Whispers and Wind: A Tale of Gods and Ghosts from the Scroll of the Raithsworn, Chapter 13 - 16

Ancient power stirs beneath the mountains as Lyrra prepares to face what was never meant to be found.

Chapter 13

Hours later, I stood at the base camp of the Ascended Legion. An army of Vye’Raith Vyres gathered there. The Black Wake, the Windborne, the Ember Clad, the Virethorn Kin, and the Raith March.

We had made camp just beyond the Liai Mountains, in the Exxon region.

The captains of the Black Wake Talons remained at the mines, establishing a temporary base for further reconnaissance.

I dismounted from Feyre, my Skaerynd. She was a Valkhyn, an ancient breed. Powerful. Precise. Soft white feathers crowned her head and lined her wings, a stark contrast to the rest of her form. The rest of her was all muscle and grace, built like a lioness, her long scaled tail gleaming gold in the fading light, barbed at the tip like a weapon waiting to strike.

She was a beauty.

Her golden beak caught the last rays of the setting sun as we landed.

Arkyn, the high warden of the Ascended Legion, approached, steady and sure. He had been my mentor since the day I chose to become Raithsworn.

“Tell me,” he said, voice low, edged with urgency, “this is what the Vexari have been looking for, isn’t it?”

I exhaled sharply.

“Possibly,” I said. “The Druhellen have sensed something. And it’s ancient.”

“I have a feeling, Lyrra. If am correct in my thinking…”

“You and your feelings, Arkyn. They have us chasing old ghosts.”

“Once we obtain the Oculus,” he said, “you’ll see. I’m chasing something the Vexari have been trying to get their hands on for decades. Longer, I’d wager. Centuries.”

“Regardless, I’ll have the Black Wake Talons stationed at the camps in Xolaria.”

“Excellent.”

Arkyn fell into step beside me, hands clasped behind his back as we walked. He was older now. Long black hair streaked with grey, mahogany skin, deep bronze eyes framed by dark lashes. Eerynian. His ears only subtly pointed, his markings threading blue-black along his arms and hands, up his neck. He always felt like more than a mentor, like a father. But he was also my superior. And so I was bound by oath to follow his command. Always.

“Where are we on finding the Oculus?” I asked. A flicker of unease passed through me.

“Windborne is doing reconnaissance now,” Arkyn replied.

My unease grew.

He glanced at me. “Whatever the Vexari are after, Lyrraveth, you can be sure of one thing. It holds a great power. And the only thing that can find it…”

I exhaled. “An ancient map that can sense magical power, rifts and energies.”

“Exactly,” he said, adjusting his black robes as they fluttered in the wind, his leathers tight and embroidered with waking flames of the Vye’Raiths and the eight symbols of the lost Cryscent Kingdoms on each shoulder.

“The Oculus is a myth, High Warden.”

“Myths are often truths worn thin with time,” Arkyn said. “Passed down, reshaped, exaggerated, romanticized. But never entirely false. These stories speak of the lost Cryscent Kingdoms. Which was, as we all know, a civilization of immense power. Their artifacts, their magistry… unprecedented. Rings of power. Weapons of destruction. Beautiful. Deadly things. Things that have the power to change the course of history.”

His gaze sharpened.

“All lost when the first peoples fled and vanished into hidden realms. Call them myths if you like, but if we dismiss them as mere children’s tales, we lose what they were meant to teach us. That the ancestors did not abandon this realm. That something greater was created to protect us. To aid us in our cause.”

I hummed softly.

“Zahya said whatever lies beneath those mountains feels immensely powerful. But dormant. Almost like it’s sleeping. Jor and Jinsu confirmed it. The Druhellen leaders warned it’s too dangerous to disturb the stone around it.”

“But disturb it, they must,” Arkyn said. “If something like that exists, it cannot be left unguarded.”

“So you want me to convince them to dig. Despite their customs.”

“Yes. Tell them the order comes from me.”

I studied him for a moment.

“And when they uncover something terrible in the Xolarian mountains? We take it and hide it somewhere else?”

“Yes,” he said simply. “We figure out it’s nature. If it is nefarious in its orgins, we make sure it never falls into the wrong hands. That is our purpose. To fight injustice, yes. But also to preserve what remains of Vael’Lorian and Valerion’theil.”

“And stop the Vexari.”

“Stop the Empire,” Arkyn corrected. “The Vexari are only its instrument. They wield faith, blood, and rite in the Emperor’s name.”

“They’re zealots who extort people’s disadvantaged existence,” I said.

“Yes,” he agreed. “And if they ever reclaim any true power of the old kingdoms…”

He let the thought hang.

“It would be used against us. The end of everything we have worked towards.”

I nodded.

“Gather the Black Wake,” Arkyn said. “Make camp near the mines. You may be waiting days. Weeks. Stay there until it’s uncovered.”

“The Druhellen won’t break ground lightly. But… yes, sir.”

“Notify me as soon as they discover what’s down there. Even if what they unearth is Talhmorren itself. Understood?”

I nodded and I made my way to the rest of the Vyres.

*****

“Why are you showing me this?” I asked, back in the darkness, trapped inside my own mind.

Kyeir stood before me, his form made of shadow and void. His face was nothing but darkness, save for those faint, glowing slits of light. His eyes.

They pierced straight through me.

“I still don’t understand how this all came to be.”

He touched my forehead again with a long black claw and I sunk back into the memories. My memories.

*****

The fire burned low, warm and steady, sending only the faintest whisper of smoke into the sky.

It had been weeks. Too many weeks.

The Vyre was restless, worn thin. The Skaerynd even more so.

We had to keep them grounded. Hiding a Vyre was one thing. Hiding dozens of Skaerynd was another entirely. We only launched from the cliffs, keeping our flights low, beneath the tree line until we were far enough out.

Even then, it wasn’t enough.

The D’ral were beginning to suspect something.

Skaerynd were not elusive creatures. They called out in the night, restless for the sky. They longed for open air, for clouds beneath their wings. They ate endlessly and shat more than horses. There was no disguising that kind of presence for long.

We made camp miles out, near the river, sending Talons in rotating watches. Eyes were always on the mines. Scouts moved back and forth, bringing word of the digs, of what was being uncovered.

Thrice, the Druhellen had begged us to let them stop.

They were afraid now. Truly afraid.

The deeper they carved into the mountain, the worse it became. The air turned thick and foul. The tunnels were dark, damp, suffocating. No light. Noxious gases. Vermin and crawling things in the muck. Creatures that should not have been there.

Many had fallen ill. Rats and mice infested the lower veins, carrying sickness through the camps below. It took days to descend and return to the surface.

I felt it. That creeping loss of hope.

And worse… guilt. Heavy and unrelenting in my gut.

I wanted them to stop.

But the deeper they went, the more my strongest Raiths felt it. Whatever lay beneath those mountains was powerful. Ancient. And we could not leave it there. Not for the Vexari to find.

I couldn’t help thinking that when they finally broke through, they would truly have dug straight into Talhmorren deepest hellscapes.

One of the scouts, Bandrom, came running into camp, breathless, wild-eyed. He burst into the canvas tent we had set up as a war room, where we gathered intelligence and mapped out escape routes in case we were discovered.

Because if the Vexari came…

The D’ral we could handle. They were soldiers, yes, but nothing compared to us.

What we could not handle was word reaching the Empire.

We had Raiths watching every road in and out of the region. Any message sent was intercepted, repurposed, or silenced. We tracked every movement. Every visitor.

High-ranking officers. Lords. Occasionally even noblewomen that came from the capital.

Jor and Zahya were inside, deep in discussion over the growing issue of D’ral suspicion. The Druhellen had been digging too deep, too long, and it was starting to draw attention.

I had stepped outside for a moment, needing air. Needing space to think.

Then I heard Bandrom shouting.

A heartbeat later, Jor and Zahya burst from the tent and called for me.

“Lyrra!” Zahya rushed up behind me. “They broke through.”

I shot to my feet and followed her.

Bandrom stood just beyond the firelight, red-faced and struggling to catch his breath.

“Well?” I asked, my tone short, clipped. I was as agitated as the Druhellen scout himself. As the Vyre. “What is it, Band? What did you lot find?”

“You have to come see,” he managed. “Mistress Edrin… she’s asking for you. Begging, actually.”

“Vel’ar… she went down there?” I asked.

Bandrom nodded, still heaving for air. His red hair and beard clung damp to his flushed face.

“We rigged a pulley system,” he said. “Cuts the time it takes to get down there. We had to. We were losing too many to lung infections and other ailments.”

I gave a single, sharp nod.

Jorraine watched me, waiting for his orders.

“Jor, you and I will go. Zahya, gather your talon,” I said. “You’ll accompany us.”

Everyone moved at once. Grabbing what they could, readying blades, checking weapons, calling on their power like we were marching straight into battle.

Because for all we knew… we were.

Whatever lay beneath that mountain, we would meet it prepared.

We had to.

---

Chapter 14

We kept to the trees, moving low along the forest floor, using the cover of night to avoid the D’ral. They maintained a rotating watch along the outskirts of the mines, though “watch” was generous. Most of what they did was harass and beat the Druhellen for sport.

As long as the miners kept producing stone, Cindervein, Drakthar Iron, and rare gems, the D’ral left them alone… mostly.

But every so often, they paraded through. A reminder. A show of power.

If anyone stepped out of line, broke their laws, or simply irritated the wrong soldier, they were made an example of.

We had only witnessed one such incident since arriving. It had taken everything in me not to unleash my entire Vyre on the D’ral.

I had to remember my flare. Flare Vyre Black. I had to stay the course.

Still, it felt like betrayal. To the cause. To who I was.

I hadn’t earned my rank by making careless decisions. But I had earned it by believing in something. In protecting those who needed it. In fighting for the reason they needed protection in the first place.

We moved quickly, slipping into the mountain through a carved entrance along its side. The range stretched across Xolaria into Prostueris, but this peak… this one was different.

It was named for Vundra.

The mother of the Druhellen.

Legend said she was first mountain in creation, carved from the bones of Orun and Tharas themselves. Giant Gods. The surrounding peaks bore the names of their eight children, each tied to old, bloody tales of war, power, and Vel’ariin provocation.

Inside, the mountain swallowed us whole.

It was dark, lit only by faint rune-torch lights cast by Druhellen magicks and the creatures that lived within. Bugs. Rodents. Things that glowed with an eerie blue light. Even the Druhellen seemed unsettled by it.

This place was wrong.

Ancient.

Powerful.

It felt like walking through the husk of an abandoned temple, something once touched by the Vel’ariin. Zyna. Bereus. Vel’ar of the old kingdoms.

And I could feel it.

I shouldn’t have been able to. I was of men, after all.

But I felt it with terrifying clarity.

Cold flooded my veins. My skin prickled. The stone itself seemed alive. Warm. Pulsing. Breathing.

A deep, humming energy vibrated through the walls, through my bones.

And then that same awareness crept in.

That something about this… about me… was being hidden.

Buried.

I struggled to stay present. To hold onto the memory before it slipped away again.

We followed the main tunnel until it opened into a steep drop that vanished into black.

A crude pulley system had been rigged along the edge. A basket hung suspended over the void.

That was our way down.

“Blimey… we’re meant to get in that?” Zahya muttered, peering over the edge.

More Druhellen gathered as we approached. Those working the upper levels paused, hauling carts of gems, Cindervein, Drakthar Iron along the tracks, watching us carefully.

No D’ral ventured inside the mountain. They stayed in the open air, where they held control. Down here… this belonged to the Druhellen.

Bandrom nodded toward the drop. “Mistress Edrin’s waiting below.”

I stared into the dark.

Then shook my head once.

“We go down,” I said to Jor and Zahya, and her Talon, Graveborn. The four of them—Rilka, Korr, Melleth, and Shade.

“You four stay here. Keep the entrance clear. You have your runes in place?”

They all nodded.

The Vye’Raiths used an ancient system of communication in battle known as the Silent Flame. Old runes, passed down from the Crescent Kingdoms, etched or bound to the skin before battle. Their armies had once been renowned for it. Each sigil formed a link. Talon to leader. Leader to Warden. Warden to shadow sword. Orders could be given without a word. Mind to mind when needed, though only in brief bursts. The runes held for days.

Similar bindings tied rider to Skaerynd.

I bore six Alynir marks along my arm. Interwoven lines, knotted in patterns with no beginning and no end. They allowed for short pulses of connection.

One for Feyre, to call her to me.

One for each of my Talon leaders, to send warnings.

And one for Jor, my shadow sword. My lieutenant.

To take command if I fell.

“Notify Zahya immediately if any D’ral enter the mountain,” I said.

They nodded again.

Melleth and Shade took position at the drop. Rilka and Korr moved to guard the entrance.

I drew in a steady breath as we stepped into the hanging basket, suspended by a thick rope threaded through a pulley carved into the stone above.

Jor and Zahya joined me.

Bandrom gave us a nod and then we dropped.

Fast.

The sensation was like falling from the sky, something I knew too well from flying with a Skaerynd. But this… this felt longer. Heavier. Like the mountain itself was pulling us down.

We fell for what felt like minutes before the basket jolted to a stop.

From there, we were greeted by more Druhellen miners. We followed them as they moved us through a maze of narrow passageways, twisting deeper into the mountain until we reached another lift. This one smaller. Tighter.

“Vel’ar,” Jor muttered. “I’ll never curse open air again.”

“Did you ever?” Zahya chuckled.

“Only when the weather turned sour.”

“So… every day,” I smirked.

“Only in these Vel’ariin forsaken lands,” he said, as he nodded.

We descended again, slower this time. The basket scraping against rough stone as it lowered, the tunnel pressing in around us.

The air grew thick. Harder to breathe.

When we reached the bottom, one of the miners guiding us turned to us. “Nepili ants. Gyp worms. They release a noxious gas. You’ll need to cover your mouths. Too much of it will kill you.”

Jor muttered, “Bloody hate worms…” under his breath.

We all pulled on our leather masks, fastening them behind our heads, they held tight along our jawlines. Breathing became harder still.

The power in the mountain grew, and the deeper we went… the stronger it became.

It pressed in on me. A low hum at first, then a ringing in my ears.

I shook my head, trying to steady myself.

Tried to make sure no one noticed.

We followed the tunnel downward until it opened into a wider chamber. Druhellen filled the space, their faces, clothes, and hands caked in muck and dust. Strips of linen were tied across the lower halves of their faces, filtering the foul air.

They clustered tightly around a small breach in the stone wall, each one straining for a glimpse of whatever lay beyond.

Haletha and her husband, Theryx, stood among them.

They saw us.

And stepped forward.

“You should not be down here,” I said to Haletha. “It’s too dangerous. What would become of your people if they lost you… their matriarch?”

“That’s what I told her,” Theryx grumbled, his voice rough. “But if she won’t listen to me, she sure as Orun won’t listen to you, Raith.”

“Oh, stop,” Haletha snapped, though there was no real bite in it. A strip of sheer linen was tied around the lower half of her face. “I needed to see it for myself. What my people are bleeding, suffering, and dying for.”

“What is it?” Jor asked through his mask, his voice low and muffled.

Zahya was already peering through the opening, frozen. Her eyes were wide, like she’d seen a ghost.

Theryx let out a long, frustrated sigh.

“Have a look for yourself,” he said, motioning with his pickaxe toward the hole in the mountain wall.

“Vel’ar. Oionia be merciful…” Zahya breathed, stepping aside.

I moved forward and looked through the opening.

And there…

On the other side…

Was something I never thought I would see in my lifetime.

A dragyn.

Alive.

Breathing.

Sleeping.

It was massive. As large as the mountain itself.

I closed my eyes for a moment and whispered a silent prayer to the Va’lar, Oionia, myself.

No one had seen or spoken of a dragyn since the fall of the Cryscent Kingdoms. If one still lived… there was no telling what else lay beyond it.

“Have you told your people?” I asked Haletha quietly.

“Of course not,” she said. “Only a few know. Those in this room. It would cause panic. And if the D’ral learn of it, they will tell the Empire.”

“Dragyns are extinct,” Jor muttered. “This… this can’t be.”

“It’s sleeping,” Theryx said. “We sent Bira in to scout the cavern on the other side. He’s our smallest. It hasn’t stirred. Not once. And we weren’t exactly quiet down here.”

“Vel’ariin…” I breathed again, my hand pressing against my mask as my heart hammered in my chest.

“There’s so much magick here,” Zahya said, her voice hushed. “Old. Ancient.”

She paused as if listening. To what I had no idea.

“It won’t wake. It can’t. That’s what we’ve been feeling. The dormant power. The sleeping presence.”

She shook her head slowly.

“But there’s something else in there. Something darker. The dragyn… it’s only a guardian of sorts.”

That settled like ice in my bones.

I exhaled, rubbing my forehead. “Seven hells in Tahlmorren…”

Everyone turned to look at me, caught off guard by the crude curse.

“Forgive me,” I said quickly, then glanced to Theryx. “You said you sent a scout?”

He nodded.

“Has he come back?”

A pause.

Then he shook his head.

My jaw tightened. Jor felt it, even if he couldn’t see it through the mask.

“Lyrra,” he said quietly. “You can’t go in there.”

“She’s the only one who should,” Zahya countered. “She’s of men. The dragyn won’t react to her. And whatever’s inside might not either.”

“That may be,” Jor shot back, “but if we survive this, I’d rather not be beaten to death by a certain Eerynian male.”

I huffed out a breath.

“Enough,” I snapped. “It’s settled. I’m going in.”

I looked to Theryx. “I’ll need a torch. I can’t see in the dark with magick torches like the rest of you.”

He nodded sharply. “Get her a torch light. Now.”

As one of the miners rushed off, I turned to Zahya.

“While I’m inside, send word. Rilka can go to the other Talons at the camp and get word to Arkyn.”

“We don’t know what’s in there yet,” she countered.

“We know there’s an extinct creature under a mountain,” I said. “Sleeping. Held by some kind of magic. That’s enough for now. The rest, we’ll figure out.”

She nodded, then caught my arm before I could move.

“Lyrra… be careful,” she said, her voice low. “And come back in one piece. I’m not losing my oldest friend to some Vel’ariin cursed dragyn.”

I met her gaze.

“It’ll take more than an ancient beast to take me out, Zay.”

“And there you go,” she shot back, “proving how ‘of men’ you truly are. That kind of hubris will get you killed, Quinnie.”

I turned to Jor, giving him a look.

Zahya gave a small, reluctant nod, then stepped away.

“If anything goes wrong…” I said, my voice steady, “get the Black Wake out. All of them.”

“Official orders, Warden?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He let out a quiet sigh.

“Fine.”

A miner pressed a torch into my hand.

I took it.

And turned toward the opening.

---

Chapter 15

With the help of two Druhellen males, I squeezed through the opening. I barely fit. My hips caught on the stone, forcing me to twist and exhale just to slip through. I unbuckled my belt and left my sword behind, along with several daggers from my vest.

The cavern beyond was massive.

Dark.

Black as night. Like a void carved into the mountain itself. Outside of time. Outside of space.

The dragyn’s breathing was steady. Hot. Each exhale sent a plume of steam curling from its nostrils, dampening the air around it. Moisture clung to the stone, dripping slowly, as if the cavern itself sweated in its presence.

My heart hammered in my chest like a drum. My ears strained, searching for any sound beyond its breath. The ringing in my head dulled but never fully faded, a constant hum beneath everything. The mountain’s energy still pulsed around me. Alive. Watching. Waiting.

I raised my torch. It offered little light in such vast darkness, but it was enough.

Enough to see it.

Green and black scales stretched across its immense body, rising and falling with each breath. Its massive wings curled tightly around itself, as though guarding something even in sleep. Its horned head was both regal and terrifying, resting in a way that still carried the promise of violence.

The cavern yawned wide and deep around it. The beast lay upon a strange bed of gyp worms, rodents, rock, and melted Drakthar Iron.

“Bira,” I called softly.

My voice echoed.

Nothing answered.

“Bira,” I tried again, louder this time.

Still nothing.

“Vel’ar, Lyrra,” Jor’s voice snapped from the opening, a harsh whisper. “Do you have a death wish? Are you trying to meet the Vel’ar of Death?”

I glanced back at the dragyn.

Still sleeping.

“Zahya was right,” I said quietly. “It’s being held in some kind of suspended state. It sleeps. Indefinitely.”

I reached out, pressing my hand against its scaled side. Its ribs rose beneath my palm. The heat was staggering. Alive. Undeniably alive.

“That’s what I found as well.”

I turned. A small, dark-haired Druhellen male approached me, dressed in green and brown.

“It doesn’t wake,” he said. “I’ve thrown stones. Larger each time. Nothing stirs it.”

“You’re a brave one,” I said.

He gave a small nod.

“We can bring in more light,” he added. “Inspect the cavern properly.”

“Do it.”

Chapter 15

Hours later, the opening had been widened enough for most to pass through. The mining was cautious, slow, but effective. Jor and Zahya stood beside me now as the cavern filled with torchlight.

It was enormous.

The dragyn remained asleep.

A fact that was equal parts comfort… and terror.

Because if something like this could be made to sleep, I didn’t want to know what could wake it.

“Warden,” Theryx called. “Come.”

I moved past the dragyn, careful with each step. Gyp worm remains littered the cavern floor, their nests clinging to the stone. Thick, glistening masses hung from the ceiling and pooled in the corners, reeking and noxious.

“What is it?” I asked as I approached him and the cluster of miners gathered nearby.

He pointed ahead.

A doorway.

Carved directly into the stone.

The archway was etched with markings. Ancient. Worn. Glyphs and sigils twisted together in a language long forgotten.

“Druhen?” I asked. Jor and Zahya came up behind me.

“Aye,” Theryx said. “But also Eerynian and Vyeth. It’s old. Older than anything I’ve seen. I can’t read it to save my life, but… I recognize pieces.”

“What do you recognize?” Zahya asked.

He let out a slow breath.

“Dark. Sight. Be wary.” He shook his head. “That’s all I’ve got.”

“Can we take an impression?” I asked. “Parchment, charcoal. Something we can send to Arkyn. He may know the Eerynian and Vyeth.”

“Aye.”

He motioned to one of the Druhellen miners. She nodded and hurried off with a few others to gather supplies.

I had already sent word to Arkyn. His response had been simple.

Keep on.

So here we were. Keeping on.

“So,” I said, glancing between them, “we’re assuming whatever the dragyn is guarding lies beyond those doors?”

Zahya nodded slowly. “I can feel it. It’s in there.”

“Brilliant,” Jor muttered. “And what exactly is it?”

“I don’t know,” Zahya admitted. “It’s… shrouded. Like it was never meant to be found.”

“Well,” Jor said dryly, “buried beneath the mother of all mountains in Xolari, behind ancient wards and a sleeping dragyn… It’s no mere trinket from the old kingdoms, that is for certain.”

I nodded. The unease had settled into me, constant and unrelenting. It sat in my chest like a blade lodged too deep to pull free. Every breath felt heavier because of it.

The mask filtered the noxious fumes, but it did little to ease the weight pressing in on me.

We needed to get back up to the surface soon.

Stay too long, and we’d fall ill. Or worse… lose ourselves entirely.

“What in the bloody hell are we supposed to do with such a beast?” Jinsu said as he came up behind us.

“Who let you in here?” Jor shot back with a grin.

“We’re getting restless up top,” Jinsu said. “I came to see it for myself. Word’s already spreading through camp. You couldn’t have kept me away with every Skaerynd we’ve got.”

Jor laughed.

“It’s an incredibly beautiful beast,” Jinsu went on, eyes fixed on the dragyn. “My gran back home used to tell stories about them. About the riders of Drav’Khareth.”

“Bloody legends,” Jor added.

“That’s what we do with it,” I said. “We get it back to the old breeding grounds in Dravenhal.”

“How?”

“That,” I said, “I haven’t figured out yet. Because if we wake it, it’ll take this entire Vel’ariin mountain with it.”

Jor and Jinsu both nodded.

“So if we do wake it… one of us might have to—”

“What?” Jor cut in.

“Ride it,” Jinsu said, a slow smirk spreading across his face.

I nodded.

“Seven hells of Tahlmorren,” Jor muttered. “Not me. I refuse.”

“You’re the only one here who’s Eerynian,” Zahya sing-songed, looking up from her work making impressions of the carvings and runes along the arc way of the stone doors.

He shook his head. “My people are from Ysvarra, not Dravenhal. No bloody way.”

“I mean…” Jinsu said, still grinning. “I’d do it if my ancestors did.”

Jor let out a sigh.

“No, you wouldn’t. You’re just being insufferable. You spend too much time with Kael.”

---

Chapter 16

I left the mountain’s belly and returned to base camp, covered in mud and grime. When I made it back to Hollowward, the Raith fort in the southern territories, I would need the longest bath of my life.

Jor came with me. We retreated to our tents at once, exhausted, worn, and sore to the bone.

Zahya had insisted on staying below. Jinsu took over watch, assisting her in the depths.

The pulse of the mountain left me depleted in a way I didn’t recognize. Raw.

It wasn’t just physical. It ran deeper than that. Like something inside me had been shaken loose… like my soul itself had been battered within my chest.

Even standing at base camp, looking back at it, that sense of knowing, foreboding and dark, clung to me. It hadn’t stayed behind in the tunnels. It had followed me out. Settled into my bones like a warning. Like a message I couldn’t yet understand.

I feared what lay beyond those doors.

Which meant Arkyn was right. Whatever was down there was dangerous. Nefarious. And if it ever fell into the hands of the Vexari…

We were doomed.

It had to be removed. Hidden. Guarded somewhere no one would ever find it again.

Forever.

I stepped into my tent and began pulling off my boots. It felt like I’d been born wearing them. The skin beneath was raw where the leather had rubbed and cut into me.

I was moments from removing my daggers and leathers, when the flaps of my tent burst open.

Cask stumbled in, breathless.

“Cask, Vel’ar,” I snapped, hand flying to the sword at my side. I had been half a breath from driving it into him. “You don’t burst into a woman’s tent like that. What if I’d been stripped to my corset?”

“My apologies, Warden,” he said quickly. “But I have an urgent message from Renn.”

“Then out with it,” I said, retying my boot as I stood.

“Vexari,” he said, dragging in a breath.

“What?”

“We intercepted…” He bent slightly, catching his breath. Cask was part of the Black Wake’s Second Talon, Duskhollow. His Talon leader, Renn, was still out with the rest of them, watching the roads and intercepting any communication moving in and out of the mines. “A D’ral soldier. Speaking with a member of the Vexari Order. Northwest side of the mountain. Near the cliffs.”

“Vel’ar,” I spat. “Do you have the D’ral they were speaking with?”

He nodded. “Renn and the others have him. In a cave nearby. Where we found him.”

“Good,” I said, already moving. “Take me to him.”

Moments later, I stood along the northwestern cliffs of the mountain ridge.

Renn approached through the trees, silent as shadow. His bearded face was set, stern. Sharp fangs showed beneath his lip, his tusks cut and filed down. Old scars marked his skin, each one a story he’d never tell. His green eyes burned, sharp and alert beneath the shadow of his black hood.

A proud Tharn. A male who had seen too much… and lost even more.

Renn was a master of interception. He knew the language of forests and the land as if they were part of him. He could track anyone, anything. He understood the quiet language of the trees, the subtle shifts between leaf and moss, the signs most would never notice.

Messages never reached their destination if Renn stood in their path.

He moved like something carved from the woods themselves, shaped by the land and all that understands its beauty and secrets, driven by the Raithsworn oath he had taken at a young age, just like the rest of us.

“Warden,” he said flatly as he reached me near the edge of a sheer rock cut that dropped into nothing.

I gave him a nod.

“What do you have?”

“A D’ral soldier,” he said. “He was meeting with a Vexari priestess.”

My jaw tightened.

“They’ve grown aware of our interceptions,” Renn continued. “They’ve started using other methods. Not just crows or runners. We suspected as much. Now we know.”

He led me a short distance to where the prisoner was held.

The D’ral was on his knees, bound and gagged, held in place by his arms and shoulders, by three members of the Talon. Daelra. Lazrin. Nemi. He thrashed and spat, choking on curses behind the gag.

I studied him, detached.

Then knelt.

Up close, he looked hollow. Worn down. His face was caked in dirt and sweat, his eyes sunken and unfocused. He reeked of drink and the acrid smoke of Blackleaf. Morveth vine.

Highly addictive. It dulled the senses, stripped away fear, and left something sharper in its place. Aggression. Detachment.

The D’ral were conscripts. Forced into service, then left to rot within it. Instead of rising against it, most turned cruel. They drank. They smoked. And they brutalized. Took their anger out on anyone weaker.

It didn’t make them innocent.

I met his eyes.

“What did you get out of him?” I asked, studying his face. He looked young. No more than twenty-four summers.

“They know about the digging,” Renn said. “About what’s in the mountain’s heart.”

Something cold and sharp slid through me.

This changed everything.

We had been careful. Methodical. Over five thousand Druhellen lived in that camp. Families. Children. If we rushed this…

We wouldn’t just lose the mountain.

We’d lose all of them.

I stood, running a hand through my hair.

“Fuck.”

I shook my head, already thinking three steps ahead.

“How?”

Renn’s expression darkened.

“There’s a mole,” he said. “Inside the Druhellen camp.”

Of course there was.

“Someone feeding them information,” he continued. “For coin. Or protection. Maybe to spare their family.”

I exhaled slowly.

Renn nodded.

“Did the Vexari see any of you?”

He shook his head.

“Small mercies.”

“Are you certain it was a priestess?”

“Yes. She wore the red robes and the mask of Revyr’s maid. Had the markings on her hands. She disappeared into a murder of crows,” he said, his voice low and husky.

I stilled. “Not just crows… a rift?”

He nodded once.

“Fuck.”

“Yes.”

I turned to Cask. “Find Jor. Tell him to get the Black Wake ready to move. We start evacuation immediately. Every last Druhellen. Mothers and children first. I want every available Raith on it.”

The others nodded, already shifting into motion.

“Where are you going?” Renn asked.

I rolled my neck, feeling the tension coil there.

“I’m going back into the mountain,” I said. “And I’m going to wake a bloody dragon.”

A beat.

“And remove whatever’s in there. We need to get it the hell out of here before the Vexari come for it.”

Their expressions tightened.

“Prepare for the worst. Understood?”

A chorus of nods.

“What do we do with him?” Daelra asked, jerking her chin toward the D’ral.

I looked down at the man.

“Feed him to the Skaerynd,” I said flatly.

A few of the Raiths chuckled.

The D’ral thrashed, terror breaking through the haze of drink and smoke.

Skaerynd didn’t eat men.

But he didn’t know that.

He would live. As a prisoner. If any of us survived the coming night.