Kaelion heard the scream before he saw the thing that made it.
It wasn't human. Not anymore.
A twisted shape burst from the fog—twice the size of a man, hunched and spined like a wolf made from splintered bone and melted sigils. It skittered on too many limbs, each joint bent backward, its skin split in places to reveal glowing Spiral veins underneath. Spirals moved beneath the surface like trapped lightning. It didn't breathe—it hissed, a sound too ancient for lungs.
Nyro lunged first.
The spirit-wolf collided with the beast mid-leap, jaws snapping at its throat. The creature shrieked—a sound like metal tearing—and threw Nyro across the clearing like a ragdoll. He slammed into a tree, bark splintering, and didn't get back up immediately.
Kaelion moved without thinking.
He ducked as a claw slashed where his head had been, then rolled across a moss-covered root and fired a burst of Spiral energy from his palm.
The shot hit—but barely staggered it. The creature twisted unnaturally mid-fall and landed upright, its limbs twitching like puppet strings cut and restrung.
Wren shouted his name. He didn't hear the words. Only the fear in her voice. It cut through the roar in his ears like a bell.
The Bonewoken creature charged.
Kaelion raised his hand again—and this time, the Spiral responded on its own.
A pulse shot through his chest. His eyes flared gold. Symbols carved themselves into the air around his fingertips. The runes shimmered, hovering in concentric rings.
He didn't cast the spell. It cast through him.
A spiraling shockwave of raw force erupted from his palm and threw the creature back, cracking trees as it went. Roots tore. Ash burst from the impact. Even Wren was knocked back a step.
The air around Kaelion shimmered. His breath fogged. His veins lit up like molten rootwork.
And the Spiral mark on his arm curled higher.
Nyro staggered back to his feet, growling, one leg dragging slightly.
The Bonewoken howled, the sound splitting into two different pitches like it had two throats. It lunged again—this time faster. Angrier. It left black ichor in its wake, steaming where it touched the ground.
Kaelion met it halfway.
He didn't remember the details. Only flashes.
Claws raking his shoulder. Bone glancing off his ribs. Wren's voice crying out. Nyro biting into the thing's hind leg. Kaelion screaming—not from pain, but from the Spiral's voice forcing its way into his skull.
More.
Let me through.
I can end this.
It bit into his side, and he felt ribs crack. The stench of rot and burning bone flooded his senses. He slammed his elbow into its eye socket, summoned another sigil with his off-hand, and unleashed a spiral burst straight into its mouth. It convulsed, shrieking, its face splitting along jagged seams.
He felt the urge to give in. Let the Spiral take full hold. Just for a second.
Instead, he reached deep—and resisted.
The Spiral recoiled, furious. But it obeyed.
The resulting burst of Spiral magic scorched the clearing. Runes flared around him, some ancient, some completely new—never written before. They bent the air. Warped the silence. The creature howled in agony as its flesh unraveled, falling to cinders that shimmered like cursed snow.
When it was over, he stood over the body.
The thing lay broken, its twisted body slowly cracking apart into ash and bone fragments. Spiral glyphs glowed faintly in its ribs before fading.
Kaelion swayed.
Then collapsed to his knees.
Wren caught him before he hit the ground.
"You're burning up," she whispered, pressing a hand to his temple. His skin felt fevered, like fire buried just under the surface.
His voice was barely audible. "It moved without me. I didn't… I didn't control it."
"I know."
She didn't say more.
She just held him.
The Spiral on his skin pulsed once.
Then went still.
For now.
The silence that followed was dense, like the forest itself was holding its breath. Wren helped Kaelion sit against the base of a tree. He winced as his shoulder met bark, blood soaking through his sleeve.
Nyro limped toward them and curled protectively at Kaelion's side.
Wren inspected the clearing—ruined trees, scorched earth, bone fragments turning to dust. The Spiral magic was changing the land. Twisting it.
She crouched beside Kaelion. "That thing—it wasn't just born. It was built."
Kaelion blinked slowly. "Someone… made it?"
Wren nodded grimly. "Spiral magic. Bonecraft. Ritual bindings. I've seen it before—in old Archive sketches. Forbidden warwork. It's not supposed to exist anymore."
Kaelion's gaze darkened. "Then someone's using the Spiral for more than power."
"They're using it for weapons."
They were quiet a moment, the crackle of burned leaves the only sound.
Then Kaelion whispered, "It wasn't just rage. That thing… it was hunting."
Wren froze.
Kaelion looked up, voice heavy. "I think it was tracking me."
Wren's lips parted like she wanted to speak—but no words came.
She sat down beside him, letting the silence stretch.
"I didn't even want this power," Kaelion said finally, his voice barely above a rasp. "I didn't ask for it."
Wren tilted her head. "But you have it. And now, someone else is trying to use it against you."
Kaelion turned to face her. "Do you think it's Lysandra?"
Wren didn't answer right away. She glanced toward the northern trees, where the fog never cleared. "If it is… then she's closer than we thought."
Kaelion looked down at his hands. They were still glowing faintly, the Spiral not yet faded. He clenched them into fists.
"She's not going to stop."
"No," Wren said. "She's not."
The wind stirred again, carrying the scent of scorched wood and something fouler beneath it—old blood, stale magic, and fear.
Kaelion shut his eyes. "Then neither can we."
In the shadows just beyond the clearing, something else stirred.
A second Bonewoken—smaller, sleeker, eyes glinting violet—watched from the underbrush. Its gaze locked on Kaelion's trembling form, and its ears twitched as if listening to a distant voice.
It turned. And ran.
Not toward Kaelion.
But away.
Silent as fog, swift as hate.
Toward the Gate.
Toward someone who had been waiting.
Someone who had made it.