The sun did not rise over the Godwall Mountains; it merely surrendered to them.
Antares stood at the foothills, his boots sinking deep into the snow that crunched like shattered glass under his weight. He tilted his head back, his neck craning until it ached, but he still couldn't see the summit. It was an absolute titan of stone and ice. Clouds didn't float above it; they crashed against its waist, tearing themselves apart on its jagged ridges.
It was terrifying. It was hostile. And to Antares, it was the most beautiful thing he had seen since awakening in this new world.
"Magnificent," he whispered, his breath pluming in the freezing air. "Nature doesn't build walls like this to keep things out. It builds them to keep something in."
Around him, the camp was breaking down with military precision, thirty of his finest warriors, were checking their gear. They tightened the straps on their leather harnesses, sharpened the edges of their daggers and swords, and consumed their rations.
They were silent.
"Sire."
Antares turned. Approaching him was Yanrid, looking as composed as ever in the biting cold. Beside him limped a scout Varn.
Varn was the scout who had brought the news of Kael's sons. His left arm was in a sling.
Antares had explicitly ordered him to remain in the medical tent, to heal and rest.
Yet, here he was. His face was pale and filled with exhaustion, but his eyes burned with a feverish determination.
"Varn," Antares said, his voice low and dangerous. "I seem to recall giving a specific order regarding your recovery. Or has the cold frozen your hearing?"
Varn dropped to one knee, wincing as the movement pulled at his injuries. "Forgive me, my King. I heard your order. But... I cannot rest. I left them there. Lord Kael's sons and my own people too... I promised them I would return with help. If I stay behind while you risk your life to fix my failure, I will never be able to hold a spear again. Please. Let me guide you."
Antares looked down at the scout. He saw the guilt eating him alive. He saw the warrior's pride that refused to be extinguished by pain.
He sighed, a small smirk touching his lips. "Stand up, Varn. If you collapse halfway up the face, I'm leaving you to wolves as dinner. Do you understand?"
"I understand, Sire!" Varn said, scrambling to his feet, ignoring the pain. "I won't slow you down."
"Good," Antares said. He looked at the mountain again. "Show us the way."
Varn pointed a trembling finger toward a section of the cliff face, about two thousand meters up.
"There is a thermal vent, Sire. A cavern mouth hidden behind a curtain of vines. It leads directly into the mid-section of the mountain's interior. That is where I left them."
Antares nodded. He turned to the squad.
"WINGS!"
With a synchronized snap, thirty pairs of translucent wings unfurled. The sound was like a thunderclap in the thin air. Antares triggered his own mana circuit, his aura flaring to life, shielding him from the worst of the chill.
"Follow me," Antares commanded. "And keep your eyes open. This mountain will eats you if you become slightly careless."
They flew in a tight V-formation, cutting through the turbulent air currents that swirled around the mountain's base. As they rose, the temperature plummeted further. The wind screamed, tearing at their clothes and wings, trying to smash them against the black granite cliffs.
Antares led from the front, his body acting as the prow of a ship, breaking the wind shear for his men. He could feel the mana density increasing with every meter they climbed.
"Target in sight!" Varn shouted over the gale, pointing ahead.
Embedded in a crevice of the sheer rock face was a dark opening. It was almost invisible against the black stone, camouflaged by a thick, tangled curtain of gray vines. These weren't normal plants; they were frozen solid, rattling against each other like wind chimes made of bone.
"Landing formation!" Yanrid barked. "Watch your footing!!"
The squad swung inward, their wings beating furiously to slow their descent. One by one, they touched down on the narrow ledge in front of the cave. Boots skidded on black ice.
Antares landed last, his boots crunching heavily onto the ledge. He looked at the vines. They were thick as a man's arm and covered in razor-sharp thorns of ice.
"This is it," Varn said, breathing heavily, clutching his injured side.
Antares drew Eos, the golden blade illuminating the gloomy ledge. He stepped forward and slashed. The vines shattered rather than cut, breaking apart with the sound of smashing porcelain.
"Torches," Antares ordered.
A dozen mana-torches flared to life, casting harsh, flickering shadows against the cave walls. They stepped inside.
The difference was immediate. The howling wind was cut off instantly, replaced by a heavy, oppressive silence. The air inside was still and stale, smelling of dry earth and something else... something sweet and metallic.
"It's quiet," Levi whispered, his twin daggers drawn. "Too quiet."
"This section of the mountain is a dead zone," Varn explained, his voice echoing slightly. "The mana currents here are stable. Most beasts avoid it because there is no prey. That is why we hid here. It was supposed to be safe."
Antares walked forward, his eyes scanning the darkness. The cave was massive, a natural cathedral of stone with stalactites hanging like the fangs of a leviathan.
"Safe," Antares muttered. "In my experience, Varn, places that are devoid of life are usually that way for a reason. And it's rarely because they are peaceful."
They walked for ten minutes, the only sound being the rhythmic tramp of their boots and the drip of condensation. The tension in the air was palpable. Every shadow seemed to stretch and twist, looking like a Goblin in ambush.
Finally, they reached a small alcove near an underground stream.
"Here!" Varn said, rushing forward. "This is where we made camp! I left them right—"
He stopped.
The place was empty and devoid of life.
There was a circle of stones where a fire had been, now cold and scattered. There were drag marks in the dust. A torn piece of a leather tunic lay on the ground.
But of Kael's son ,the three young antmen, there was no sign.
"No..." Varn whispered, falling to his knees. He frantically clawed at the dirt. "They were here with the rest of the rescue team! I swear it! I told them not to move! I told them!"
Panic rippled through the squad.
"They're gone," a soldier muttered, stepping back. "Maybe the Goblins made their way here and took them."
"Or one of the mountain monsters," another whispered. "They could have been eaten for all we know."
"We're too late," someone else said, their voice rising in pitch. "It's over for them."
The fear was contagious. In the dark, deep underground, the mind plays tricks. The soldiers began to look around wildly, weapons shaking, expecting death to lunge from the shadows.
"SILENCE."
The word wasn't shouted, but it hit them like a physical blow.
Antares stood in the center of the alcove. He wasn't looking at the ground; he was looking at his men. His red eyes were steady, unblinking, and utterly calm. He sheathed Eos with a loud, deliberate click.
"Look at yourselves," Antares said, his voice smooth and steady. "You are among the elites of the Tribe. You are the warriors that fought for the tribe against countless winters and beasts alike.Get a grip"
He walked over to Varn, who was hyperventilating on the ground. Antares reached down and hauled the scout to his feet by his collar.
"Panic is a poison, Varn," Antares said gently but firmly. "It blinds you. It kills you faster than any blade. Breathe."
Varn gasped, looking into his King's eyes. The absolute certainty in Antares's gaze anchored him.
"Sire... they are gone."
"They have most likely moved," Antares corrected. "Not gone. If they were eaten, there would be blood. There would be remains. There is neither. Someone, or something, took them."
He turned to the squad. "We do not guess. We do not panic."
Antares looked at Yanrid. "Commander. Search."
Yanrid nodded instantly. He closed his eyes, centering himself. From his forehead, two long, slender, icy blue antennae uncurled, twitching in the stagnant air.
Antares did the same. He closed his eyes and let the biological machinery of his new form take over.
The world of sight vanished.
In its place, a world of vibration, scent, and mana signatures exploded into existence.
Focus, Antares commanded his own mind.
He filtered out the noise. He ignored the heat signatures of his own men. He ignored the deep, thrumming tectonic vibration of the mountain itself. He reached out for the specific, unique biological signature of his kin.
Antares and Yanrid stood perfectly still for five minutes. The squad watched them in breathless silence, knowing that their leaders were seeing things no eye could perceive.
To Antares, the cave was a tapestry of scents. He smelled the old campfire smoke. He smelled the fear-sweat of Varn. And then... underneath it all... a faint, lingering trail.
It was the scent of iron and ash, the smell of blood. But it was mixed with something else. Something acrid. Something chemical.
"There," Yanrid whispered, his eyes still closed. He pointed a finger toward the deeper, darker throat of the cave , where the tunnel narrowed into a jagged slit.
"I feel them," Yanrid said. "Faint. Very faint. Their heartbeats are... slow. but there's still hope."
Antares opened his eyes. The red glow was intense.
"They are alive," Antares announced, and the relief in the room was palpable. "But they are being kept."
They moved differently now. There was no marching. They moved like predators, silent and fluid.
Antares took the lead, his antennae still twitching, following the invisible trail of pheromones and heat.
The tunnel grew tighter. The walls changed from rough stone to something smoother, almost polished. The air grew colder, but it was a dry, unnatural cold.
They walked for what felt like an hour, descending deeper into the roots of the Godwall. The darkness was absolute, held back only by their dimming mana-torches.
"Sire," Levi whispered, appearing at Antares's side. "Look at the walls."
Antares paused and brought his torch close to the stone.
The walls were covered in a thin webs and entangled with the webs, there were small bones of rats, bats, and other cave dwellers.
"It's a ladder," Antares realized, a cold knot forming in his stomach. "Whatever lives here... is not to be messed with."
"We are close." Yanrid hissed.
They turned a final corner and entered a massive, spherical chamber.
Antares stopped dead in his tracks. Behind him, the squad gasped in unison.
The chamber was illuminated by a soft, sickly phosphorescent glow coming from the ceiling. It was a nesting ground.
In the center of the room, there were figures suspended from the ceiling by thick webs, .
It was Kael's sons and the rest of the scouting party.
But they were not simply tied up.
They were encased in massive teardrop shaped cocoons.
"By Antarion...." Varn whispered, his voice trembling with horror. "What have they done to them?"
Antares stepped forward, the light of the phosphorescence reflecting in his horrified eyes. He could see the faint rise and fall of their chests inside the amber. They were alive, but they were trapped in a nightmare.
"They are storing them," Yanrid said, his voice devoid of emotion but tight with tension."Preserved. to become future meals."
Antares raised his sword, about to order them to cut them down, when a sound echoed through the chamber.
Skitter. Skitter. Click.
It came from everywhere. From the ceiling. From the walls. From the shadows behind the cocoons.
It was the sound of a thousand legs moving on stone.
Antares looked up.
Above the cocoons, in the darkness of the ceiling, hundreds of eyes opened. They glowed in the dark with a sickly light.
"Defensive circle!" Antares roared, his voice shaking the very foundations of the cave. "NOW!"
As the squad scrambled to form a perimeter, the first shadow detached itself from the ceiling and fell toward them.