They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, though it couldn't have been more than a minute.
Ezra didn't move. Every breath felt too loud, every heartbeat counted. The world around them had gone perfectly still — no wind, no noise, not even the faint hiss of Nora's fire.
Nothing looked out of place at first. Just mud. Just stone. Just fog curling over the barrier Rowan had raised.
Then he turned his head — and saw it.
To his left, where the earth dipped low, the ground wasn't solid at all. A mass of rock and mud rose in uneven heaps, pulsing faintly under the torchlight. He squinted — and realization sank in like cold water.
They were standing on the edge of a crater.
Not a clearing.
A nest.
Every wall, every surface, was packed with eggs — cracked shells, slick film, and the faint shimmer of movement beneath the muck.
His stomach twisted. "Oh… great," he muttered under his breath.
Rin broke the silence first, voice low but steady. "What now?"
Rowan didn't answer right away. He stood there, tall and tense, his jaw tight enough that the muscle flickered beneath his skin. Sweat rolled down his temple, darkening the fabric of his shirt until it clung to his chest and shoulders.
Then he lifted one arm.
A deep tremor ran through the ground — faint at first, then stronger, like the forest itself had drawn in a breath. The stones beneath their feet vibrated, clicking and grinding against one another.
Before Ezra could speak, the earth responded.
Rock columns erupted upward in sequence, one after another, forming a rough bridge across the crater. Each pillar locked into place with a deep, echoing thud until the structure reached their edge — a jagged passage rising from the nest toward the safer ground beyond.
Ezra stared, wide-eyed. The light from Nora's torch caught the edges of the stone, painting them in gold. "You've got to be kidding me," he breathed.
It wasn't just strength. It was control — perfect, practiced control.
For a second, everyone forgot the monsters below.
Rowan finally exhaled, the tension in his shoulders breaking just enough for him to speak. "Move. You three at the front — walk slowly. Slowly." His voice carried the kind of calm that felt like it might break if anyone spoke too loudly.
He signaled for them to move. The limping man and the old woman went first, their steps uneven but steady. Rowan helped them onto the stone passage, guiding each foot as if the earth itself might protest. Then came the younger recruits — pale, trembling, clutching their packs like they were armor.
Rowan lifted each of them up with ease, his hand closing briefly around their wrists before setting them ahead.
For a moment, it seemed to be working.
Then something fell.
A flash of light — small, metallic — tumbled from one of the recruits' pockets and hit the stone with a sharp, bright clang.
The sound echoed far too loudly.
Ezra's stomach dropped.
The ground shivered once. Then came the crack — deep, wet, unmistakable.
For half a second his brain refused to understand it. No. No way.
Then reality caught up.
"You didn't," Rowan said quietly. Too quiet.
The recruit—barely older than Ezra—stared back like a cornered animal. "I just—I thought it was dead material, I didn't—"
Rowan's tone sharpened. "I told you not to touch anything from the nest."
The kid opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. His lip trembled. "It was glowing. She said—"
"She said what?" Rowan snapped. "That it wouldn't matter?"
Ezra's chest tightened. He wanted to say something, anything, to stop that look on the boy's face—but the words never made it out. He just stood there, heart beating too fast, guilt crawling under his skin like static.
Then the ground answered for them.
A faint crack, almost polite, rolled through the air. Everyone froze.
Ezra's mind went blank. He scanned the mud, the shells, the wall of eggs stacked like teeth around the crater. "Did it—did it come from below?" he whispered, but his voice didn't sound like his.
Rowan didn't reply. He was listening.
The sound came again, deeper this time. A single, hollow boom that seemed to come from inside the earth itself. The stone bridge vibrated under their feet.
Ezra's throat went dry. Every instinct screamed at him to move, to run, but his legs refused. The quiet stretched too long. The eggs didn't break. For a moment, he almost believed it was over.
Then the world inhaled.
The air thickened, pulling against his lungs. The wind turned hot, carrying the smell of iron and ash.
The screech came next.
It was like the sky itself had been torn open.
A sound too big, too old, too alive.
Ezra's knees hit the ground before he realized he'd fallen. His hands clamped over his ears but it didn't help—he could feel the sound inside him, rattling through his ribs, his bones.
The torch in Nora's hand nearly went out. The fire bent backward, dragged by the force of the wind.
"Rowan," she shouted, voice almost lost.
He looked up, face pale, eyes wide with realization.
Cassian muttered under his breath, "That's not wind."
And then Ezra saw it—shapes moving through the trees, the fog peeling away as branches snapped and leaves scattered like debris. A shadow passed over the nest, enormous and shapeless, the air trembling in its wake.
Another screech tore through the forest, closer this time. The ground buckled.
Rowan turned toward them, voice raw but commanding. "Move! Everyone across—now!"
Ezra stumbled to his feet. His legs barely worked. Every heartbeat screamed run, but he couldn't stop glancing back at the dark sky, waiting for that shape to break through the trees—wings, claws, something. Anything.
The wind hit again, stronger, scattering the mist and nearly taking the torch from Nora's hand. She caught it just in time, flame flaring bright.
Behind them, the eggs started to crack .
They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, though it couldn't have been more than a minute.
Ezra didn't move. Every breath felt too loud, every heartbeat counted. The world around them had gone perfectly still — no wind, no noise, not even the faint hiss of Nora's fire.
Nothing looked out of place at first. Just mud. Just stone. Just fog curling over the barrier Rowan had raised.
Then he turned his head — and saw it.
To his left, where the earth dipped low, the ground wasn't solid at all. A mass of rock and mud rose in uneven heaps, pulsing faintly under the torchlight. He squinted — and realization sank in like cold water.
They were standing on the edge of a crater.
Not a clearing.
A nest.
Every wall, every surface, was packed with eggs — cracked shells, slick film, and the faint shimmer of movement beneath the muck.
His stomach twisted. "Oh… great," he muttered under his breath.
Rin broke the silence first, voice low but steady. "What now?"
Rowan didn't answer right away. He stood there, tall and tense, his jaw tight enough that the muscle flickered beneath his skin. Sweat rolled down his temple, darkening the fabric of his shirt until it clung to his chest and shoulders.
Then he lifted one arm.
A deep tremor ran through the ground — faint at first, then stronger, like the forest itself had drawn in a breath. The stones beneath their feet vibrated, clicking and grinding against one another.
Before Ezra could speak, the earth responded.
Rock columns erupted upward in sequence, one after another, forming a rough bridge across the crater. Each pillar locked into place with a deep, echoing thud until the structure reached their edge — a jagged passage rising from the nest toward the safer ground beyond.
Ezra stared, wide-eyed. The light from Nora's torch caught the edges of the stone, painting them in gold. "You've got to be kidding me," he breathed.
It wasn't just strength. It was control — perfect, practiced control.
For a second, everyone forgot the monsters below.
Rowan finally exhaled, the tension in his shoulders breaking just enough for him to speak. "Move. You three at the front — walk slowly. Slowly." His voice carried the kind of calm that felt like it might break if anyone spoke too loudly.
He signaled for them to move. The limping man and the old woman went first, their steps uneven but steady. Rowan helped them onto the stone passage, guiding each foot as if the earth itself might protest. Then came the younger recruits — pale, trembling, clutching their packs like they were armor.
Rowan lifted each of them up with ease, his hand closing briefly around their wrists before setting them ahead.
For a moment, it seemed to be working.
Then something fell.
A flash of light — small, metallic — tumbled from one of the recruits' pockets and hit the stone with a sharp, bright clang.
The sound echoed far too loudly.
Ezra's stomach dropped.
The ground shivered once. Then came the crack — deep, wet, unmistakable.
For half a second his brain refused to understand it. No. No way.
Then reality caught up.
"You didn't," Rowan said quietly. Too quiet.
The recruit—barely older than Ezra—stared back like a cornered animal. "I just—I thought it was dead material, I didn't—"
Rowan's tone sharpened. "I told you not to touch anything from the nest."
The kid opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. His lip trembled. "It was glowing. She said—"
"She said what?" Rowan snapped. "That it wouldn't matter?"
Ezra's chest tightened. He wanted to say something, anything, to stop that look on the boy's face—but the words never made it out. He just stood there, heart beating too fast, guilt crawling under his skin like static.
Then the ground answered for them.
A faint crack, almost polite, rolled through the air. Everyone froze.
Ezra's mind went blank. He scanned the mud, the shells, the wall of eggs stacked like teeth around the crater. "Did it—did it come from below?" he whispered, but his voice didn't sound like his.
Rowan didn't reply. He was listening.
The sound came again, deeper this time. A single, hollow boom that seemed to come from inside the earth itself. The stone bridge vibrated under their feet.
Ezra's throat went dry. Every instinct screamed at him to move, to run, but his legs refused. The quiet stretched too long. The eggs didn't break. For a moment, he almost believed it was over.
Then the world inhaled.
The air thickened, pulling against his lungs. The wind turned hot, carrying the smell of iron and ash.
The screech came next.
It was like the sky itself had been torn open.
A sound too big, too old, too alive.
Ezra's knees hit the ground before he realized he'd fallen. His hands clamped over his ears but it didn't help—he could feel the sound inside him, rattling through his ribs, his bones.
The torch in Nora's hand nearly went out. The fire bent backward, dragged by the force of the wind.
"Rowan," she shouted, voice almost lost.
He looked up, face pale, eyes wide with realization.
Cassian muttered under his breath, "That's not wind."
And then Ezra saw it—shapes moving through the trees, the fog peeling away as branches snapped and leaves scattered like debris. A shadow passed over the nest, enormous and shapeless, the air trembling in its wake.
Another screech tore through the forest, closer this time. The ground buckled.
Rowan turned toward them, voice raw but commanding. "Move! Everyone across—now!"
Ezra stumbled to his feet. His legs barely worked. Every heartbeat screamed run, but he couldn't stop glancing back at the dark sky, waiting for that shape to break through the trees—wings, claws, something. Anything.
The wind hit again, stronger, scattering the mist and nearly taking the torch from Nora's hand. She caught it just in time, flame flaring bright.
Behind them, the eggs started to crack .