The nest stank of blood and smoke. Zeke sat slumped against the wall, claws dark with gore, chest aching from the ragged burst of fire that had driven the last beast away. His new flesh trembled, the furnace inside him still working to digest the meat he had forced down. Silence crept back, but it was not the silence of safety. His aura still leaked—embers, motes, shadow wisps—unrestrained, refusing to quiet no matter how tightly he clenched himself.
That was when he heard them.
Not the guttural growl of predators. Not the skitter of claws on stone. Voices. Low, steady, practiced. The sounds twisted together into meanings he could not reach, yet their cadence was unmistakable. Human. Organized. Too measured for beasts.
He stiffened. His body pulled itself smaller, curling into the shadow near the wall. Breath rasped raw in his throat as he tried to still it.
"Human tongue," Logos murmured, voice as precise as ever. "Patrol spacing. Their rhythm is deliberate. They triangulate your leak."
"Hide," Shade hissed. "Run. They hunt."
"Be still," Neris warned, anchoring his trembling. "Anchor your breath. Slow exhale. Do not provoke."
"Let them come," Kael laughed. "Test them."
"Stand," Vael commanded, pride simmering. "Do not crouch like prey."
Veyne's tone burned like iron dragged on stone. "If they rush, break them."
Maw growled low and restless. "Meat. If they fall, feed."
Avaris whispered hungrily. "If they carry water, take it. If they carry cloaks, keep them."
"Observe," Threx hummed, mad interest flickering. "Flame or silence, we learn either way."
And then Asura's quiet weight settled across them all, final, inevitable. "Weigh. Then act."
The voices did not fade when the mercenaries drew near. They sharpened.
Boots scraped on black cinder. Steel clinked softly, muted against armor by discipline. A murmur reached him, one voice signaling, another answering. He did not know the words, but the cadence told him enough: call and response, drilled into them. A unit.
"They heard rumor," Logos intoned. "Essence flares. Predator unrest. They tracked it here."
"They can smell you," Neris said flatly. "Like predators."
"They will bind," Shade whimpered. "Go now."
"Cornered," Kael chuckled. "Less to watch."
"They are lesser," Vael said coldly. "Make them kneel."
Zeke pressed deeper into shadow, heart hammering. The furnace turned too loudly inside him. The voices outside grew sharper. Then—silence. One of them had seen.
"There," one voice barked, clear even without meaning. Zeke froze. He tried to draw his leaking aura in, but it slipped between his fingers like smoke.
"You lack control nodes," Logos scolded. "Shift balance, not pressure."
"Inverse the pulse," Threx urged. "If the leak oscillates—"
"Not now!" Neris snapped. "No experiments."
"Accept detection," Asura said simply. "Prepare."
The first mercenary stepped into view. His eyes locked on the shimmer bleeding from the stone where Zeke crouched. He lifted a gauntleted hand. Formation shifted, tight and sure. Others came behind him, weapons at their hips, movements calm. Hunters who knew they already had their quarry.
Zeke rose slowly. Naked, ash clinging to his pale skin, horns gleaming black streaked with silver-gold. Patches of scales caught the light across his chest and arms. His golden eyes narrowed, pupils vertical, feral. The mercenaries stopped, staring.
One spoke, tone coaxing, words soft. Another lowered a cloak from his pack, stepping forward carefully. Zeke flinched. The sounds washed over him, meaningless, but the tone—practiced calm—set his claws twitching.
"No aggression yet," Logos observed. "Hands low, palms angled. They mean to calm."
"Their blades are sheathed but reachable," Neris added.
"Teeth behind lips," Shade hissed. "They measure you."
"Let them wither under your gaze," Vael urged. "You are above them."
"Take the cloak," Avaris whispered greedily. "It has value."
"Meat if they close," Maw rumbled.
"Step in if they strike," Veyne said. "Never step back."
"One feint," Kael urged. "See if they flinch."
"Note their insignia," Threx whispered. "Count steps. Map routes."
"Watch," Asura commanded.
The merc draped the cloak around Zeke's shoulders, gentle. Another offered a waterskin. Zeke's throat tightened. He could not speak; his tongue lay heavy, his throat raw. He did not understand their sounds. He stared back, eyes burning, silent.
"They've categorized you," Logos said, voice clipped. "Expect procedure. Contain. Transport. Trade."
"They whisper fortune," Neris warned. "You are their prize."
"Chains," Shade whimpered. "They will bind."
"Make them bleed," Kael urged hotly. "Now."
"Endure," Veyne said, voice steady. "If battle comes, endure."
"Insult," Vael seethed. "Chattel? You are sovereign."
"Supplies," Avaris whispered. "Water. Rations. Let them carry you to it."
"Routes," Threx giggled. "Learn tongues, insignia, prices."
"Eat them if they sleep," Maw said darkly.
And then Asura's verdict landed, final as stone. "Yield the moment. Choose the ground of the next."
The Council stilled.
Zeke swayed on his feet. The cloak slid heavy across his shoulders, warm against bloodied skin. His aura still leaked faintly, a trail no discipline could yet bind. The mercenaries guided him from the volcanic vent, their formation closing around him with practiced ease. He moved, legs weak, eyes wary, hearing their words as only noise.
He watched the insignia on their armor, the way their hands hovered near hilts, the subtle signals between them. He kept each detail, hoarded like sparks.
To them, he was not a child to be adored. He was just a Primeling.