The tavern was quiet, but not empty.

  The bodies were gone—burned, buried, or left for the scavengers—but the scent of lightning still lingered. The wooden walls crackled with residual energy, violet arcs twitching faintly where Jarek had stood.

  Reiner pulled the curtain shut. “We can’t stay.”

  Jarek sat in the corner, cleaning his blade. The steel was still stained, even after three passes.

  “They’ll come fast this time,” Reiner continued. “No scouts. No enforcers. Not even Predators.”

  He looked up.

  “They’ll send a Sovereign.”

  Jarek didn’t flinch. “Let them.”

  Reiner crossed the room, tossing down a rolled hide map. “You wanna fight gods, do it where they can’t track your heartbeat.”

  The map stretched across the table, its surface scarred by age and old burn marks. The Safezone’s territory was marked in thick black lines, but to the east, the ink frayed—hand-drawn, rumor-laced.

  Reiner tapped one spot with a cracked fingernail. “Gravemarch. Closest city that isn’t on Halvark’s leash.”

  “Still under clan rule?” Jarek asked.

  Reiner nodded. “Kinda. They’ve got their own council. Clans, yeah, but nothing like here. Power’s more fluid.”

  Jarek studied it. “Same tier system?”

  “No,” Reiner said. “Not ours. No Feral, Predator, Apex. Not even Sovereign.”

  Jarek looked up.

  Reiner shrugged. “They don’t talk about it. But I’ve heard people there evolve differently. Maybe faster. Maybe sideways.”

  “Sideways?” Cyrille asked quietly from the door.

  They both turned.

  She stepped inside, hood lowered, eyes tired but clear. Her voice was calm, but something behind it trembled.

  “They’re already putting pressure on my old clan,” she said. “Halvark wants someone to bleed for what you did.”

  Jarek stood slowly. “So you came back.”

  “I don’t expect forgiveness,” she said. “I made my choice. I left. I thought it would protect them.”

  Reiner snorted. “They don’t want protection. They want obedience.”

  Cyrille ignored him. “I thought disappearing was the smart move. But all I did was give them time to sharpen the knives.”

  Jarek looked at her, searching her expression. “So what now?”

  “I know I can’t go home,” she said. “And I’m not going to watch from a distance while they burn everything you bled for.”

  “You’re not here for me.”

  “No,” she said. “I’m here because standing still is suicide. And if I have to fight to survive… I’d rather fight with you.”

  They left before sunrise.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  No ceremony. No bags. Just weapons and worn boots on broken road.

  The Safezone was already shifting behind them—guards on alert, checkpoints more rigid, whispers following in the dust of what Jarek had done. The enforcers weren’t speaking. But the city was waiting.

  The second they were gone, it would move.

  Reiner was grim as they stepped past the outer checkpoint. “They’ll track us before the day ends. And if not Halvark, someone with a longer leash.”

  Cyrille adjusted the strap on her shoulder. “How long to Gravemarch?”

  “If we push hard?” Reiner said. “Three days.”

  Jarek checked the horizon.

  “We’ll make it in two.”

  They moved fast.

  Old highways were crumbled to ash and bone. The Outerlands stretched ahead like scars across the earth—splintered wreckage, collapsed Gates, skeletons of things too large to name.

  No beasts yet.

  But the silence made them uneasy.

  They stopped once to drink and again to rest. On the third stop, Jarek froze.

  Reiner caught it first. “What?”

  Jarek said nothing. He just pointed.

  A battlefield.

  Not one shaped by armies, but by something singular. Something powerful enough to leave the land broken just by existing.

  Stone was scorched into black glass. Trees melted down to iron skeletons. The air tasted like ozone and ash. The crater still pulsed with residual heat.

  At its center lay a corpse.

  Massive.

  Majestic.

  Still dangerous.

  They approached slowly.

  The creature wasn’t monstrous in the grotesque sense—it was perfect. Symmetrical. Designed.

  Sleek, feline lines fused with reptilian musculature. A long body built for both speed and precision. Its armor was organic—scales like obsidian glass, layered and curved to direct force away. In some places, the armor had fractured, revealing skin beneath pulsing with iridescent veins. Gold and violet shimmered faintly beneath the hide, still glowing.

  Even in death, it looked like a creature designed to ascend.

  Cyrille knelt nearby, eyes wide. “It looks… divine.”

  Reiner didn’t kneel. He didn’t get closer. He kept his axe in hand.

  “That’s not Sovereign,” he said. “Not anything Halvark ever recorded.”

  Jarek stepped closer, each movement slower than the last. His heartbeat changed rhythm. His breath shortened.

  And deep in his chest, the hunger began to stir.

  Faint at first. Curious.

  Then—it rose.

  The pulse of it moved through him like liquid heat, twisting beneath his skin. Not pain. Not yet. But pressure. Anticipation.

  More.

  You’re ready.

  Take it.

  Jarek’s fingers curled. Lightning snapped silently across his shoulders.

  He stepped beside the creature’s corpse. Every instinct screamed that it was dead.

  But every part of the hunger insisted it wasn’t finished.

  He reached out, one hand hovering just above the cracked, armored skin.

  No blood. No kill.

  But still—power.

  And the hunger wanted it.

  Badly.

  Jarek clenched his jaw. His vision swam. The world narrowed to that single moment, that single point of contact.

  But nothing came.

  No integration. No evolution. No price.

  Only denial.

  The hunger howled inside him. It didn’t understand why. It didn’t care. It only knew it had touched the edge of something—and been denied.

  He staggered back, breath shaking.

  Not from fear.

  From restraint.

  They turned away.

  Faster now.

  The hunger quieted. Not settled—just waiting. Like a storm coiling in his chest.

  But the land wasn’t done.

  The first sound came as a soft scrape of claws against stone.

  Then another.

  Then three.

  Reiner froze. “Eyes up.”

  From the treeline came movement—calculated, controlled. Predators.

  Three of them.

  They weren’t grotesque. They weren’t broken.

  They were refined.

  Sleek bodies—similar in shape to the dead beast, but smaller. Built for speed, for agility. Their frames rippled with muscle beneath short, dark coats. And along their limbs and ribs, glowing veins pulsed—violet and gold, like their progenitor.

  Cyrille drew her sword. “They’re connected.”

  “No,” Reiner said, eyes narrowing. “They’re descended.”

  Jarek watched the largest step forward.

  Its posture wasn’t animalistic—it was intentional. A hunter confident in its dominance. Its breath came slow and quiet. Its claws dragged softly through the dirt like it wanted them to hear it coming.

  Then he saw its eyes.

  Violet and gold. Glowing faintly.

  The same as the corpse.

  The hunger snapped awake.

  These will do.

  Not whole, but close.

  Kill. Feed. Evolve.

  Jarek’s fingers tingled. His sword slid free, lightning dancing along its edge.

  The hunger pushed against his chest like a second heartbeat. His vision narrowed. Breath sharpened. Every part of him agreed.

  These weren’t beasts.

  They were next.

  Cyrille shifted beside him, stance tight. “Three of them. Fast.”

  Reiner raised his axe. “Faster than us if we hesitate.”

  Jarek exhaled once.

  And smiled.

  “We don’t run.”

  The lead predator growled. A sharp, clicking sound.

  Then all three launched forward—blurred muscle, coiled power, glowing veins streaking through the dusk like trails of fire.

  Jarek met them head-on.

  The hunger howled—

  And lightning answered.