They came without banners.
Without war cries.
Without warning.
Sandra felt them first—not through sight or sound, but through the sudden tightening in her chest, a sharp constriction around the Primordial core that had begun to define her existence. The warmth there shifted, no longer steady, no longer passive.
Alert.
"They're close," she said quietly.
Tristan's hand was already on the hilt of his blade. "Distance?"
"Too close for scouts," Sebastian answered, eyes scanning the eastern ridge. "Which means they're not here to observe."
The Border Clans reacted instantly.
What had looked like loose formations dissolved into lethal efficiency. Warriors vanished into stone crevices. Elevated positions filled with archers whose bows hummed with old enchantments. The land itself seemed to lean inward, closing ranks.
Lyra's voice cut through the tension. "Council Hunters don't engage like soldiers. They isolate. Capture if possible. Terminate if not."
Sandra exhaled slowly. "Then they won't capture me."
A low, almost approving sound rippled through the nearby warriors.
The first Hunter revealed himself without stepping into view.
A pressure wave rippled across the valley—subtle, surgical, designed to destabilize nervous systems. Several Border scouts staggered.
Sandra's knees bent—
—and Tristan caught her instantly.
"Anchor," he ordered, voice sharp.
Sebastian moved in on her other side, hand gripping her forearm. Their proximity snapped something into alignment.
The pressure dissipated.
Sandra straightened, eyes blazing. "They're using suppression fields. Tuned to hybrid markers."
Lyra's gaze hardened. "Then they didn't expect Primordial resonance."
The Hunters struck.
Three figures emerged from refracted air along the ridge, their armor matte black, faces hidden behind featureless masks etched with Council sigils. They moved wrong—too smooth, too synchronized, bodies enhanced beyond natural Beastman limits.
"Hunters," the wolfkin leader growled. "Terminate on sight."
The Border Clans surged forward.
Combat erupted with brutal immediacy.
Sandra barely registered the first clash—metal shrieking, claws tearing through reinforced armor, bodies colliding with lethal force. Tristan was already moving, precision incarnate, his strikes calculated to disable joints, sever tendons, dismantle efficiency.
Sebastian fought like a storm.
Where Tristan cut cleanly, Sebastian tore through lines, movements wild but controlled, forcing Hunters into reactive positions they were not trained for.
And Sandra—
Sandra felt the pull.
A Hunter broke through the melee, moving directly toward her, weapon humming with null-energy designed to disrupt resonance. He raised it—
—and the world slowed.
Her body reacted before her mind.
The Primordial core flared.
Not explosively.
Deliberately.
The ground beneath the Hunter's feet crystallized, stone warping upward into jagged restraints. The weapon shorted out mid-strike, energy collapsing inward.
The Hunter froze.
Sandra stared at her own hands, trembling.
"I didn't—" she started.
Lyra's voice was fierce. "You did exactly what the lineage does. You rewrote the terrain."
The Hunter struggled, servos whining. "Target escalation confirmed," he intoned. "Termination—"
Sebastian was on him in a blink.
The Hunter never finished the sentence.
Silence followed—brief, stunned.
Then the Hunters adapted.
"Fall back!" Tristan shouted. "They're recalibrating!"
Two Hunters disengaged simultaneously, leaping backward as devices embedded in their armor activated. The air screamed as null-fields expanded, overlapping, suppressing energy, dampening instinct.
Sandra gasped.
Pain lanced through her abdomen—sharp, sudden, wrong.
Her vision blurred.
Sebastian caught her as she stumbled. "Sandra—talk to me."
"I'm—fine," she lied.
The System flickered violently beneath her skin.
PRIMORDIAL CORE: UNDER COUNTERMEASURE BIOLOGICAL PRIORITY SHIFT: ACTIVE ANCHOR DEPENDENCY: CRITICAL
Tristan's eyes widened. "They're targeting the lineage directly."
Lyra swore under her breath. "They've moved to Phase Two already."
A Hunter's voice echoed across the valley, amplified, cold.
"Sandra Avelis. By order of the Council, your existence constitutes a destabilizing threat. Surrender, and the Border Clans will be spared."
Sandra lifted her head slowly.
Around her, warriors bled. Stone smoked. The land groaned under stress.
She stepped forward despite Tristan's grip tightening.
"No," she said.
The Hunter paused. "Clarify refusal."
"You don't get to decide who lives," Sandra continued, voice carrying far beyond her body. "You never did."
The pain sharpened again—but this time, it didn't weaken her.
It focused her.
She felt it—something shifting deeper than instinct, deeper than fear. Not power.
Purpose.
The ground responded.
Not violently.
Protectively.
Stone rose in concentric patterns around the Border warriors, forming barriers that redirected fire, absorbed impact, funneled attacks away from the wounded.
The Hunters hesitated.
Sebastian stared at her. "You're shielding everyone."
Sandra swallowed hard. "I think… this is what it's for."
Lyra's breath caught. "She's not manifesting dominance. She's manifesting preservation."
The Hunters recalculated again.
And that was their mistake.
Tristan seized the opening.
"Now!"
The Border Clans surged with coordinated fury.
Tristan and Sebastian moved as one for the first time—not competing, not circling, but synchronized. Tristan dismantled Hunter formations with surgical efficiency. Sebastian crashed through their disrupted lines, finishing what Tristan opened.
One Hunter attempted extraction.
Sandra felt him go.
"No," she whispered.
The land answered.
A fissure split the ridge, swallowing the retreat path in a controlled collapse. The Hunter vanished into darkness—not crushed, but contained.
The remaining Hunters disengaged at once, retreating under heavy fire, their movements no longer confident.
"Withdrawal confirmed," one transmitted. "Target escalation beyond acceptable loss."
Silence fell.
Only then did Sandra's legs finally give out.
Tristan caught her instantly, lowering her carefully to the ground. Sebastian knelt beside her, hands hovering, afraid to touch the wrong way.
Her breathing was uneven.
Lyra rushed forward. "Sandra—look at me. Focus."
Sandra pressed a hand to her abdomen, face pale. "It hurts… but not like before."
Lyra scanned her rapidly. "The lineage just reprioritized. You forced a defensive manifestation."
Tristan's voice was tight. "Meaning?"
Lyra met his eyes. "Meaning the Council just confirmed their worst fear."
Sebastian's jaw clenched. "Which is?"
"That she's not a weapon," Lyra said quietly. "She's a shield."
Sandra laughed weakly. "That's… not what they trained me to be."
Lyra shook her head. "That's why they're losing."
The Border Clans gathered—not cheering, not celebrating. Assessing.
The wolfkin leader approached, gaze unreadable.
"You didn't dominate the field," he said. "You protected it."
Sandra looked up at him. "Was that a mistake?"
He shook his head slowly.
"No," he said. "That's how wars actually end."
Far in the distance, thunder rolled—not natural.
Council mobilization.
Sebastian looked toward the horizon. "They'll come back with more."
Tristan nodded grimly. "And heavier protocols."
Sandra closed her eyes briefly—then opened them, steady.
"Then we adapt faster."
The land hummed softly beneath her.
The Primordial core stabilized.
For now.