Carl's eyes shot wide open.

  A deep chill gripped his chest, as if invisible fingers had reached inside and squeezed his heart.

  He slowly sat up, sweat clinging to his brow despite the chill that filled the room.

  He could feel it—their call.

  He turned his head and cast a gnce at his wife. She y peacefully beside him, her chest rising and falling with each soft breath. Her hand, still curled where it had reached for him in sleep, made his heart ache.

  He gently slid his legs over the edge of the bed and stood, bare feet meeting the wooden floor like a whisper.

  He didn’t dress.

  He didn’t light a ntern.

  He moved through the house like a ghost, swallowed by the stillness of the night.

  The forest awaited.

  He stepped beyond the edge of the vilge, where the moonlight could no longer reach. The trees closed around him, ancient sentinels groaning in the wind.

  Something pulled at him—a whisper on the edge of his soul, guiding him.

  Then he saw them.

  Perched atop a jagged stone that loomed from the earth like a tombstone were two crows. Their feathers shimmered like oil, and their eyes glowed crimson—like embers forged in blood.

  Carl dropped to his knees.

  He did not dare look up. His forehead nearly touched the soil. His hands trembled.

  He couldn’t speak.

  He couldn’t breathe.

  A long moment passed before one of the crows croaked, its voice not heard with ears but felt in the bones.

  “Our sister has died.”

  A cold shiver tore down Carl’s spine.

  “We must find her killer,” the second crow growled, its feathers bristling with barely contained fury, “and make him pay for what he has done.”

  Carl’s throat tightened. He gasped, struggling as their presence wrapped around his soul like chains.

  Invisible talons scraped across his spirit—razor sharp and ancient. Each breath felt like a scream trapped inside his chest.

  “And you—our hound—will hunt him for us,” the first crow said.

  Carl’s heart stopped.

  “A debt you owe. A debt you must pay.”

  He clenched his jaw. His fists curled until his nails cut into his palms.

  “What about my wife?” he whispered, voice shaking. “Please... don’t touch her.”

  “We will watch her closely,” the second crow rasped, its voice rising with malice.

  “Very closely.”

  Then it screamed.

  A sound not meant for mortal ears.

  It ripped through the forest like a bde of pure madness, shaking the trees to their roots. Birds exploded from the branches in terrified flight. Wolves howled in the distance, long and mournful.

  Carl clutched his head, colpsing forward. He writhed in the dirt as the scream burned through him. His skin twisted, his bones cracked and realigned. Veins glowed red beneath his flesh.

  Then silence.

  Carl rose.

  His eyes now glowed crimson, burning with unnatural fire. His breathing was heavy, ragged. Steam rose from his skin.

  “Go, hound. Find them,” the first crow commanded.

  Then, without a sound, he vanished into the dark.

  The hunt had begun.

  Moon leaned forward and embraced him.

  Her shoulders trembled as quiet sobs escaped her lips. The warmth of her tears dampened his shoulder.

  Cale's arms slowly wrapped around her, pulling her close. The contact grounded him.

  He felt a fire ignite in his heart.

  From the depths of his soul, something stirred.

  He gnced around.

  The fire had died down to little more than embers, casting faint flickers across the grass.

  There was no sign of Tiana.

  “Where is Tiana?” Cale murmured.

  Moon pulled back slightly and shook her head, her silvery eyes rimmed with fresh tears.

  Then a soft, ethereal glow appeared to his left. A green wisp drifted into view.

  “She left,” said Xentar’s voice, echoing gently. “She’s gone.”

  Cale turned toward the spirit, his expression uncertain.

  “Who are you, Cale?” Xentar asked, floating a little closer. There was no malice in his tone—only fear. “Or... what are you?”

  Cale blinked. “What do you mean?”

  Xentar pulsed faintly, flickering like a hesitant heartbeat. “She left because of you. Because you nearly killed her.”

  The words hit Cale like a hammer.

  “I would never hurt her,” he said quietly.

  “Well,” Xentar replied, “you absolutely did. I’ve never seen Tiana look like that before. Her face... she was terrified.”

  Cale lowered his gaze to the ground. His hands, once trembling, now rested in Moon’s. She held them firmly, gently—like an anchor.

  He remembered fshes. A circle of white powder. Tiana’s calm voice telling him to sit. Then... nothing. Just darkness.

  Just like before.

  Like at the castle.

  Like when the Crone tried to devour his soul.

  “Xentar... please,” Cale said, his voice a plea. “Tell me what happened. I need to know.”

  The wisp bobbed gently. “I was out flying, watching a cluster of fireflies when I felt it. Something that made my very essence twist in fear.”

  “What did it feel like?” Cale asked.

  “Dread,” Xentar whispered. “Not like the kind you feel when you see a predator in the woods. No... this was different. Like the sky was about to fall. Like the weight of a mountain hanging over your head. Nothing to run from. Nowhere to hide. Just... oblivion.”

  Xentar floated in a slow circle as he spoke.

  “I rushed back to warn you, but the closer I got, the heavier that feeling became. Then I saw the blue-white fmes. The whole circle was abze. And I saw Tiana—frozen.”

  He paused.

  “Then I saw you. You were standing in the fire. Your eyes were burning with it. And you spoke—your voice made the spirits around us retreat. You told her... you said you were no one’s tool. That she should leave or you would obliterate her soul.”

  Cale was silent.

  “That can’t be,” he whispered. “The Crone... she must’ve done something to me.”

  “I don’t think so,” Xentar said.

  He drifted closer.

  “Archimedes came. Tiana mounted onto his back and flew her away.”

  Xentar paused again, this time watching Cale carefully.

  “And then... you walked to her.”

  Cale gnced up.

  “To Moon,” Xentar crified. “You knelt beside her like a knight returned from war. You looked at her like... like she was the only thing left in the world worth holding onto. Then you id beside her and closed your eyes. That was it.”

  Cale swallowed hard.

  “You mumbled a name when you woke up,” Xentar added. “You called her Naeloria. Said she was your love.”

  Cale looked at Moon again, at her tear-streaked face. She didn’t shy away from his gaze.

  He couldn’t speak. What could he say?

  “Don’t bme yourself,” Xentar said softly. “Sending Tiana away... it might have been the best thing you could do.”

  “Why?” Cale asked, barely able to form the word.

  “Because she’s not the woman you believed her to be.”

  Cale blinked slowly.

  Xentar’s voice darkened. “She’s full of secrets. All this ‘sweet mentor’ act was just a ploy—to keep you under her control. I doubt she ever cared about you the way she pretended to.”

  “That... that can’t be,” Cale whispered. “She...”

  “Cale,” Xentar interrupted gently. “You’re a good kid. If you are a kid. But you’re kind. And that made you easy to manipute.”

  The spirit hovered, swirling like mist in the breeze.

  “I’ve known Tiana for over two centuries,” he said. “Do you know how many times I saw her smile?”

  “I... I don’t know.”

  “Not once,” Xentar said ftly. “Not until she met you.”

  He floated left, then right, almost pacing.

  “I should’ve warned you. Should’ve said something sooner. But I was...” He paused.

  “Afraid.”

  “Afraid of her?” Cale asked.

  Xentar flickered. “Yes. She could’ve bound me to a rock and hurled me into a well.”

  Cale sat in silence, Moon still holding his hands.

  The fire’s embers flickered in the quiet.

  Everything had changed.

  Again.

  I need to find her,” Cale said, his voice ced with desperation. “She must know what’s happening to me.”

  “You’ll never find her,” Xentar replied gently, his glow dimming. “Tiana knows how to hide her tracks. If she doesn’t want to be found, no one will.”

  “But I need her,” Cale insisted. “She’s the only one who can show me how to speak to the spirits... to my friend.”

  “Are you sure?” Xentar asked, voice quiet but firm.

  Cale hesitated. “I do. She knows far more than I ever could.”

  “I believe you’re wrong,” Xentar said. “I’ve been watching you, Cale—ever since we met. Everything Tiana showed you... I don’t think you were learning it. I think you were remembering.”

  The words hit Cale like ice water.

  He went still.

  The truth struck deep. He had felt it. The familiarity. The way spirit bending came to him—not like a lesson—but like a dream recalled.

  “Who am I?” he whispered.

  “I wish I knew,” Xentar said. “But I believe this: if anyone can find the truth, it’s you.”

  Cale drew in a breath and gave a single, resolute nod.

  Moon, standing nearby, took a step back. Her silver eyes glowed softly, like twin moons suspended in sorrowful awe.

  He closed his eyes.

  And he looked inward.

  The air was cold.

  A tide of warriors—faceless, armored in gray steel—stood like statues across the frostbitten pin. They parted as he walked among them.

  Each of his steps echoed against the frozen ground, his boots sinking slightly into the ice.

  He towered over them.

  A colossal sword rested across his shoulder—its weight immense, like a mountain of judgment forged into steel.

  His gaze was fixed forward.

  And there, reaching beyond the horizon like a monument to the gods, stood the tower.

  The Crystal Tower.

  It defied comprehension.

  The tower shimmered like a gcier beneath the sun, like sapphire polished by time.

  Its spires spiraled skyward, impossibly high, reflecting a thousand fractured sunbeams. The walls pulsed faintly, like the heartbeat of the ocean. Runes flowed down its surface, glowing like rivers of starlight. A divine wound carved into the sky.

  He approached.

  His bde shifted from his shoulder, the edge gleaming like molten silver.

  He raised it, prepared to cleave the massive double doors in two.

  But the doors opened.

  Not by force.

  By invitation.

  And there she stood.

  The Oracle of the Tides.

  She was alone in the vast hall. Her dress shimmered like it was spun from crystal itself, reflecting rainbow light across the marble floor. Each thread of her gown refracted the surrounding magic. Her hair flowed like waves—light blue, like water kissed by moonlight.

  She opened her mouth and spoke a name.

  But the sound was muted.

  Only one word reached him:

  “...the Unyielding Forge.”

  “You’ve come far,” she said softly, her voice like the hush of tidewater against stone.

  “I came for you,” he said. “To bring you to the Pyrosol Crown.”

  "I will not be taken by force.”

  "I was sent. And I must return with you.”

  She walked toward him. Her footsteps made no sound. Her gaze held no fear.

  “I will go,” she said. “Not because I am commanded—but because the tides have shifted. It is time.”

  No more words were needed.

  He turned.

  Together, they walked. Before them, the army of steel parted, and the doors closed in silence.

  Cale stood in darkness.

  Before him loomed a monstrous figure—colossal, terrible. Like a mountain forged of shadow and metal.

  Its form was cd in bckened armor, segmented and barbed like the exoskeleton of a primordial warbeast. Every inch radiated ruin, as though it had been forged from the wreckage of a thousand battlefields.

  Cracks split its immense frame, glowing with an eerie blue-white light. From these fissures, ethereal mist rose and coiled through the air like the spirits of the fallen.

  Its helmet was crowned with jagged, bded protrusions—a twisted parody of a king’s crown. The symbol of a warlord who ruled only over ruin.

  Its face was a void.

  Yet within that void, two eyes burned. Blue-white fire, bright and merciless, stared down at him.

  Cale knew this figure.

  He had seen it once before—just after he died.

  It had looked at him.

  And it had told him: Stand.

  Now, it watched him again.

  “Who am I?” Cale asked, barely above a whisper.

  The figure’s voice echoed like grinding steel and wind through stone:

  “Not yet.”

  Cale’s eyes snapped open.

  He y on soft earth.

  His fingers twitched.

  He flexed them slowly, feeling the warmth of his body and the pull of the waking world.

  Nearby, Xentar hovered in front of Moon, his soft glow pulsing gently as he spoke. But something was different.

  Cale blinked.

  Moon was looking at Xentar.

  Her eyes followed his movements. She tilted her head slightly, as if listening.

  Cale sat up, stunned.

  She can see him now?

  Until now, he had been certain Moon couldn’t perceive spirits. When Tiana had spoken with Xentar, Moon had looked confused. But now—it was clear.

  She could see him.

  That meant one thing.

  She was a spirit bender too.

  Cale rose and walked to them, settling beside her. She turned to him with a quiet smile, her silver eyes glowing like moonlight on still water.

  “Already up?” Xentar asked, drifting closer.

  Cale nodded slowly.

  He was about to bury the vision, to let it fade into the shadows of memory—when Moon’s hand found his.

  Her fingers curled gently around his palm.

  And warmth bloomed.

  Not the warmth of skin or fire.

  The warmth of the soul.

  His heart stirred.

  He looked at her.

  There was something there—something he couldn’t expin.

  Recognition.

  Peace.

  “Naeloria,” he whispered, the name falling from his lips like breath.

  Moon blinked, her hand tightening just slightly.

  Then, softly, he told them what he had seen: the void, the towering figure, the fire in its eyes.

  “A memory, maybe?” Xentar offered. “Or an echo of your past.”

  “Are you sure?” Cale asked.

  “How should I know?” Xentar huffed. “I’m just the lingering spirit of a very handsome unicorn, not a historian.”

  Then, he brightened.

  “But I do have an idea,” he said, bouncing midair. “You mentioned the Pyrosol Crown, the Crystal Tower, and the Oracle of the Tides. Maybe there’s something about them in books—old books. Histories, records, legends.”

  Cale nodded thoughtfully.

  “That’s a very good idea,” he said.

  “Right?!” Xentar beamed, his glow pulsing with excitement.

  Cale’s gaze drifted to the horizon.

  The sky was beginning to brighten. Soft streaks of gold crept over the hills, brushing the treetops with warmth.

  A new day.

  He looked at Moon.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked gently.

  She nodded.

  He moved to the supply sack and pulled out what little they had—some dried meat and a wedge of cheese. He handed it to her, and she accepted it with a quiet nod, eating gracefully.

  After they finished, Cale stood.

  Before them stretched a narrow road, winding through low mist.

  But it led somewhere.

  And wherever it led—it was forward.

  He turned to Moon and extended his hand.

  Without hesitation, she took it.

  Xentar floated above them, his glow casting faint light on the road.

  Together, they walked into the dawn.

  By midday, the sun stood high, veiled behind scattered clouds.

  They had been walking for hours, winding through an old forest road bnketed in fallen leaves and the scent of moss. The silence was unnerving—no birdsong, no wind, only the crunch of footsteps and the distant creak of old trees swaying.

  Cale’s senses were sharp, every muscle in his body taut. He scanned their surroundings constantly, listening, watching. Something was wrong.

  Then he stopped.

  His nose twitched.

  The scent hit him—thick and metallic.

  Iron. Blood.

  “I smell blood,” he said, voice low and grim.

  Moon froze. Her posture shifted instinctively, pressing slightly closer to him. Her grip on his hand grew tight.

  Cale motioned for silence and stepped forward, each movement deliberate.

  They rounded a bend.

  The forest parted—and chaos was id bare.

  Two big carts y in ruin across the road. Wagons shattered like toys. Wooden wheels split into jagged shards. Crates torn open, contents spilled like broken offerings. Horses disemboweled, their entrails smeared across the dirt. Men y sprawled in grotesque stillness, their bodies twisted, throats torn, limbs mangled.

  And amidst it all...

  The monsters feasted.

  Hunched and twitching, they moved in erratic jerks. Skin stretched too tight across their bones. Spines jutted through flesh. Their limbs were wrong—too long, too thin, ending in cws that looked like rusted bdes.

  Their faces...looked human.

  Their jaws were split and distended like unhinged snakes, filled with rows of broken, yellow teeth. Their bck, soulless eyes shimmered with feral hunger.

  And they were chewing.

  Always chewing.

  A grotesque crunch echoed as one tore through a thigh, snapping bone like dry wood. Another was buried deep inside a corpse’s chest, pulling out glistening organs and stuffing them into its maw with frantic, trembling fingers.

  Cale felt bile rising in his throat.

  They didn’t growl.

  They didn’t howl.

  Only the chewing.

  The relentless, wet chewing.

  “Those are bonechewers,” Xentar whispered, unnecessarily—these things couldn’t see spirits. “They hunt in frenzied packs. One bite paralyzes you... then they feed. While you’re still alive.”

  Moon’s hand gripped Cale’s tighter.

  They began to back away.

  Slow.

  Silent.

  But then—

  A growl.

  Wet. Low.

  Behind them.

  Cale spun.

  A bonechewer crouched in the shadows of a tree, bck eyes locked on him. Its jaw hung open in a twitching grin. It snarled—a guttering rasp that tore through the stillness.

  Then it shrieked.

  The sound was sharp and unnatural, like gss shattering inside a throat.

  The other bonechewers froze.

  Then they looked up.

  Six of them.

  Five from the corpses.

  One from behind.

  All turned.

  All charged.

  Cale stepped in front of Moon.

  His skin shifted. A whisper of steel echoed across his body as metal erupted from his back and shoulders, coiling and hardening. His arm lengthened, reshaping into a jagged bde as bck as obsidian. His other fist clenched, cracks forming in the dirt beneath him as power surged through his feet.

  The ground hummed beneath him.

  The bonechewers came fast, scrambling with twisted limbs, shrieking as they ran, foaming mouths open wide.

  Lord_Turtle_the_first