The Ridge. Night.
Lira sat with her back to a tree, her bow across her knees, her eyes on the darkness.
The fire had burned low behind her, the others were asleep—or trying to sleep—and the forest was silent. Too silent. No owls, no crickets, no wind in the leaves. Just the weight of something watching.
She had felt it since they made camp. The same wrongness she had felt at the tree, at the clearing, at the place where the beast had died. The air was thick, heavy, pressing against her skin.
She didn't move. She didn't blink. She just watched.
---
Her mind drifted.
She thought about the old timeline. The one Grog never talked about unless he had to. She had pieced it together over the months—fragments, mentions, things he let slip when he was tired or hurt or too focused to watch his words.
In the old timeline, she had died first.
An arrow. Her own arrow. The hero had thrown it back at her while she was nocking another. She hadn't even seen it coming.
She wondered what that had been like. The moment of realizing. The pain. The darkness.
She wondered if she had been afraid.
She was afraid now. Not of dying—she had made peace with that years ago, on the border, in the cold, in the dark. She was afraid of failing. Of letting them down. Of watching them die while she stood frozen, unable to move, unable to help.
She pushed the thought away. Focused on the darkness.
---
Gwen couldn't sleep.
She lay on her blanket, staring at the canvas of her tent, listening to the silence. The others were nearby—she could hear William's breathing, Aldric's occasional murmur, Mirena's stillness. Grog was somewhere out there with Lira, watching, waiting.
She had wanted this. She had asked to come. She had trained for weeks, learned to hold a sword, learned to fight. She had thought she was ready.
She wasn't ready.
The forest was wrong. The silence was wrong. The thing that was watching them was wrong.
She sat up. Crawled out of her tent.
Lira was sitting against a tree, her bow across her knees, her eyes on the darkness. She didn't turn when Gwen approached.
"Can't sleep?" Lira's voice was quiet.
Gwen shook her head. Sat beside her. "I keep thinking about what's out there."
Lira was quiet for a moment. "That's good."
"Good?"
"Means you're paying attention." Lira looked at her. "The ones who aren't scared are the ones who die."
Gwen absorbed this. "Are you scared?"
Lira was quiet for a long moment.
"Yes," she said finally. "But I've been scared before. You learn to live with it."
---
William lay on his back, staring at the ceiling of his tent.
He had tried to sleep. He had closed his eyes, counted his breaths, emptied his mind. Nothing worked. His body was tired, his muscles ached, his eyes burned. But his mind was still racing.
The valley was down there. The thing they were hunting was down there. He could feel it.
He wanted to go now. He wanted to find it. He wanted to end it.
But Aldric was right. They needed to rest. They needed to plan. They needed to be smart.
He closed his eyes. Opened them. Closed them again.
Sleep didn't come.
---
Aldric dreamed.
He was in the valley, standing at the edge of the stream, his sword in his hand. The water was dark, still, reflecting nothing. The boulders were shadows, watching.
The thing came out of the trees.
It was massive—twice the size of the beast they had killed, its skin gray and rough, its limbs too long, its claws too sharp. Its eyes were red, burning, fixed on him.
He raised his sword.
The thing charged.
He woke gasping.
His leg was on fire, his arm was shaking, his heart was pounding. He lay still, breathing, waiting for the fear to pass.
It didn't pass.
---
Mirena sat in the entrance of her tent, her staff across her knees, her eyes on the stars.
She had been awake for hours, thinking about the portal, about the tree, about the thing that had come through. She had been thinking about what it meant that the portal was gone, that the thing was still here, that they were hunting something that didn't belong in this world.
She thought about the battle-mages at the palace. About their offer. About the years of training they had promised.
She didn't know if she would survive long enough to take them up on it.
She looked at the staff in her hands. The staff that could shrink to the size of her palm. The staff that had become part of her.
She would need it. Soon.
---
Grog moved through the camp, checking the perimeter, watching the darkness.
The others were awake—he could hear them moving, breathing, thinking. No one was sleeping. No one could sleep.
He stopped at the edge of the ridge, looking down at the valley below. The stream was a thin silver line in the moonlight. The boulders were dark shapes, huddled together like sleeping animals.
Something was down there. Watching. Waiting.
He felt it in his bones, in his blood, in the thing that lived inside him now. The berserker. The red. The thing that had saved them and almost destroyed him.
It was stirring.
---
Lira saw it again.
Just a shape, just a shadow, at the edge of the camp. It was there for a moment, then gone. She raised her bow, but there was nothing to shoot at.
Gwen was beside her. "Did you see that?"
Lira nodded. "I've been seeing it all night."
"What is it?"
Lira shook her head. "I don't know. But it's watching us."
Gwen's hand went to her sword. "Should we wake the others?"
Lira was quiet for a moment. "Not yet. It's not attacking. It's just... watching."
They sat in silence, watching the darkness.
---
The night passed slowly.
The moon crossed the sky. The stars shifted. The forest remained silent.
Lira didn't sleep. Gwen didn't sleep. William didn't sleep. Aldric didn't sleep. Mirena didn't sleep. Grog didn't sleep.
They watched the darkness.
They waited.
---
At dawn, they found the tracks.
Circles around the camp. Deliberate. Patient. Whatever had been watching them wasn't hunting.
It was waiting.
Grog stood at the edge of the camp, looking down at the prints. The same uneven gait. The same long toes. The same deep claws.
"It circled us," he said. "All night."
William's hand was on his sword. "It could have attacked."
"It didn't."
Aldric was on his horse, his leg propped, his face pale. "What does it want?"
Grog looked at the tracks, leading down the ridge, toward the valley, toward the stream.
"I don't know," he said. "But we're going to find out."