Scorched marks streaked across the ground in scattered patterns. Each burn was precise – evidence of a violent clash.

  Before long, Riniock stumbled upon the first victim. As he drew closer, he couldn’t quite grasp the horror at his feet. It was something torn from the depths of a nightmare.

  A grotesque thing lay twisted on the earth, ringed by the lingering remnants of fire magick. Its massive limbs were unnaturally elongated and sinewy, still twitching despite its lifeless state. Its skin was pale and tightly stretched like cured leather, patched with a kind of armour made from fused bone shards and rusted metal embedded into its flesh. Its face was a grotesque mesh of sensory pits and jagged bone plates – no eyes, yet brimming with an eerie awareness of motion, warmth, and blood.

  Without hesitation, Riniock drew his dagger and drove it deep into the creature’s chest. Just in case. The memory of corpses springing back to life still haunted him.

  The twitching stopped.

  With a breath of relief, he scanned the area for more traces of fire magick. They were scattered, but not random. There was a pattern – clear to those who knew how to read such things. From the spacing and angles, Riniock could tell exactly where the caster had stood during each burst of power.

  The trail led him through a series of buildings cloaked in shadows, where even the dimmest light struggled to reach.

  Then, as he entered a narrow alleyway, he came face-to-face with a living specimen of the nightmare he’d just stabbed. Towering over its fallen kin, it feasted on its charred corpse. The grisly sounds of tearing and slurping echoed around him.

  The creature paused, slowly lifting its head as though sensing him. Its mouth was drenched in black blood, thick strands dripping to the floor in webs of gore.

  It snarled, shifting its posture deliberately to face the intruder albeit having no eyes.

  Then, with unsettling ease, it pressed clawed fingers against the nearby wall and began to crawl up it like a lizard, empty sockets locked on him with primal hunger.

  As it descended back towards the ground, something about its movements set off a warning in Riniock’s gut. It was watching him too carefully, too strategically.

  He turned just in time to spot a second creature lunging from behind.

  But he’d noticed a heartbeat too late.

  The ambusher slashed at his back. The blow didn’t pierce his robe but sent him stumbling forward – straight towards the feet of the first monster.

  It rose on its hind legs and lunged.

  Riniock rolled aside and sprang up. In a single motion, he conjured a spear of compressed air and froze it solid into a razor-sharp icicle.

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  As the creature leapt, he braced and thrust the weapon upward, driving it clean through the monster’s chest.

  The creature let out an ear-splitting shriek, the frozen blade jutting grotesquely from its gut. Its limbs flailed in erratic spasms, the dying wail echoing through the narrow alley like a siren of death.

  The second one wasted no time. The instant it sensed an opening, it launched itself at Riniock – springing off a wall and twisting mid-air to close the distance. Riniock pivoted quickly, dodging the assault and realigning his stance with precision.

  He summoned a concentrated orb of wind and hurled it forward. The creature reacted just in time, dodging with unnerving precision, its movements agile and rehearsed.

  It lunged again. Riniock raised a protective ward. The barrier flared to life, repelling the beast with a crackling burst of energy. It reeled backward, stunned – exactly the opening Riniock needed.

  He clasped his hands and released a sweeping wave of freezing wind, a fusion of his elemental powers. A sheen of ice crawled rapidly across the creature’s pale flesh, binding its joints and stiffening its movements.

  Despite the cold locking it down, the monster pushed forward with brute will, its steps heavy but unrelenting. When it drew within a blade’s reach, it swung – but the ice had slowed it too much.

  Riniock didn’t hesitate. He conjured a volley of sharp icicle shards and let them fly like a storm of frozen daggers.

  The projectiles struck in a coordinated burst, piercing through its frozen hide and shattering it into jagged chunks. Bits of frigid necrotic flesh scattered across the stone road, brittle and lifeless.

  Riniock exhaled sharply.

  Though not powerful on their own, these creatures worked with unnerving coordination. That made them far more dangerous than their strength alone suggested.

  He leaned against a nearby wall, feeling the tight thrum of his pulse. Something wasn’t right. His odh flow – the magickal life force within – was chaotic, unbalanced. Ever since the injury, even a brief clash like this left him drained, shaky.

  He pulled a vial from his belt and took a sip of the rejuvenating tonic.

  But lost in recovery, he failed to secure his surroundings.

  Perched silently on the edge of a rooftop, another beast watched him, its body tense and ready. It let out a low growl, maw salivating with hunger as it prepared to pounce.

  Riniock remained unaware, distracted by the fading pain and swirling warmth of the potion.

  With a hiss, the creature dropped. It plummeted like a shadow, landing hard beside him – but its body was partially scorched. Flames had ravaged it, a charred wound smouldering and devouring its flesh like termites in dry wood.

  Startled, Riniock stumbled back, gaze snapping to the burn pattern.

  ‘Irgod…’ he muttered, narrowing his eyes.

  The creature didn’t even have time to snarl. Within seconds, fire consumed it entirely, leaving nothing but a mound of smouldering ash.

  From the shadows, a figure stepped into view.

  The beige robes were unmistakably academy-worn. And the precise, clinical flames – definitely the work of someone trained like Irgod.

  But it wasn’t him.

  Relief turned to confusion. Irgod would never intervene, much less offer help. If anything, he’d have watched with satisfaction as Riniock fell.

  Had he been following the wrong trail this whole time?

  Then who was this stranger, shrouded in loose robes, face hidden by the cloak of shadow?

  ‘Quit slacking around!’ a voice barked – a woman’s.

  Riniock’s eyes widened, the recognition instant. A grin broke across his face.

  ‘Yeah, I’m sorry. Got caught off guard,’ he replied, laughing softly. ‘Boy, am I glad to see you again, Linry…’

  She chuckled. ‘I’m glad too.’

  ‘Are you alright?’

  ‘Been worse. You?’ she replied casually.

  He masked his discomfort and tucked the potion away. ‘I’m fine. What are you doing here?’

  Linry scratched the back of her neck. ‘It’s a long story. Come with me to our camp. We can talk about it there.’

  Riniock hesitated, puzzled. As far as he knew, Linry had no allies left – except Niann and himself.

  ‘Our camp?’ he asked, his voice laced with concern and curiosity.

  Her relaxed demeanour eased his tension. ‘Come. You’ll see.’