The transition from the lush, moss-covered embrace of Veridian Refuge to the harsh reality of Sunstone Ridge was abrupt and violent.

  One moment, our boots were sinking into soft, glowing earth that smelled of honey and life. The next, they were crunching against grey, unyielding stone that smelled of dust and old bones. The vibrant green canopy vanished, replaced by a bruised, grey sky that seemed to press down on us like a lead weight.

  “I miss the moss,” Faelar grumbled, adjusting the straps of his heavy pack. He patted the haft of Bessie for comfort. “Moss is forgiving. Moss understands the needs of a dwarf’s knees. This rock? This rock hates us. It’s angry rock.”

  “It is merely a change in geological density,” Elmsworth lectured from the rear, though he was breathing harder than he wanted to admit. He was currently trying to use a Levitate cantrip on his own backpack to lighten the load, which resulted in him bouncing slightly with every step like a heavily laden balloon. “The friction coefficient here is significantly lower. Watch your step. Gravity is unforgiving at this altitude.”

  I took point, using the butt of my spear as a walking stick. The restorative draughts Elara’s healers had forced down our throats before we left were working miracles—my muscles felt loose and energized—but the mental weight was growing with every step.

  We climbed for an hour, leaving the treeline far below. The vegetation turned into twisted, skeletal scrub brush that clawed at our ankles. The rocks were no longer grey but streaked with jagged veins of dull, orange crystal that looked like dried wounds in the earth.

  “Hold up,” I signaled, raising a fist.

  We had reached it. The "Safe Line." Elara had warned us.

  Below, the valley was still audible—a faint hum of wind and distant water. Above us, the path disappeared into a notch between two jagged peaks.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  We stepped across the invisible threshold.

  The silence hit us like a physical wall. It wasn't just quiet; it was a vacuum. The wind died instantly. The sound of our breathing seemed to be sucked away before it could leave our lips. The clatter of Faelar’s boots on the stone sounded deafeningly loud, like gunshots in a library.

  “Creepy,” Willow whispered, clutching her staff. Her voice sounded thin and tinny. “It’s like the mountain is holding its breath.”

  “It’s the ambient mana,” Elmsworth said, his voice dropping to a hush. He pulled out a small brass gauge. The needle was spinning wildly. “The concentration of Sunstone radiation here is interfering with natural acoustic waves. It’s literally dampening sound. We are walking into a sonic dead zone.”

  “Keep moving,” I ordered. “Eyes up. Weapons loose.”

  We climbed. The path became treacherous, a goat trail winding up the spine of the ridge. To our left, the cliff dropped away into a dizzying abyss. To our right, the mountain rose in jagged spikes that blocked out the sun.

  As we ascended, the silence began to change. It wasn't empty anymore. It was… busy.

  At first, I thought it was just the wind picking up. A soft hissing noise, like sand sliding over stone. But there was no wind. The dust on the ground was still.

  Then, I heard it.

  …imposter…

  I froze, spinning around, my spear tip leveling at Faelar. “Did you say something?”

  The dwarf looked at me, confused. “I’m saving my breath for cursing at these rocks, lad. Didn’t say a word.”

  I frowned, turning back to the trail. My heart rate spiked.

  …they know you're faking it…

  My grip tightened on the ash wood shaft until my knuckles turned white. The voice was distinct, dry, and sneering. It sounded like Marcus, my old drill instructor at the Citadel.

  …first mission and you’re going to bury them all… just a transfer playing soldier… look at you, leading them to the slaughter…

  “Shut up,” I hissed under my breath, shaking my head to clear the static. “I know the protocols. I know the mission.”

  …protocols won't save them… look at them… following a child… following a fraud…

  Behind me, Faelar stumbled. He stopped, his head cocked to the side.

  “Do you hear that?” the dwarf whispered. “Picks. Mining picks. Hitting the stone. Tink. Tink. Tink.”

  His eyes went wide. “The supports are cracking. Can’t you hear the timber splitting? The roof is coming down!”

  Faelar’s hand went to his chest. He fumbled for the Magically Expanded Flask hidden in his tunic. He didn't offer it to anyone. He didn't announce it. He just uncorked it with trembling fingers and took a quick, desperate swig of the glowing blue cider. He needed the buzz to drown out the sound of a mine collapsing from his memories.

  He wiped his mouth, the panic fading slightly from his eyes. “Just… just the wind,” he muttered, more to himself than us.

  “Did you hear that?” Willow stopped, looking into the scrub brush. Her eyes were wide, terrified. “Someone’s crying. A baby. The forest is crying. Can you hear it?”

  “I hear… splashing,” Liam murmured. He wasn't looking at the path. He was looking at his hands, turning them over. “And dice. The sound of losing. Snake eyes, Liam. You lose. Serena loses.”

  “It’s the Beast,” I said, my voice hardening. I had to be the anchor. I had to drown out the voice in my own head calling me a failure. “Elara said it attacks the mind. Don't listen to it. It’s not real. Focus on the mission. Focus on my voice.”

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  …your voice is weak… they can smell the fear on you, Commander…

  “Elmsworth!” I barked, needing to hear something rational. “Range to target!”

  “According to the barometric pressure… and assuming gravity remains constant… which is a big assumption given the localized reality distortions…” Elmsworth muttered, seemingly unaffected. Perhaps his mind was already too full of chaotic equations for the Beast to find a foothold. “Another five hundred feet of elevation! We are approaching the summit!”

  We pushed on. The whispers grew louder, turning into a cacophony of regrets and fears. Nugget was agitated, clucking softly, his feathers puffed out until he looked like a golden sphere of anger. He kept pecking at the air, as if trying to eat the invisible voices.

  Then, the rocks moved.

  It wasn't a subtle movement. A section of the cliff face—a jagged outcropping of grey stone and orange crystal—simply detached itself.

  “Contact!” I yelled, dropping into a combat stance.

  The rock unfolded. Legs made of grinding stone snapped into place. A head, shaped like a sleek, faceless helm of crystal, turned toward us. Eyes of burning orange light flared to life.

  “Shard-Stalker!” Elmsworth shrieked, recognizing the creature from his books. “Guardian construct! Highly resistant to physical trauma! Do not use blunt force!”

  It wasn't just one. Three more peeled themselves off the surrounding boulders. They looked like panthers made of geology, low to the ground, their tails lashing with the sound of grinding gravel.

  “They're made of rocks!” Faelar shouted, actually sounding delighted as the combat adrenaline overrode the whispers. “Finally! Something I can hit without feeling guilty!”

  The first Stalker lunged. It moved with terrifying speed for something made of stone, a blurred streak of grey and orange.

  Faelar met it head-on. “For the Stone!” he roared, swinging Bessie in a brutal uppercut.

  CLANG.

  The sound was like a church bell ringing inside a crypt. Faelar’s axe, which could cleave through plate mail, bounced off the Stalker’s shoulder with a shower of sparks. The construct didn't even flinch. It swiped a massive paw, catching Faelar in the chest and sending him skidding back five feet, his boots carving grooves in the path.

  “Hard!” Faelar gasped, winded. “Very hard! Not normal rock!”

  “It’s magically reinforced crystal lattice!” Elmsworth shouted, diving behind a boulder as a second Stalker leaped over him. “It disperses kinetic energy!”

  “Thanks for the lecture!” I yelled.

  The second Stalker landed in front of me. It roared—a sound like grinding millstones—and snapped its jaws. I thrust my spear, aiming for the glowing eye.

  Skreee.

  The steel tip skidded off the smooth stone face. It was like trying to stab a diamond.

  “Physical attacks are useless!” Liam shouted. He was dancing around the third Stalker, throwing daggers that shattered on impact. “We need a breaker!”

  “How do we kill them?” I demanded, deflecting a stone claw with the shaft of my spear. The impact rattled my teeth.

  “Vibration!” Elmsworth popped up, his wand glowing. “They are rigid structures! Rigid structures are susceptible to resonance! We must find the frequency!”

  “Do the thing then!” I ordered. “Faelar! Keep them busy! Elmsworth needs time!”

  “I’m trying!” Faelar grunted, blocking a bite with the haft of his axe. “They’re heavy!”

  Elmsworth took a deep breath. He leveled his wand at the Stalker engaging Faelar.

  “By the fundamental laws of acoustics... SHATTER!”

  He didn't cast a fireball. He cast a sound. A high-pitched, thrumming screech erupted from his wand.

  The effect was instantaneous. The orange crystals on the Stalker’s back began to glow brighter. They vibrated. A low hum filled the air.

  The creature shrieked—a sound like tearing metal—and stumbled. Spiderweb cracks began to appear on its flank.

  “It’s working!” I shouted. “Keep it up!”

  “I need more amplitude!” Elmsworth yelled, his face red with effort. “It’s too dense!”

  Nugget, seeing the wizard struggling, puffed up to twice his normal size. The chicken sensed the magic. He sensed the vibration.

  He opened his beak.

  SCRAAAAAWWWWW!

  It wasn't a normal crow. It was a sonic boom in poultry form. The chicken matched Elmsworth’s frequency perfectly.

  The sound wave hit the Stalker. The cracks on its flank widened. Pieces of crystal began to flake off.

  “Now!” I yelled. “Hit the cracks!”

  I didn't wait for Faelar. I lunged. I vaulted off a rock, driving my spear down with both hands, putting all my weight and momentum behind the blow.

  I didn't aim for the armor. I aimed for the vibrating fissure Nugget’s scream had opened.

  CRUNCH.

  My spear tip bit deep into the compromised crystal. I twisted the shaft.

  The Stalker convulsed. The orange light in its eyes flickered and died. With a sound like a collapsing wall, it shattered into a pile of inert rubble.

  “One down!” I shouted, yanking my spear free. “Two left!”

  The other Stalkers paused. They looked at the pile of rubble that used to be their packmate. They looked at the vibrating wizard. They looked at the screaming chicken.

  They turned toward Elmsworth.

  “Protect the wizard!” I ordered.

  Liam was already moving. He slid under the legs of the second Stalker, slashing at its underbelly with Soul-Drinker. The cursed blade didn't cut the stone, but it distracted the beast long enough for Faelar to recover.

  “Hammer time!” Faelar roared. He swung his axe, using the flat of the blade like a hammer.

  He struck the Stalker in the side of the head just as Elmsworth shifted his spell to target it. The vibration met the impact.

  BOOM.

  The head exploded into gravel.

  The last Stalker looked at us. It looked at the rubble. It decided that self-preservation was a valid tactical choice. It turned and vanished into the rocks, blending perfectly into the mountain.

  “That’s right!” Faelar yelled after it, shaking his axe. “Run back to your gravel pit!”

  We stood there, panting. The silence of the ridge rushed back in to fill the void left by the battle, heavy and oppressive.

  “Everyone okay?” I asked, checking the team.

  “I think I vibrated my molars loose,” Faelar said, rubbing his jaw. “But that was effective. Good work, wizard. And... bird.”

  Nugget strutted over to the dead Stalker, pecked a piece of glowing orange crystal out of the wreckage, and swallowed it whole. He burped, a small puff of orange smoke escaping his beak.

  “He’s eating the loot,” Liam noted dryly. “Hope that's digestible.”

  “Let’s move,” I said, wiping sweat from my eyes. The voice in my head—Marcus calling me a fraud—had gone quiet during the fight, drowned out by the focus of combat. But I knew it would come back.

  I pointed up the trail. “We’re almost there.”

  The rest of the climb was grueling. The whispers returned, picking at the edges of our minds, but we stayed close. We focused on the sound of boots on stone.

  Thirty minutes later, we broke through the cloud layer.

  The summit of Sunstone Ridge was unlike anything I had ever seen. It wasn't a peak. It was a plateau, flattened as if by a giant hammer.

  The ground here was pure crystal, polished to a mirror sheen by eons of wind. The sun reflected off it with blinding intensity, forcing us to squint.

  In the center of the plateau stood the source of the corruption.

  It wasn't a cave. It was a temple.

  Huge, cyclopean pillars of obsidian rose into the sky, supporting a roof that had long since collapsed. But the ruins weren't empty. They were overgrown with pulsing, purple veins—thick, fleshy tendrils that throbbed with a heartbeat we could feel through the soles of our boots.

  “The Whispering Beast,” Willow whispered, clutching my arm. “It’s... it’s a building?”

  “No,” Liam said, pointing up. “That’s just its house.”

  A shadow fell over us. It was massive, blocking out the sun.

  We looked up.

  Hovering silently above the ruins, suspended by wings that looked like stained glass and nightmare, was the Beast. It was beautiful. It was terrifying. It looked like a dragon made of church windows and hate.

  It didn't roar. It didn't screech.

  It leaned down, its multiple, multifaceted eyes fixing on us. It spoke directly into our minds, a voice like velvet over gravel.

  ...Guests...

  The voice wasn't scary. It was welcoming. And that was the most terrifying thing of all.

  ...You have brought me dinner...

  I leveled my spear, forcing my voice to remain steady despite the terror gripping my chest.

  “Formation!” I shouted. “Take it down!”