The mountains did not care who you were.
They didn't admire courage, didn't reward skill, didn't respect reputation. They simply waited—patient as stone—while men bled on their slopes and called it fate.
Renn Varn loved them for that.
He stood on a narrow ridge above Talven Pass, wind snapping his cloak like a banner, and looked down at the shattered remains of a merchant cart. The wheel had splintered into kindling. The horse lay half off the road, neck twisted wrong. Sacks of grain were torn open and strewn like spilled entrails across the gravel.
There was blood.
Not much.
Just enough to prove someone had tried to survive.
Halvek crouched near the cart, frowning at the tracks with a focus he rarely showed in training. "This isn't a beast attack."
Renn smiled faintly. "Everything is a beast attack if the world is hungry enough."
Cressa, spear angled downward, scanned the rocks above them. "No tracks leaving the road."
"Then they were taken," Renn said. He crouched and touched a smear of blood on a stone, rubbing it between thumb and forefinger. It was already cold. Dried at the edges.
"Three hours," he judged.
Halvek looked up sharply. "How can you—"
"I pay attention," Renn replied, as if that settled it.
Behind them, the third member of the Gilded Fang—Joryn—shifted uneasily. He was younger than the others, broad-eyed, more honest in his fear than he wanted to admit.
"Registry said coordinated attacks," Joryn muttered. "This looks like… nothing. Like they vanished."
Renn rose slowly. "Nothing doesn't happen. Something did this. And I'd like to meet it."
Cressa's lips tightened. "We're probationary. We finish contracts clean."
Renn's gaze slid to her. "We finish contracts profitable."
Halvek stood. "We should mark the site, report—"
Renn cut him off with a casual wave. "Report what? A cart broke itself? A horse decided to die creatively?"
Joryn swallowed. "People are missing."
Renn's smile sharpened. "Exactly."
He stepped closer to the cart, ignoring the scattered grain, and examined the ground where the road met the cliffside. He expected claws, prints, drag marks.
Instead, he found something worse.
The gravel looked… wrong. As if it had been pressed down hard by something that left no shape behind. A smoothness in the stones. A faint, narrow line running across the road like a seam.
Renn's breath caught for half a heartbeat.
He didn't show it.
He reached out and brushed his fingertips along the line.
The air on his skin felt colder there. Not mountain cold—something deeper, like a cellar that had never seen light.
Cressa noticed his pause. "What is it?"
Renn stared at the seam with bright, hungry eyes. "Opportunity," he said quietly.
Halvek stepped closer, frowning. "That's not a track."
"No," Renn agreed. "It's not."
Joryn's voice trembled. "Should we… leave?"
Renn laughed softly. "If you're frightened, Joryn, say it with your whole chest."
Joryn's face flushed. "I'm not frightened. I just—"
"You just want to live," Renn finished, almost kindly. "That's normal."
He stepped away from the seam and glanced up the pass.
"Someone didn't want this seen," he said. "That's why they called it 'coordinated attacks.' Makes people think it's beasts. Makes them stop looking."
Halvek's jaw tightened. "So we report it properly."
Renn's gaze snapped to him. "No."
Cressa's grip tightened on her spear. "Renn—"
Renn stepped close enough that Cressa had to tilt her head slightly to keep eye contact.
"We are hunters," Renn said softly. "Not messengers. Not scribes. Not obedient little blades held by the Registry."
Cressa held his gaze, jaw tight. "We wear their crest."
"For now," Renn murmured.
Halvek stepped between them, voice controlled. "We don't take risks like this."
Renn smiled. "Then don't."
He turned and began walking up the road.
Joryn blinked. "Where are you going?"
Renn didn't look back. "To find what the seam is connected to."
Cressa hesitated.
Halvek swore under his breath.
And because fear makes people do stupid things—and loyalty makes them do worse—they followed him.
The Pass That Remembers
The deeper they went, the quieter the pass became.
Not silent—mountains were never silent—but the sound changed. The wind stopped whistling through cracks. Birds vanished. Even the distant trickle of meltwater seemed to dampen, as if swallowed.
Joryn rubbed his arms. "Why does it feel like this?"
Cressa's eyes scanned the rocks. "Like what?"
"Like we're being… observed."
Halvek's voice was low. "Because we are."
Renn smiled in the front of the group, leading like a man who expected the world to open for him.
"I always wondered," Renn said conversationally, "what it would feel like to stand near real power."
Cressa frowned. "Power gets you killed."
"Power gets you remembered," Renn replied.
Halvek's eyes narrowed. "That isn't the same thing."
Renn stopped abruptly.
The others nearly collided with him.
Ahead, the pass widened into a shallow basin where stone formed a natural bowl. Old cairns dotted the edges—stacked stones that looked half ceremonial, half warning. A broken post stood at the basin's center, its top split like it had been struck by lightning.
Joryn swallowed. "This place feels wrong."
Cressa nodded slowly. "There's an old mark here."
Halvek stepped forward, eyes fixed on the ground. "Tracks."
This time there were tracks—faint, partial, like something heavy had walked here but refused to leave full prints. The stone itself seemed pressed down, smoothed in thin lines leading toward the broken post.
Renn approached the post with reverence that looked almost like worship.
He placed his hand on the split wood.
The air shuddered.
Not physically.
Like a thought passing through the world.
Joryn stumbled back. "What—"
The seam appeared.
A thin line in the air, vertical, precise, like someone had scored reality with a blade.
It pulsed faintly.
Cressa lifted her spear, face pale. "That's not… beasts."
Halvek's voice was tight. "We should leave."
Renn didn't move.
He stared at the seam like it was a door to a treasure vault.
"This is what the Registry feared," Renn whispered.
Joryn's voice cracked. "They feared this? Then we should—"
Renn turned sharply. "Do you know what fear means, Joryn?"
Joryn froze.
Renn stepped close, voice low and intense. "Fear means there is something valuable on the other side. Fear means someone is keeping you away from it."
He looked back at the seam.
"And I am tired," Renn murmured, "of being kept away."
Halvek reached for his arm. "Renn. Stop."
Renn shrugged him off.
Cressa's voice sharpened. "If you touch it and it opens—"
Renn smiled at her. "Then we become the first hunters in centuries to step into history."
Joryn looked ill. "Or the first to die stupidly."
Renn's eyes flicked to him. "You can leave."
Joryn hesitated.
His feet didn't move.
Renn stepped forward and reached toward the seam.
The air around his hand chilled so sharply his breath fogged instantly.
The seam brightened.
Halvek grabbed Renn's wrist. "Don't."
Renn's gaze snapped to him, cold and furious. "Let go."
Halvek didn't.
The seam pulsed again, stronger.
And something on the other side noticed.
A whisper pressed into the basin, not heard with ears but felt in teeth and bone.
HUNTER.
Joryn whimpered.
Cressa's spear trembled.
Halvek's grip tightened. "We're leaving."
Renn's mouth curved. "No."
He ripped free of Halvek's grasp.
And pressed his palm to the seam.
The Opening
The line widened like a wound reopening.
Mist spilled out, curling over stone, clinging to Renn's boots like it recognized him.
He didn't flinch.
If anything, he leaned into it.
Cressa backed away, voice tight. "Renn, shut it."
Renn laughed softly. "Shut it? Why would I shut it?"
Halvek stepped forward, hammering his voice through the fear. "Because whatever comes through will kill us."
Renn's eyes gleamed. "Then we kill it first."
The mist thickened.
A shape moved behind it, too tall, too thin, limbs bending wrong.
Joryn whispered, "That's not a beast."
It stepped through.
Not charging.
Not snarling.
Simply entering the world like it belonged.
Its skin looked like stretched ash. Its face was almost human, but not quite—its mouth too wide, its eyes too calm.
It looked at Renn.
And smiled.
Renn's breath caught. He hid it. Barely.
The thing spoke again—not with sound, but with pressure.
YOU OPENED.
Halvek raised his weapon instinctively. "Back!"
The thing didn't react.
Cressa's voice was shaking. "Renn, command it to leave!"
Renn stared at the creature, mesmerized. "It… understands."
Halvek's voice snapped. "Renn!"
Renn didn't move.
The thing tilted its head as if tasting the air.
Then its gaze slid to Cressa.
To Halvek.
To Joryn.
And in the space of a breath, the temperature dropped.
The basin felt suddenly like winter.
Joryn's knees buckled. "I can't—"
Cressa's spear tip lowered involuntarily, her muscles trembling.
Halvek gritted his teeth and forced himself forward one step. "Move!"
The thing looked back at Renn.
YOU WANT POWER.
Renn swallowed hard. "Yes."
Halvek snapped, "Renn, stop speaking to it!"
Renn didn't listen.
The thing stepped closer, stopping just short of touching Renn.
It didn't need to.
Its presence pressed into Renn's chest like a hand.
TAKE.
Renn's awakened weapon—a sword with gilded inlay—vibrated violently.
Renn's eyes widened.
He lifted the sword, not attacking.
Listening.
The gilding along the blade pulsed, then darkened.
Not tarnish.
Something deeper.
The gold turned dull, as if absorbing light instead of reflecting it.
Cressa whispered, horrified, "Renn… what did it do?"
Renn's smile returned, slow and hungry. "It showed me."
Halvek stepped between Renn and the creature, hammer raised. "Whatever it gave you, it's poison."
The thing tilted its head at Halvek like one might regard a loyal dog that had become inconvenient.
Then it moved.
Not fast.
Not dramatic.
Just one small motion of its hand toward Halvek.
And Halvek's body locked.
Every muscle seized.
His weapon dropped from numb fingers.
He tried to breathe and couldn't.
Cressa screamed, stepping forward, spear thrusting—
The spear stopped midair, as if caught by an invisible wall.
Cressa's arms trembled, face contorting with effort.
The thing's attention flicked to her.
NO.
Cressa collapsed to her knees, gasping.
Joryn crawled backward, sobbing. "Please—please—"
Renn watched, eyes wide—not frightened.
Exhilarated.
The thing looked at Renn again.
CHOOSE.
Renn's throat worked. He stared at his team—his hunters, his tools, his companions, his obstacles.
Halvek's eyes bulged, pleading, furious.
Cressa's face was pale with terror and betrayal.
Joryn cried openly now, a boy again.
Renn's smile didn't leave.
He stepped closer to the thing and whispered, "I choose the hunt."
The thing paused.
Then released them.
Halvek collapsed, choking on air, clutching his throat. Cressa fell forward, shaking. Joryn vomited onto the stone.
Renn looked down at them, and for the first time his expression held something like contempt.
"Get up," he said.
Halvek glared at him through tears of pain. "What did you do?"
Renn's voice was calm. "I saw the future."
Cressa pushed herself upright, eyes wild. "You opened a breach."
Renn tilted his head. "I opened a door."
Joryn sobbed. "Close it. Please."
Renn glanced back at the seam.
The creature stood beside it now like a host waiting for more guests.
Renn's sword pulsed again, the gilding now a dark, hungry sheen.
Renn nodded, almost respectfully, to the thing.
"I'll call when I'm ready," he murmured.
The thing didn't answer.
It stepped backward into the seam.
The line narrowed.
Closed.
The basin warmed slightly, but the cold stayed inside their bones.
Halvek grabbed Renn's collar and shoved him hard. "Are you insane?"
Renn didn't resist.
He simply smiled.
"You felt it," Renn said. "You felt what real power is."
Halvek's voice cracked with fury. "That wasn't power. That was domination."
Renn shrugged. "Same thing to the dead."
Cressa's hands trembled. "We have to report this."
Renn's gaze sharpened. "We do not."
Joryn wiped his mouth, crying. "They'll kill us."
Renn stepped close to Joryn, voice soft. "No."
Joryn flinched.
Renn's voice stayed gentle. "They'll kill you if you speak."
Joryn froze.
Halvek's eyes narrowed. "Are you threatening us?"
Renn smiled. "I'm educating you."
Cressa swallowed hard. "Renn… this is treason."
Renn leaned in. "Then don't call it treason. Call it necessity."
He turned, beginning to walk down the pass toward civilization, toward people who still believed in containment.
"We're hunters," he called over his shoulder. "The world needs monsters. We simply decide who benefits."
Halvek stood shaking, fists clenched.
Cressa stared at Renn as if seeing him for the first time.
Joryn whispered, "We're going to die."
Halvek finally spoke, voice low and hard. "If we stay with him… yes."
Cressa's voice barely carried. "And if we leave?"
Halvek looked toward the basin, toward the place where the world had opened.
"Then something worse follows," he said.
They followed Renn anyway.
Not because they agreed.
Because fear had trapped them into the shape of his ambition.
The Quiet Corruption
They made camp that night in the lee of a cliff.
No one spoke much.
Joryn sat apart, knees drawn to his chest, staring into the fire like he was waiting for it to answer.
Cressa sharpened her spear repeatedly, too fast, too aggressive.
Halvek sat with his back to Renn, jaw clenched, breathing slow and controlled like a man trying not to become violent.
Renn cleaned his sword with almost reverent attention.
The gilding no longer gleamed.
It drank the firelight.
Halvek finally broke the silence.
"What did it give you?" he asked.
Renn didn't look up. "Clarity."
Cressa snapped, "That thing wasn't a teacher."
Renn smiled faintly. "Everything teaches. Some lessons are just uglier."
Joryn whispered, "It called you hunter."
Renn paused for the first time.
Then he said, softly, "Yes."
Halvek's voice was strained. "Why you?"
Renn's smile returned. "Because I opened the door."
Cressa stared at him. "You wanted to."
Renn met her gaze. "Of course I did."
His voice hardened. "You think the Registry will reward you for obedience? You think they'll let you rise because you're loyal? They will use you until you break, then replace you."
Halvek's jaw tightened. "So we become what they fear?"
Renn nodded calmly. "Yes."
Joryn's voice cracked. "That's evil."
Renn's eyes slid to him, amused. "Evil is a word people use when they're too afraid to admit they want the same thing."
He stood, stepping closer to the fire, casting a shadow that looked sharper than it should.
"I am tired of being small," Renn said quietly. "Tired of being probationary. Tired of bowing to mentors who pretend they're gods because they survived."
He looked toward the darkness beyond the camp.
"The world is shifting. Doors are opening. Beasts are crossing. Kings will panic. The Registry will lie."
His voice turned almost tender.
"And in that chaos… a smart hunter becomes more than a hunter."
Halvek's voice was low. "A tyrant."
Renn laughed softly. "A ruler."
Cressa's grip tightened on her spear. "We're supposed to protect people."
Renn shrugged. "Protect the ones who matter."
Joryn began to cry again.
Renn didn't even look at him.
He simply sat back down, sword across his knees, and whispered into the fire like it was listening.
"Let them deny it," he murmured. "Let them bury reports. Let them pretend the Beast Continent holds."
His smile widened in the flicker of flame.
"Meanwhile… I'll learn to open doors."