Chapter 4.1
A Day Before the Crash
The six rangers moved silently through the undergrowth, their dark cloaks blending with the shadows cast by the towering trees. The Forest of Vetrarhold—a vast, untamed expanse of ancient woodlands—was always dangerous, but tonight, it felt different.
They were hunting something.
Or rather, tracking it.
A Hr?zla-Bein. The Bone Terror.
The mere thought of it sent a chill through the leader’s spine. The old texts claimed that these creatures were once thought extinct, but in the past decade, sightings had increased, always near the Zones.
One of these monsters could raze a fortified city, tear through legions of trained soldiers, and render the land cursed for decades. The fact that it had been sighted this deep in the forest was more than a cause for concern—it was a threat to the entire kingdom.
The rangers weren’t here to kill it. That was impossible.
Their mission was simpler—cast a tracking spell on the beast. Once it was marked, the kingdom’s mages could follow its movements and, with enough preparation, a force capable of slaying it could be assembled.
The trick was getting close enough to cast it.
As night fell, the rangers sought shelter in a cave, their training preventing them from making the mistake of camping out in the open. They had long abandoned the use of campfires this deep into Vetrarhold—the creatures here had an unnatural draw to light and warmth.
They took turns standing watch, the eerie stillness of the forest amplifying every rustling leaf, every distant cry of unseen predators.
Then, at midnight, as one of the rangers moved to wake his replacement, a sound like the heavens shattering ripped through the sky.
A burning orb of fire descended from the clouds, illuminating the night for several brief, terrifying seconds. The rangers instinctively pressed themselves against the cave walls, eyes tracking the brilliant light as it streaked downward and vanished beyond the treetops.
It had fallen in the direction of their previous campsite—five days' journey behind them.
Silence followed, save for the quiet hiss of burning embers in the distance.
For a long moment, none of them spoke.
Then, one of the rangers—Rurik, the sharp-eyed scout—broke the silence.
“…A fallen star?”
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The leader, Eirik, frowned. “No. That… wasn’t natural.”
The others exchanged uneasy glances. None of them were scholars, but they knew what they had seen.
Something descended from the sky.
Something wasn’t right.
A part of Eirik wanted to send scouts, but they couldn’t afford distractions. Their mission was far too critical.
“The kingdom will know of it soon enough,” he said finally. “If it was worth investigating, we’ll be ordered to check on it after we finish our mission.”
He expected protests, but there were none. The others understood. This close to the Zone, losing focus meant death.
Whatever had fallen from the sky would have to wait.
They moved on the next morning.
Two Days Later
The forest was wrong.
By now, they should have encountered monsters—plenty of them. Instead, they had seen nothing. Not even the usual roaming beasts that stalked the deeper regions of Vetrarhold.
It was unnatural.
And then they found the first corpse.
Rurik spotted it first—a severed hand, half-buried in the snow. The skin had darkened with decay, the flesh gnawed away. It still gripped the hilt of a blade.
No one spoke.
They didn’t have to.
As they moved forward, the carnage became clear. Shattered armor, discarded weapons, splintered shields bearing familiar heraldry. The bodies were scattered, broken, torn apart. Some had been crushed beyond recognition.
A battle had taken place here. A slaughter.
Eirik crouched, brushing his fingers against a fallen shield. The crest was mangled, but he still recognized it.
“The noble lord’s hunting party,” he muttered.
That meant this wasn’t just a minor skirmish. A great house had sent its warriors here, and they had been annihilated.
One of the rangers—Vigdis, the spellcaster—spoke grimly. “If an entire force of nobles and their guards fell here, it means we’re standing on a battlefield of ghosts.”
They kept moving, their hands now hovering near their weapons.
Whatever did this was still out there.
The trail of wreckage led them to a makeshift encampment—a fortified cave, surrounded by crude barricades hastily thrown together.
At first, they thought it was deserted.
Then movement.
Soldiers—weary, starving, and heavily wounded— emerged from the defenses, their weapons drawn in an instant. The tension was immediate.
The rangers made no sudden moves. They expected hostility. Rangers and common soldiers had little love for each other, but these weren’t ordinary men.
These were knights and retainers of noble houses.
And nobles hated rangers.
Yet, before the tension could escalate, the commander of the soldiers emerged—his armor dented, his face lined with exhaustion.
The moment he saw them, his expression softened with relief.
“Rangers?”
Eirik nodded. “Yes, my lord.”
The commander exhaled. “Good. You’ll want to see this.”
The makeshift command tent was as chaotic as the outside.
At its center sat a familiar man.
A nobleman.
One Eirik had hoped never to see.
The first son of a Great Duke.
A lecherous bastard who had taken whatever he wanted in life—women, land, power—without consequence.
Yet now, he was barely clinging to life.
Covered in bandages, struggling to breathe, he barely acknowledged Eirik’s presence.
Instead, one of his trusted aides explained what had happened.
The noble’s hunting party had been lost for a week, straying deeper than they should have. When they finally encountered the Hr?zla-Bein, it had torn through them like paper.
Out of five hundred men, less than a dozen survived.
The rescue force—a larger army of 1,500 men—had also been wiped out, its remnants barely making it back to this cave.
And now…
They had decided to fight it.
Eirik clenched his jaw as he learned why.
The nobles had dueled over the decision. The first son’s faction had won.
So they were going to hunt the Hr?zla-Bein tomorrow.
It was suicide.
And the rangers were given a choice.
They could join the battle.
Or they could walk away.
Eirik looked at his men.
He already knew what they would choose.
