The forest of Eldenwood was too quiet.

  Mara noticed it before anyone else. Not because of the absence of sound, but because of the way it behaved. The birds were there, but they did not descend. The wind moved through the branches, but avoided the clearing. Everything felt contained, tense, as if the forest itself were holding its breath.

  Mara raised her fist.

  "Stop."

  The group froze immediately.

  Elias stepped to her side, his hand firm on his weapon. Liora shifted half a step back, scanning the surroundings like someone already expecting casualties. Korvax crouched, studying the ground with near-obsessive focus.

  "Footprints," he said after a moment. "Human. Recent. Too organized."

  They advanced carefully.

  Then they saw them.

  The bodies were not scattered. They had been placed. Propped against trunks. Some seated. Some even kneeling. Silent warnings.

  The burn marks on their chests looked carved with direct heat. Irregular symbols, distorted, their edges still dark and faintly glowing, as if the warmth had not fully faded.

  Liora felt her stomach tighten.

  "This wasn’t a wild attack…" she whispered. "Someone wanted us to find them like this."

  The mist moved.

  It did not descend from above.

  It shifted between the trees.

  Mara turned instantly.

  Figures emerged without sound, one after another, wrapped in dark cloaks. They did not run. They advanced with steady steps. Beneath the fabric, burned markings pulsed with an irregular rhythm, almost alive.

  "Tight formation," Mara ordered. "Don’t surround them. Don’t split up."

  The first impact was brutal.

  One of them launched at Elias with impossible speed for such a thin frame. Elias blocked the strike—

  —and felt something worse than the blow itself.

  An internal pull.

  As if something were ripping the air out of him from the inside.

  "Ah—!" he gasped, staggering back. "They drain energy!"

  Another attacker collided with Korvax. He drove his weapon into the man’s abdomen. The body fell—

  —but did not scream.

  Did not writhe.

  The mark flared brighter, and the man smiled before collapsing completely.

  "They don’t feel pain the same way!" Korvax growled. "They’re not fighting to survive!"

  Mara moved without hesitation. Precise strikes. Low cuts. Tendons. Joints. She wasn’t trying to overpower them—she was trying to disable.

  One fell.

  Another replaced him.

  They did not retreat.

  They did not hesitate.

  They did not scream.

  Liora dropped beside Elias, her hands glowing with healing energy—

  —and a shadow fell over her.

  The contact was minimal.

  Just a brush.

  But it was enough.

  Liora felt something tear at her breath, her pulse, her strength. She collapsed to her knees, ears ringing sharply.

  "Liora!" Mara shouted.

  She fired without thinking, piercing the attacker’s throat. The body fell—

  —but even in death, the mark kept glowing for several seconds more.

  "Don’t touch them directly!" Mara barked. "Protect Liora!"

  The fight descended into chaos.

  Every second weighed heavier than the last. Elias could barely hold his weapon. Korvax was bleeding from his side. Mara felt her arms growing heavier.

  Then—

  the mist parted.

  More figures emerged.

  Too many.

  Mara understood instantly.

  "They didn’t come to kill us," she muttered through clenched teeth. "They came to stall us."

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  The marked began pressing forward harder now, forcing the team back step by step. Not recklessly—deliberately. Driving them away from deeper forest paths.

  They weren’t hunting.

  They were redirecting.

  And then, as if receiving an unseen signal, they began to withdraw.

  They did not flee.

  They fell back in formation, disappearing into the mist and trees.

  The forest went still again.

  Only ragged breathing remained.

  And bodies.

  "This wasn’t a test," Elias muttered, leaning against Mara. "It was a warning."

  Mara stared at the place where they vanished.

  "No," she replied quietly. "It was time bought."

  In the northern mountains, the air was thinner. The silence harsher.

  Garrick moved first, every step measured. Lysa flanked the sides, reading the stone as if it were ancient scripture. Torren scanned the rocky walls. Efrén breathed deeply, fighting the tremor in his hands.

  "The runes…" Lysa said suddenly, stopping. "They’re not fully active—but they’re reacting."

  The ground trembled.

  One rune ignited.

  Then another.

  Then another.

  The mountain seemed to awaken.

  "Back!" Garrick shouted.

  Too late.

  The stone split.

  A massive arm burst from the ground, followed by a torso of rock and mineral fused together by blazing symbols.

  Torren was struck first, hurled violently against a stone wall, the air ripped from his lungs.

  Efrén slammed a containment seal into the ground, energy crackling wildly.

  "It won’t hold long!" he yelled.

  Garrick charged the construct, striking at what should have been a joint. The impact thundered—

  —and did nothing.

  "It doesn’t feel anything!" he roared.

  The golem swung, forcing Garrick to dive aside as stone shattered where he’d stood. The sheer weight of it cracked the ground beneath them.

  Lysa sprinted between runes, narrowly avoiding a crushing blow.

  "The runes are sustaining it!" she shouted. "Break the anchors or it won’t fall!"

  Torren staggered upright, blood in his mouth, and began carving counter-symbols into the nearest glowing rune. The first flickered—

  —and the golem’s movement stuttered slightly.

  "Again!" Garrick shouted.

  They focused everything on one construct.

  It took everything they had.

  Garrick shattered one leg joint after Lysa disabled two supporting runes. Torren smashed a third. Efrén nearly collapsed maintaining suppression.

  With a final coordinated strike, the construct fell—

  —and disintegrated into rubble.

  They didn’t have time to breathe.

  The mountain shook again.

  Another rune ignited.

  Then another.

  Then several at once.

  Stone split open in multiple places.

  One golem emerged.

  Then another.

  Then a third.

  And a fourth.

  Efrén’s face went pale.

  "We can’t handle this many."

  The constructs advanced—not charging, not frenzied.

  Relentless.

  Forcing them backward.

  Driving them away from the inner pass.

  "They’re not defending territory," Lysa said between breaths. "They’re locking the route."

  Garrick understood.

  "They’re buying time."

  The constructs pressed them back further—

  then suddenly stopped.

  The runes dimmed.

  One by one.

  The golems froze—

  —and collapsed into inert stone.

  Silence.

  Only dust.

  Only broken breathing.

  Torren wiped blood from his lip.

  "They held us exactly where they wanted."

  Lysa stared at the darkened runes.

  "And whoever orchestrated this… knows how to fight without being present."

  Meanwhile, Alaric stood alone in his chamber when the first confirmed reports reached him.

  The letters still lay across the table. Open. Some barely begun. They were not orders or treaties. They were personal notes, written and rewritten, as if he were trying to prepare for something he knew was coming—but could not stop.

  Boots breaking the silence were warning enough.

  The chamber doors burst open.

  A guard entered, nearly breathless.

  "Commander… there is movement at the borders."

  Alaric looked up slowly.

  "What kind of movement?"

  "Not an army. But marked figures have been sighted at the eastern treeline. The watchtowers confirmed it."

  Another guard stepped in behind him.

  "The northern defensive runes reacted minutes ago. They didn’t fully activate—but something triggered them."

  The air grew heavier.

  These were not reports of defeat.

  Not calls for rescue.

  They were signals.

  Alaric walked to the stone balcony overlooking the city. From there he could see the outer wall. Torches lit where they should not be. Increased movement along the towers.

  Too much movement.

  "They’re not crossing," he murmured.

  "No, sir."

  "It has begun…" he said quietly.

  The guards exchanged glances.

  "Orders, Commander?"

  Alaric lifted his head. The hesitation was gone. Only resolve remained.

  "Maximum alert in Valthera. Reinforce the walls. Double patrols. No one moves alone."

  He turned to another officer.

  "Send for Renar. All available captains. Locate Eldric and Lucan."

  The mention of Lucan’s name shifted the tension in the room.

  "And those still outside the capital?" someone asked.

  "Anyone who can still fight," Alaric replied.

  The guards nodded and rushed out.

  Silence returned.

  Alaric walked to the window. The city below looked calm.

  Too calm.

  "You haven’t come yet…" he murmured softly, not entirely sure to whom he was speaking. "But you’re already knocking at the door."

  He thought of Lucan.

  He thought of Renar.

  He thought of everything he had not said.

  Lucan walked without direction along the eastern district, his hands buried in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the ground.

  The sunset painted everything in warm tones, but it softened nothing inside him. Each step was automatic. He wasn’t heading anywhere. Just moving.

  Behind him, Selene was almost running.

  Not from exhaustion.

  From anxiety.

  "Lucan…" she called, her voice barely steady.

  He did not respond.

  He tightened his fists inside his pockets and kept walking.

  "Lucan!" she insisted, quickening her pace until she reached his side.

  He turned his head slightly. Just enough to look at her.

  Then forward again.

  That silence hurt more than any accusation.

  Selene swallowed.

  "I never wanted to hurt you," she said. "I never wanted you to think I was against you."

  Lucan slowed.

  Then stopped.

  "Then tell me," he said quietly. "Why did you do it?"

  Selene felt her chest tighten.

  "It was my mother… She was worried. About you. About what you carry. She asked me to watch you and I—"

  "And you agreed?"

  The question was direct.

  No shouting.

  No anger.

  That made it worse.

  "I just wanted to help," she said, her voice shaking. "I didn’t want to disobey her, but I didn’t want to lose you either."

  Lucan let out a short, hollow laugh.

  "Help me?" he repeated. "You followed me. Watched me. Reported on me like I was something that could fail at any moment."

  Selene lowered her gaze. Her hands trembled.

  "You don’t understand—"

  "No," he interrupted. "I understand perfectly."

  He turned to face her fully. His gray eyes held something deeper than anger.

  "I understand that you didn’t trust me."

  The words struck her hard.

  "That’s not true!" she burst out, eyes shining. "I trust you, Lucan. I always have."

  He held her gaze.

  "If that were true… you would’ve told me."

  Silence fell between them like something solid.

  Selene stepped closer.

  "Please… I just wanted to protect you."

  Lucan stepped back.

  "If that’s protection," he said coldly, "I don’t need it."

  The words pierced.

  Selene felt the air leave her lungs.

  "Lucan…" she whispered.

  He turned, ready to walk away.

  Then he froze.

  His brow furrowed.

  The scent reached him first.

  Metallic.

  Fresh.

  Unmistakable.

  Blood.

  Selene smelled it too. She covered her mouth.

  "Is that—?"

  "Yes," Lucan answered, already tense.

  Blood.

  For the first time since the argument began, they looked in the same direction.

  Because something—

  or someone—

  had already arrived.

  End of Chapter 14