The sun had not yet risen when Kael climbed the eastern ridge. He moved with the grace of a seasoned hunter, silent and alert, his senses sharp from seasons spent tracking beasts through the wildwood.
He had hoped the strange markings near the stream were nothing—just wind-carved lines, the wanderings of a disoriented animal. But now, standing on the ridge, he knew better.
Before him, the brush was disturbed, trampled by something heavy yet precise. Not clawed like a predator, not cloven like a hooved beast. The footprints were flat, wide, and deliberate.
And then—eyes.
He froze, body going still as stone. From the shadow of the trees below, something stared back at him. No sound. No growl. Just... presence.
Kael's breath came slow. He had seen many creatures in his lifetime—winged, scaled, furred, and feathered—but this presence chilled him in a different way. It was as if the forest itself held its breath.
He didn't reach for his spear. It wouldn't have mattered.
The figure stood tall—too tall to be beastfolk, yet not wholly foreign. Its limbs were long, its movements too fluid, its silhouette wavering in the morning haze. It didn't move forward. It just watched.
And then, without warning, it vanished into the mist.
Kael exhaled sharply. Not from relief—because this wasn't over. He crouched to study the markings, committing each angle and curve to memory. He touched the earth, his fingers brushing a stone out of place—something smooth and sharp-edged.
A shard of worked obsidian. Not native to this region. Not natural.
He wrapped it in a strip of leather and turned, making his way down the ridge faster than he'd come. When he reached the edge of the village, he sent the youngest runner he could find to fetch Elder Shyara.
He didn't stop at his home. He didn't seek out Charlisa.
Not yet.
He needed to speak to the elders. He needed to prepare.
But in the hollow of his chest, one thought pulsed louder than fear:
Whatever had come—was not just watching.
It was waiting.