The sky was still bruised with morning when they reached the plains. Mist clung low, veiling the broken landscape in silence. Their cart rocked to a halt beside a wind-worn grove of brush and low stone. Nothing marked the burial site but grass, wind, and a memory Vel had gotten slightly wrong.
“Here?” Wren asked, squinting at the uneven rise.
Vel shook his head, jaw tight. “Close. Might’ve been more west.”
They split up, boots crunching frost-stiff grass. Castlewood torches remained unlit, tucked in bundles along the cart rail. The wind stirred lightly—dry, cold. From somewhere unseen, a wolf howled, long and distant.
“Lovely,” Chavi muttered. “Not even breakfast and we’ve got company.”
They searched for hours. The sun climbed slow, burning off the mist. They combed the slopes, overturned stone, checked old landmarks. Nothing felt right—until Vel caught the edge of a strange formation, half-sunk beneath scree and tangled root. He knelt, brushed dirt aside, and found the pale shimmer of Cloudstone beneath.
“This is it,” he said.
Wren crouched beside him. “Took long enough.”
They set to work.
By midday, the trench was waist-deep. The stone glinted faintly beneath the loose earth, but it wasn’t giving easily. Sweat streaked their backs. The cart’s shadow turned sharply with the sun. Torches were driven into the dirt in a wide ring—still unlit, just in case.
By late afternoon, Vel motioned to light them. The smoke of castlewood rose pale and sweet. A blue haze circled the site, unnatural and sharp on the nose.
“Burns long,” Chavi said, wiping his brow.
“And hot,” Vel replied. “Just hope it’s enough.”
They kept digging. The stone was thicker than Vel remembered, stubborn as bedrock. Every time they scraped another edge clear, it seemed to sink deeper. Like it didn’t want to be taken.
The wolves came back around dusk.
Two at first. Then four. Then six.
They paced just outside the ring of smoke, their shapes barely more than shadows. Heads low. Watching.
Vel scanned the horizon. “Keep the torches hot. Don’t let them flicker.”
Chavi added more resin. Wren struck a fresh flint. The wolves didn’t move. Just circled.
The day dragged long. Every shovel stroke sounded louder. The Cloudstone stayed lodged. Sweat ran into their eyes. The torches hissed low.
“They’re creeping closer,” Wren said.
Vel tested the stone again. Still wedged.
“We’re not ready,” he muttered. “Back it in.”
“We’re giving up?” Chavi asked.
Vel’s voice was sharp. “We’re surviving.”
Then—a growl. Close.
A blur of fur burst through the haze. Chavi shouted, swinging a torch. Flame seared the wolf’s shoulder—it yelped and twisted away, but the others surged behind it.
Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.
“Cart!” Vel bellowed.
They ran, scattering tools. Smoke thinned behind them. Another wolf darted past the line. Teeth flashed.
Wren slipped once—Vel yanked him upright. They threw themselves into the cart. Chavi leapt in after, barely clearing the side rail.
The mare shrieked and reared. Then bolted.
The wheels slammed into a rut, jerking them sideways. Behind, the wolves gave chase—muzzles low, claws digging. One snapped at Vel’s boot as he steadied himself.
“The ravine!” Wren shouted. “There—look!”
Ahead, the ground dipped sharply.
The mare didn’t hesitate.
The cart pitched forward, striking the slope. Then—
Water.
They crashed into the shallow ravine with a wave of cold. Spray exploded around them, soaking through boots and sleeves. The cart rocked violently. Chavi shouted something lost in the splash. Vel clutched the side rail, teeth gritted.
The mare kicked through the stream. Mud churned. The cart threatened to tip.
Wren slid, nearly over the edge. Vel caught him again. “Hold on!”
They hit the far bank and surged upward. Wheels skidded. Hooves scrabbled for purchase.
The wolves, chasing close behind, broke at the edge of the water—some splashed in, others veered wide. One slipped, crashing into the stream with a yelp. The rest hesitated, snarling.
The cart crested the hill and flew forward.
They didn’t stop until the ravine was far behind and the wolves no longer followed.
Only then did they slump—dripping, shivering, exhausted.
The Cloudstone was still buried.
And the wolves were still watching.
~ ~ ~
The door to Senna’s back workroom creaked open.
Vel stepped inside, streaked with dirt and sweat, his coat flaked with dry mud. His eyes were tired. Not just from the road—but from what followed him off it.
Senna didn’t look up right away. She was grinding something fine in a small mortar, the scent of crushed lemonroot and ashleaf thick in the air.
“You look like you lost a fight,” she said, voice steady.
“Didn’t lose,” Vel muttered, setting a torch stump on her table. “But we didn’t win either.”
She finally glanced at him. “Wolves?”
He nodded. “Pack of ‘em. At least a dozen. We lit Castlewood rings, but they kept circling. Got close once the smoke started thinning.”
“You get the stone?”
Vel shook his head. “Found it. Dug all day. But when the sun started to fall, so did our odds. The torches didn’t hold. We barely got the cart turned around in time.”
Senna exhaled through her nose, already reaching for a new vial. “You’re lucky.”
“Not lucky,” he said. “Just fast.”
She pulled a black tin from the upper shelf, popped the lid, and began measuring out a fine, pale powder into a bowl. “You’re going to need something stronger than Castlewood next time. Brighter. Hotter. Something with edge.”
“Can you make it?”
“I can.” She didn’t hesitate. “But it’s not the kind of thing I bottle often. It’s volatile. Needs to stay dry. And you’ll need to use it the moment it’s exposed.”
“Can it be packed into flares?”
She nodded once. “Mixed with a hard wax and set to dry. I’ll make enough for a dozen.”
Vel stepped closer, watching her pour a glowing tincture over the powder. It hissed, then settled.
“What is it?”
“Something old,” she said. “From before the Guild cleaned up its practice. No tricks. Just fire and fear.”
Vel rubbed the back of his neck. “You sure it’s safe?”
Senna gave him a look. “You’re the one dodging wolves.”
Fair enough.
She ladled the thickening blend into small molds and began pressing them flat.
Vel leaned against the wall. “Chavi’s still shaken. Wren’s pretending he isn’t.”
“And you?”
“I’m just tired,” he said. “Tired of coming back without what we need.”
“That stone’s waited this long. It’ll wait another day.”
Vel didn’t respond right away. He just watched her work—precise, clean, unflinching.
“Thanks, Sen.”
She paused, then resumed sealing the molds. “Don’t thank me yet. This stuff’s temperamental.”
The torchlight flickered as if in agreement.
Outside, the wind moved across the plain—but inside, the air held a sharper promise.
Something that would burn.
