The night descended like a hunter's cloak, thick and suffocating. In the Hollow's outskirts, only shadows moved and not all of them natural. The shriek that had pierced Vaelin's cave had been a warning, not an attack. The real threat came silently.
Kael, Nyra, Lysara, and Thorne had moved swiftly, leaving the Hollow behind under cover of night. Vaelin had cast a ward to mask their presence, but even his magic had limits. The things pursuing them weren't men. Not anymore.
They made camp in a glade ringed by ancient stones. Thorne took first watch while the others huddled around a dying fire. Kael couldn't sleep. The weight of the shard around his neck was heavier than ever.
"You feel it too, don't you?" Nyra said quietly. She sat beside him, her dagger catching the faint glow of moonlight.
Kael nodded. "They're close."
Suddenly, the fire hissed and died. The glade darkened as mist rolled in unnatural and thick. Thorne shouted, "To arms!"
From the mist came shapes, tall and gaunt, their limbs too long, faces wrapped in shadowed hoods. Their blades gleamed black, forged not of steel but nightmare.
"Dread Assassins," Lysara whispered, drawing her sword. "Malagar's elite."
The fight was chaos.
Kael moved instinctively, the shard at his chest flaring with raw energy. He raised his hand, and a surge of force sent one assassin flying. But the power burned his veins lit with fire, and he nearly collapsed.
Nyra was a blur, blades flashing, moving like smoke through the attackers. Thorne roared as he met the assassins head-on, parrying death with unshakable resolve.
But they kept coming.
A shriek pierced the night again closer. One of the assassins lunged at Kael with a hooked blade. As time seemed to slow, Kael saw not the assassin, but a memory: a battlefield, himself older, cloaked in fire.
He dodged. Barely.
"Kael!" Nyra called. "Focus!"
He did. With a roar, he unleashed the shard's magic, and the ground cracked beneath him. A pulse of energy radiated out, scattering the assassins.
But it wasn't enough.
A second wave poured from the mist. Dozens.
Suddenly, a horn sounded in the distance. Then flames. Real fire, hurled like javelins from the tree line.
A band of warriors emerged, clad in red and gold. Their leader, tall and scarred, shouted in a foreign tongue. The assassins withdrew, vanishing into mist as quickly as they'd appeared.
The warrior approached. "You are the shard-bearer?" he asked in accented Common.
Kael nodded, breathless. "Who are you?"
The man saluted with a flame-tipped spear. "Captain Merek of the Ember Guard. We've been looking for you."
Kael looked to Lysara, whose eyes narrowed. "And who sent you?"
Merek's gaze turned toward the horizon. "The one who wears the Flame Crown. She says the time has come to gather the fire-born."