflecting a blow that would have shattered bone. The impact sent a shockwave through the fault, molten veins flaring brighter.
Azael laughed again—this time genuinely entertained.
"There it is."
Drake countered, driving forward, stone wrapping his forearms like layered armor. His strikes were fast, heavy, disciplined—but Azael was faster. The being slipped past a blow that would've crushed a lesser creature, retaliating with a backhand that sent Drake skidding across scorched rock.
"You could fight for a million cycles," Azael said calmly, advancing, "and still never touch what I am."
Drake forced himself upright, breath steady despite the heat biting into his lungs. "Then why are you here?"
Azael stopped.
For the first time, his expression shifted—not surprise, not irritation.
Interest.
"Because you shouldn't be able to do that," he said, gesturing to the stone bound around Drake's arms. "Not yet."
Drake wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. "I don't care what I should be able to do."
Azael studied him in silence.
Then spoke again—slower.
"You fight like someone who learned to survive before he learned to live."
Drake's eyes sharpened. "Don't pretend you know me."
Azael's gaze burned brighter. "Your mother would disagree."
The canyon went very still.
Drake didn't move. Didn't blink. "Say that again."
Azael exhaled, something almost like restraint threading through his voice. "You are Drake D'Varen. Son of a man who vanished between worlds. A man who chose silence over safety." A beat. "Your father was human. And something more."
Drake's fists trembled—not with fear, but with contained force. Images flashed unbidden: his mother's exhaustion, his sister sleeping light and hungry, promises he'd made without knowing how to keep them.
"You don't get to say his name," Drake said quietly.
Azael inclined his head. "Then earn the right to hear it."
Heat surged again as the canyon responded—not collapsing, not rebelling. Waiting.
Azael stepped back, spreading his arms slightly. "I am half human. Half Ashborn—a lineage shaped by pressure, by collapse, by worlds that burn themselves into strength." His eyes locked onto Drake. "Kaeltheris is Ashborn. So is his master."
Drake swallowed. "And you?"
"I was discarded," Azael replied. "Too human to ascend. Too Ashborn to die."
Silence stretched between them.
Then Azael spoke again.
"If you want answers—real ones—you don't chase shadows in the dark." His gaze flicked briefly toward where Drake's team slept, unaware. "You survive. You adapt. You prove your presence here is not coincidence."
Drake straightened. "And if I do?"
Azael smiled—sharp, dangerous.
"Then I show you where you truly come from."
The heat receded. The canyon folded back into itself.
Azael vanished.
Drake stood alone in the fault, stone crumbling from his arms as his breath slowed.
--
Back at Havenwood
Morning settled over Havenwood, sunlight spilling across the stone spires and high canopies with deliberate calm. Life moved as it always did—too orderly, too predictable. That was precisely why the absence stood out.
Veylan leaned against the outer platform overlooking the eastern pathways, arms folded behind his back, eyes tracing the routes that led out of the academy. He had double-checked the registries—no departure notices, no delayed return markers, no emergency signals. Kara's team hadn't reported in.
"They should've sent word by now," Ryn muttered from a few steps behind, her tone casual but carrying an edge of unease.
"They're not careless," Veylan replied without turning. "Especially Kara."
Sylis remained silent, eyes scanning the faint energy traces across the eastern wards, fingers twitching slightly as if to follow them. His expression didn't betray worry, only calculation.
Ryn scoffed softly. "Still… a week without word is unusual, even for them."
Veylan didn't respond immediately. He disliked letting worry seed itself—but he could feel the weight of absence pressing against the usual calm of the morning.
Across the platform, a pair of academy scribes hovered over crystal logs, fingers hesitating above activation glyphs. No departure records. No delayed return markers. No resonance pings—nothing indicating where Kara's team had gone.
Veylan's jaw tightened. "They're overdue," he said, voice low but steady. "And whatever situation they've walked into… it hasn't made itself obvious yet."
Ryn raised an eyebrow. "You mean it could be serious?"
Veylan gave a short nod, eyes scanning the distant horizon. "Possibly. But until we have evidence, we observe. No alarm, no rash movements."
Sylis, still studying the faint energy traces along the eastern wards, spoke finally. "Shallow signatures… almost like faint echoes, but nothing concrete. We won't know their exact position until they make themselves known."
"Exactly," Veylan said. "For now, quiet sweeps. Follow any trace that shifts. Stay alert—but calm."
He stepped away from the overlook, boots echoing against the stone. His gaze lingered on the horizon, toward a place unseen but pressing at the edge of his mind. Somewhere out there, Kara's team was walking a path they hadn't yet revealed—and the academy, for the first time in a long while, had lost the lead in a game it didn't yet understand.