The next morning passed in a strange stillness.
Nathan stood by the window in his assigned quarters, watching sunlight crawl across the courtyard.
He hadn't really slept. The moment he closed his eyes, he saw that thing again—its obsidian limbs, the low echo of its breath before it vanished into the dark. Whatever it was, it had chosen to leave.
Which meant it could've chosen not to.
He gripped the windowsill until his knuckles ached.
Downstairs, the mess hall was half-empty. Theo sat alone, poking absently at a bowl of oats like it had insulted him. When he spotted Nathan, he raised a spoon in salute.
"Congratulations," Theo muttered. "We're officially off the menu."
Nathan sat across from him. "You sleep?"
Theo shook his head. "Tried. Every squirrel in a bush sounded like a Scarspawn."
"Same."
A beat of silence passed before Theo asked, "You think it knew we were watching it?"
Nathan didn't answer right away. "It moved like it didn't care."
"Worse," Theo muttered. "Moved like it was measuring us."
Nathan stared down at his hands. The bruises from his last fight were mostly gone, but something deeper lingered—a quiet, crawling unease he couldn't shake.
Later that afternoon, Arlen found them on the sparring grounds.
"You two look like statues," he said, tossing a pair of practice staffs onto the ground. "Time to move."
"We're off duty," Theo reminded him.
"You're off mission. Doesn't mean you sit around and rot." He smirked. "Unless you want to."
Nathan stood without a word, picking up one of the staffs.
They trained until sweat soaked their collars and the sun dipped behind the buildings. Nothing fancy—just motion, reaction, rhythm. A way to keep the mind from spiraling.
As dusk settled, Theo stretched out on a bench, arms behind his head. "Still no reports?"
Arlen shook his head. "Scouts haven't returned. Sirah's not saying much."
Nathan frowned. "That's not good."
"Nope," Arlen agreed. "But quiet isn't always bad. Just means we don't know how bad it is yet."
Nathan didn't respond. He stared out over the walls of the outpost, toward the woods in the distance. .
Nathan glanced once more at the orb before they left the hall, its surface still tinged with a faint, pulsing red.
The corridors of the Order's outpost felt quieter than usual. Lanterns burned low. Most mercenaries and knights had already turned in for the night or were busy readying for whatever came next. Word would spread fast—about the beast, about the trail of broken trees and crushed stone, and the red shimmer no one wanted to acknowledge aloud.
Nathan moved through the halls beside Theo without saying much.
"Guess we're famous now," Theo said after a while. "Next time we step outside, someone's gonna hand us a monster-slaying medal. Or throw us back out there with a broken map and half a sword."
Nathan snorted. "Let's hope it's the medal."
They reached their rooms and paused. Theo gave a half-hearted salute. "Sleep while you can. Whatever we walked into out there—it wasn't a one-time thing."
Nathan nodded.
He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The room was modest—just a bed, a desk, and a window that overlooked a narrow alley—but it was quiet. Safe.
He sat at the edge of the bed, unfastened the silver-threaded emblem from his belt, and stared at it for a long moment.
Even if he wasn't technically bound by the Code… the weight of the symbol pressed down all the same.
He thought about using Nova. Threadstone. How easy it would've been to erase that thing from the forest with a single strike, to melt away its monstrous edge before it ever touched them. To protect everyone. But showing that? In front of Theo? In front of the Order?
He couldn't risk it.
Not yet.
He slipped the emblem onto the nightstand and laid back, arms folded behind his head. Outside, a bell rang in the distance—changing of the watch.
And far beyond the city walls, in the forest where moonlight touched only ash and ruin, something stirred again.
Its breath fogged the night air. It remembered the scent.
It remembered him.