The first cicada screamed.
It wasn't loud.
It wasn't sudden.
It was constant—a low, droning screech that pressed into the skull and refused to leave, vibrating through bone instead of air.
Raygen felt it before he heard it.
His stride slowed, boots sinking slightly into soil that looked solid but yielded just a fraction too much underfoot. The wolf spirit stirred within him, not in warning, but in awareness—ears up, posture straight, instincts alert but restrained.
Asa noticed immediately.
"You feel it too," she said quietly, hand drifting near her daggers.
Raygen nodded. "Yeah."
The savanna ahead looked wrong.
Grass thinned into brittle strands of rust-red and ash-gold. Stone outcroppings jutted from the ground at unnatural angles, half-melted yet untouched by flame. The air shimmered faintly—not with heat rising, but with something being drawn away.
Then they saw them.
Fire-draining cicadas.
They clung to stone, to dead bark, to the exposed ribs of the land itself. Their bodies were obsidian-dark with veins of dull crimson running beneath translucent shell segments. Wings vibrated in short, controlled pulses, producing that maddening, droning cry.
There were dozens.
Not clustered.
Positioned.
"They're not rushing us," one of the wolf-kin trackers murmured.
"They're spreading," Asa replied. "Slowly."
Raygen crouched, pressing his fingers into the soil.
The wolf spirit surged—not aggressive, not fearful. Curious. Focused.
"This land's been walked over a lot," Raygen said after a moment. "But not trampled. More like… paced."
The earth-speaker's ears twitched. "You're sensing pathways?"
"Yeah," Raygen replied. "Invisible ones."
The cicadas shifted.
Not toward them.
Around them.
They adjusted positions with unsettling precision, maintaining a loose ring that neither tightened nor broke. Their screeching rose slightly in pitch—not alarm, but emphasis.
Asa frowned. "They're watching."
"No," Raygen said quietly. "They're measuring."
The moment the group advanced another step, pressure pressed down—not physical, not mana-heavy. Intent.
Raygen felt his heartbeat slow.
The wolf spirit straightened inside him, instincts flaring like moonlight cutting through fog. He could suddenly feel the land—heat pockets, voids where warmth should exist, areas the cicadas avoided entirely.
He raised a hand.
"Stop."
The command wasn't loud.
But it carried.
The unit froze instantly.
The earth-speaker knelt, palm to soil.
Her breath hitched. "This ground isn't dying. It's being kept this way."
"Kept?" the fox-kin analyst echoed.
"Fire is being drained continuously," the earth-speaker said. "Not burned away. Consumed."
Raygen's jaw tightened.
The cicadas' droning intensified—not threatening, not aggressive.
A warning.
Asa exhaled slowly. "So they're not invaders."
"No," Raygen said. "They're wardens."
The realization settled heavily over the group.
Whatever lay beneath this land wasn't spreading.
It was contained.
The withdrawal order came swiftly.
No one argued.
As they retreated, the cicadas did not pursue. They did not celebrate. They simply resumed their positions, clinging to stone and silence as the land closed behind the departing party.
Chief Thorian, the panther-kin leader of Urrakar, walked at the rear of the group, his sleek black fur blending with the lengthening shadows as the sun dipped lower. His yellow eyes scanned the horizon, tail flicking occasionally in thought. He had handpicked this scouting party after the Red Mane Pride's botched encounter— a group of lion-kin who had charged in with typical bravado, only to retreat with wounds and muddled reports of the insects' ferocity. Thorian knew better than to repeat their mistake. This was about understanding, not conquest.
The party consisted of a mix of beastkin talents: the wolf-kin tracker, lean and vigilant, with a nose for subtle shifts in the wind; the earth-speaker, a sturdy bear-kin whose connection to the ground made her invaluable for reading the land's secrets; the fox-kin analyst, quick-minded and observant, jotting notes on a small scroll as they moved; and a couple of others, including a silent avian scout perched on a nearby rock earlier, now flying overhead to ensure no surprises from above. Raygen and Asa, the human outsiders, rounded out the group— their inclusion a nod to Raygen's newly enhanced instincts from the wolf-kin bonding ritual.
As they put distance between themselves and the cicada zone, the droning faded, but the unease lingered. The savanna gradually returned to its normal vibrancy: grasses swaying in the breeze, distant calls of beasts echoing. Yet, Raygen couldn't shake the feeling that they had brushed against something profound, a balance teetering on the edge.
"Those insects... they're not just surviving," the fox-kin analyst said, breaking the silence as they crested a small hill. "Their positions were too precise. Like a formation in battle, but not for attack. For... holding."
The earth-speaker nodded, her heavy paws leaving deep prints in the dirt. "The drainage isn't random. It's targeted. Whatever's below, it's powerful enough that the land needs constant tending to keep it in check."
Thorian grunted in agreement. "The Red Mane fools poked the hive and got stung. We observed, and they let us leave. That tells me they're focused on their task, not on us."
Raygen glanced at Asa, who walked beside him with her usual guarded poise. The wolf spirit amplified his awareness, making the scents of the savanna sharper—the earthy musk of the beastkin, the faint metallic tang from the distant cicadas. It didn't speak, didn't guide with words; it simply heightened what was already there, turning intuition into clarity.
"What do you think it is?" Asa asked him softly, away from the others.
"Something old," Raygen replied. "Something that doesn't want to stay buried."
They marched on in relative quiet, the group's pace steady but cautious. By the time Urrakar's walls came into view—tall structures of woven vines and reinforced stone, adorned with beastkin carvings—the sun had set, casting the city in twilight hues.
---
Back to Urrakar
The council chamber of Urrakar was quieter than Raygen expected.
No shouting.
No accusations.
Just tension stretched thin as wire.
Chief Thorian stood at the center, arms folded, tail still.
"They did not engage," he said evenly. "They observed. Adjusted. Maintained distance."
Murmurs rippled through the assembled representatives—wolf-kin, lion-kin, fox-kin, avian elders perched along stone railings.
"The Red Mane Pride reported aggression," a lion-kin elder growled.
"They forced contact," Thorian replied. "We did not."
The earth-speaker stepped forward. "The insects are sustaining a fire-drained zone. Deliberately."
That stirred the room.
"Containing what?" someone asked.
Silence followed.
Raygen stood near the back, wolf spirit coiled and alert within him. He felt eyes drift his way—not suspicion, not blame. Curiosity.
Dangerous curiosity.
Thorian's gaze flicked to him briefly, then away.
"We don't know what lies beneath," Thorian concluded. "But we know this: whatever it is, the land itself resists disturbance."
The meeting adjourned without resolution.
Which unsettled Raygen more than panic would have.
The chamber emptied slowly, beastkin representatives filing out with hushed conversations. Thorian lingered, speaking in low tones with a few trusted advisors—a wolf-kin elder with graying fur and a fox-kin strategist whose eyes darted like they were calculating every possible outcome. Raygen caught fragments: "Monitor the borders," "Prepare wards," "No provocation."
Asa tugged at his sleeve, pulling him toward the exit. "Come on. Standing here won't change anything."
Outside, the night air was cool, carrying the scents of cooking fires and distant forges. Urrakar was alive even after dark, with lanterns hung from branches illuminating paths where beastkin moved about their evening routines.
---
Streets Without Answers
Urrakar felt different after that.
Not hostile.
Uneasy.
Raygen and Asa walked the city streets together, weaving through mixed beastkin crowds—fox-kin merchants haggling softly, avian messengers gliding overhead, lion-kin guards standing watch at intersections.
No one stopped them.
No one questioned them.
But eyes lingered longer than before.
Asa broke the silence first.
"So," she said lightly, "fire-eating bugs guarding something buried under the earth. That's new."
Raygen snorted faintly. "I was hoping for something simpler. Like bandits."
"Bandits don't drain the land of fire for decades," she replied.
He kicked a pebble along the stone road. "They weren't attacking because they didn't need to."
"Or because we weren't worth it," Asa said.
Raygen shook his head. "No. They noticed us."
She glanced at him. "You're sure?"
"Yeah," he said quietly. "Especially me."
Asa didn't press.
They walked in silence for a few moments before Asa spoke again, more subdued.
"Twenty-three days."
Raygen blinked. "What?"
"Until we have to go back to Valdris," she said. "Thirty days total. We've burned seven already."
That hit harder than the cicadas.
Raygen exhaled slowly. "Feels like we just got here."
"And yet everything's already moving," Asa said. "You feel it too, don't you?"
He nodded.
The wolf spirit stirred uneasily.
The land was shifting.
Time was tightening.
They turned into a bustling market square, where vendors peddled wares under torchlight: fresh pelts, enchanted trinkets, steaming bowls of stew. A group of young beastkin pups played nearby, chasing each other with mock growls, oblivious to the undercurrents of worry. Raygen envied their ignorance for a moment—the orphan in him remembering simpler times in Valdris, before the dungeon, before the changes.
"The wolf spirit... it's made things clearer," Raygen admitted as they paused by a fountain, water trickling softly. "But it also makes the unknowns louder. Whatever those cicadas are holding back, it's big. And if it breaks free..."
Asa leaned against the fountain's edge, her expression thoughtful. "Then Urrakar deals with it. And we head home before it spills over. But Raygen, you've changed since the bonding. Stronger. Maybe that's why eyes are on you now."
He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the subtle hum of enhanced vitality. The wolf-kin tribe had granted him the spirit through their ritual—a bond meant for their own, but extended to him as a gesture of trust after his survival story. It sharpened his senses, boosted his reflexes, but it came with a weight, a connection to the pack's instincts.
"Yeah. But I'm still just the orphan from Valdris. Not sure I'm ready for whatever this leads to."
Asa smiled faintly, a rare softness in her eyes. "You've never been 'just' anything. Come on, let's get some food. Thinking on an empty stomach never helps."
They continued through the streets, the unease of the day fading slightly amid the city's rhythm, but the shadow of the east lingered in Raygen's mind.
---
Far Away – A Noble's Certainty
Lyle Raft's patience finally snapped.
"Nothing?" he asked calmly.
His underling swallowed. "No sightings. No guild logs. No teleport array records. They haven't left Valdris—at least not officially."
Lyle leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled.
Interesting.
"They vanished," the underling added. "Cleanly."
Lyle smiled faintly.
"That dungeon," he murmured. "The one my family bled in for generations."
His eyes sharpened.
"He found something."
Confidence settled in his chest—not rage, not frustration. Certainty.
"Prepare contingency plans," Lyle ordered softly. "If Raygen reappears…"
His smile widened.
"…I want to know exactly what he brought back with him."
Far away, beneath a fire-drained land, something ancient shifted in its prison.
And the world, unknowingly, leaned closer to the edge.
End of Chapter 20