The forest around them changed again—but not like before. Not slowly. Not silently. This change crept in like smoke under a door: quiet, poisonous, and swift.
Kaelion felt it first, the Spiral mark warming like a coal pressed too close to the skin.
"We're being followed," he said.
Wren didn't argue. She was already drawing her blade.
Nyro growled low, ears flat, nose tilted toward the breeze that carried something sharp and bitter.
A scent Kaelion knew too well now.
Burned bone.
"Lysandra?" Wren asked.
Kaelion shook his head slowly. "No. But something of hers."
Behind them, the forest was quiet—too quiet.
Umbrix stirred in the back of Kaelion's mind.
"You feel it too, don't you?" Kaelion asked silently.
"Mmm. Something crawling this way. Too sharp to be wild, too clumsy to be natural. One of her Wroughtlings, maybe."
"How many?"
"One... for now. But it smells like bait. Or a scout."
Kaelion cursed under his breath.
They picked up the pace.
The path narrowed into a gulley, stone walls curling up around them like ribs. Moss coated everything—except for a narrow trail of fresh, wet footprints that shimmered with black residue.
Spiral-warped.
Wren crouched beside one, frowning. "Still warm."
Kaelion crouched next to her. "It knows where we're going."
Wren looked up, eyes narrowing. "Then maybe it's time we stop running from it."
Kaelion met her gaze, a slow grin spreading. "A trap?"
"Or an invitation."
They moved quickly, splitting off down a side trail Wren had marked earlier with a subtle Spiral sigil—something only those bonded to the Spiral would notice. Nestled in a thicket of crumbling rock and fallen trees, she activated the second phase of her plan.
Glyphs etched into hidden roots flared dimly. A spiral-shaped charge was buried beneath a shallow cover of leaves. Kaelion reinforced the perimeter with three quick arcane bursts, layering runes over tree trunks to form a magical kill-box. Nyro, still limping, positioned himself across from the approach path, hidden and silent.
Kaelion whispered, "Ready?"
Wren's eyes flicked to the shadows. "Now we wait."
From the distance, branches cracked.
Then came the sound—wet and jagged. Like meat dragged over gravel. A hiss. A low, rasping breath that tasted like scorched iron.
It stepped into view.
The creature was seven feet tall at least, spindly and hunched. Its limbs were too long, fingers tipped in claws that clicked like knives across bark. Its face was a stretched patchwork of bone and flesh, and beneath the skin, Spiral glyphs pulsed like veins.
A jagged smile split its jaw.
And it spoke in a voice like splintered glass.
"Heeere, little seal..."
Kaelion tensed.
It crept forward, sniffing the air.
Then Wren let the first trigger snap.
A rune-lit tripwire snapped beneath the creature's foot, flaring in pale blue light. It reeled back—just in time for Kaelion to throw the first sigil.
A disc of Spiral force exploded against its chest, hurling it backward through a curtain of roots—and right into the real trap.
The glyph-laced roots lit up in sequence, forming a glowing spiral that burst upward in a column of pure light and heat. The Wroughtling screamed—its voice fractured into multiple tones—and flailed, claws slashing wildly through the fire.
But it wasn't done.
It split.
Its chest peeled open like a flower of ribs and tendons. A second set of arms unfurled. Its spine elongated, reshaping into something closer to a serpent. Eyes bloomed across its back, all of them unblinking and burning red.
"Kael!" Wren shouted, ducking as the creature lashed out with a whip-like arm.
Kaelion dove to the side, rolled, and slammed his palm into the ground.
A shockwave of Spiral energy erupted beneath the creature's feet, destabilizing its balance. Nyro lunged from the shadows, sinking his teeth into the exposed back joint and ripping a tendon free.
The creature screeched, and its body twisted unnaturally to hurl Nyro away—straight into Kaelion.
They both hit the ground hard.
Kaelion winced, cradling the wolf as Wren leapt over them, blade catching the spiral light. She jammed the sword deep into the creature's flank, twisting it with a cry.
It roared and grabbed her by the throat.
Kaelion's eyes burned gold.
He raised both hands.
The Spiral flared through his body and into the air—sigils coalescing in a wide ring around him.
"Now, Umbrix!"
"Let's melt this monster."
Kaelion's spell collapsed inward like a black hole.
Then exploded.
Light, sound, and pressure obliterated the Wroughtling in a single, crushing pulse. Its body shattered into shards of burning bone and ash.
Silence fell.
Smoke drifted up through the trees.
Wren lay on the ground, coughing, but alive. Kaelion helped her sit up, then staggered to check Nyro.
The wolf was breathing. Injured, but awake.
Kaelion sat back, heart hammering against his ribs, and stared into the smoke. He could still hear the creature's fragmented voice echoing through his head. It hadn't been random. It had known his name. It had wanted him to hear it.
Wren wiped blood from her mouth. "That thing was more than a scout."
Kaelion nodded. "It was a message."
She looked at the smoldering spiral where the trap had burned into the ground. "Think she got it?"
Kaelion stood slowly and picked up the remains of the mask the creature had dragged in—cracked now, half-melted.
"She got it."
Umbrix whispered in the back of his mind, quieter than usual.
"She knows you're here. And now... she's coming herself."
Kaelion crouched beside the scorched remains. The Spiral mark on his arm throbbed once, a slow and heavy beat. Wren stepped beside him, and Nyro limped close.
For a moment, none of them spoke.
The silence wasn't peace.
It was a warning.
And the forest was listening.
Kaelion exhaled through his teeth, flexing his fingers as a slow burn crawled up his forearm.
Wren noticed. "The mark again?"
He nodded. "It's... different now. Stronger. Like it's not just reacting—it's reaching."
Umbrix chuckled faintly in his mind. "Welcome to the deep end, sunshine."
Kaelion closed his eyes, centering himself as the Spiral mark flickered like coals under his skin.
"Whatever's next," he muttered, "we meet it on our terms."
Wren's hand brushed the hilt of her sword. "Then we keep moving."
And they did—vanishing into the trees as the wind shifted behind them, carrying with it the scent of smoke, ash, and something ancient.
Something waiting.