They were taken beyond Luminar territory, in an elegant carriage.
They arrived at the Forest of Whispers.
The provisions came wrapped in coarse cloth and brief farewells.
Dry bread. Cured meat. Jars of bitter ointments.
And a map.
An old map, hand-marked with dark ink and irregular notes, as if whoever drew it hesitated while tracing the path. There, among crooked lines and archaic symbols, the destination was marked: the place where their master awaited.
No one explained anything else.
Because explaining was a slow way of lying.
The forest received them without ceremony.
It was white.
Not white like snow.
Not white like ash.
White like bone polished by time.
Kael breathed deeply, feeling the cold brush his lungs and raise goosebumps along his skin. The silence weighed on him, as if the air itself contained an invisible judgment. His hand trembled slightly as he adjusted the map; it wasn't fear… it was respect.
Arhelia walked at the front, unconcerned. Too unconcerned.
But her heart beat with a rhythm she tried to ignore. Every tree, every gleaming leaf, every exposed root spoke to her of history and danger. She knew the forest wasn't merely watching them: it was judging them. Every step was a mute conversation between her and the land.
Her blue tunic clashed violently with the forest's white. The bandages on her hands and wrists vibrated with memories of pain. And over her shoulder, the sphere All or Nothing orbited slowly, turning like an unblinking eye.
The wind passed between them like a whisper, dragging the scent of resin, damp stone… and something ancient that did not wish to be remembered.
—The forest… is calm —Kael said, in a thread of a voice trying to sound firm.
The silence answered first.
Then—
—Too calm —Arhelia replied, without looking at him, her brow furrowed as she sensed more than peace.
Kael cleared his throat, uneasy.
—Well… uh… I don't think there's much here… —he added, rubbing the back of his neck—. I mean… it doesn't feel strange.
Arhelia didn't answer. Her gaze swept every branch, every root, every shadow that seemed to move with intent. A shiver ran up her spine, a tremor that was fear and excitement at once.
—A swordsman's hands —she finally said, pointing to a deep mark in a tree trunk— tell his life.
Kael blinked, uncertain.
—What… what do you mean?
Arhelia stepped forward, so close Kael felt the warmth of her breath. Their eyes met, and in that instant they didn't speak: the forest flooded their senses. Every sound, every smell, every vibration of the ground tightened the tension.
—Your hands are clean —she murmured—. But your knuckles are broken.
Kael swallowed.
The wind passed.
An awkward witness.
They said nothing more.
They climbed onto a broad rock that jutted from the terrain. From there, a circular desert stretched before them. Lone trees resisted at its center; beyond, the forest closed in again. Too perfect. Too clean.
—This place is a nest —Kael said, in a thread of a voice.
—…Seems you paid attention in survival class.
—Yeah… I think so. Thanks.
—That wasn't a compliment.
—Well. It's called Dhurnak —he fell silent, remembering something, then continued—. They like earth. They devour it. Dry it out.
Arhelia scanned the circle.
—It's barren. If there were an active Dhurnak…
—There would be an altar. But there isn't one.
Arhelia tilted her head.
—And what are you trying to say?
Kael let out a brief, nervous laugh.
—That it's an old nest —he shrugged—. Nothing to worry about.
Arhelia held his gaze a second longer than necessary.
Then she smiled.
—Let's go.
The silence didn't disappear when they entered.
It grew heavier.
The circle of sand received them without ceremony.
The sand was pale gray, fine as ground bone dust. It didn't crunch under their boots; it absorbed sound, devoured it. The wind, once free among the white trees, broke here into low currents, dragging a metallic, damp scent, like earth turned too deep.
They went on guard without saying it.
It was instinct.
Arhelia bent her knees slightly. The blue tunic stopped floating; now it fell heavy, clinging to her body. Her bandages showed white against the dead color of the ground. The sphere All or Nothing descended a few centimeters, spinning more slowly, as if listening to something they could not.
Kael drew his saber just enough to free the weapon's weight. The cloth wrapping it stirred, tense, like a restrained animal. His breathing became rhythmic, measured. He wasn't looking at the center of the circle. He was watching the ground.
They advanced in a crouch.
Each step was an agreement with the earth.
Each movement, a silent negotiation.
The trees at the center seemed older than those at the edge. Twisted trunks, exposed roots like black veins. There were no fallen leaves. No tracks. Nothing died there… because nothing ever fully lived.
Then something happened.
Small. Brief.
The sand vibrated beneath their feet, barely a whisper. Arhelia felt the impact climb her ankles, run up her spine, settle behind her eyes. What she felt wasn't fear. It was recognition.
The sphere spun a little faster.
Another tremor.
Closer.
Kael clenched his jaw.
—Do you feel it? —he murmured, without looking at her.
—Yes.
They said nothing more.
They quickened their pace.
No longer gliding: advancing with controlled urgency, like animals that know running too soon is also death. The air grew warmer. The smell changed: wet clay, buried flesh, something ancient breathing from below.
A third tremor.
This time the ground answered with a deep crack.
—Hey… —Kael began.
He didn't finish.
An explosion. The sand blasted in every direction, turned into shrapnel. Ancient stones burst upward, tearing the circle apart, hurled by a force that didn't seek to emerge, but to reclaim.
A claw rose from the ground.
Gigantic.
Rugged.
Covered in earthen plates and cracks from which hot dust escaped, like breath held for centuries.
The fingers closed.
Arhelia reacted without thinking.
Shadow rose before her like a living wall, thick, laden with Law. It wasn't darkness: it was forced absence. All or Nothing vibrated with a deep hum.
The claw tore through the wall.
The shadow unraveled like smoke underwater.
—Back! —Arhelia shouted.
The shockwave hit them before they could move.
The world spun.
They were hurled away, bodies flung like broken dolls. Four meters of fall didn't seem like much… until the ground rose to meet them. The air was ripped from their lungs. Sand filled their mouths, their eyes, their memories.
Arhelia rolled once, twice, stopped on her back. She felt something in her side protest with old fire. The sphere orbited erratically, struggling to regain its rhythm.
Kael fell to his knees, driving one hand into the ground to keep from collapsing. The saber vibrated, anxious, furious.
They got up as best they could.
The dust was still falling when they looked up.
The monster was there.
It didn't yet have a complete form. Part of its body remained buried, as if the world hadn't yet decided to allow it to fully exist. The hand was only a prelude. The torso emerged slowly, heavily, dragging stones, roots, the shattered remains of an ancient altar.
Something opened and closed, inhaling earth.
Kael barely breathed, adrenaline convulsing in his stomach. Every breath he tried to take hurt, as if the air itself resisted entering him.
Fear didn't paralyze them.
It sharpened them.
Arhelia stepped forward. Shadow gathered around her again, denser, more cautious. All or Nothing stabilized, spinning like an attentive eye.
They looked at each other.
It wasn't a question.
It was a promise.
—This time —Arhelia said, her voice low and firm— I'm not dancing alone.
Kael snapped his head toward her. His eyes went wide, a chill racing down his spine. His hands trembled as he stepped back, a broken sigh escaping his lips.
—Hey!… It's also a cultivator-eater. No one survives something like that.
She smiled.
A clean, pristine, precise smile.
A smile no human should possess.
—Perfect.
I like to start the day with something that truly deserves to die.
The forest answered.
The shadows parted.
The smell of old blood rose from the ground.
Dhurnak emerged fully from the earth.
Not like a beast,
but like a blasphemous psalm made flesh.
Its body had no skin. It was a living mass of exposed muscle and insectoid exoskeleton: black, earthen plates locked together, embraced by saurian scales hardened like ancient oaths.
It rose over seven meters tall, not upright, but leaning forward, as if the world itself were insufficient for it. It didn't walk: it claimed space.
Six enormous claws burst from its torso, arranged in an unnatural pattern. Each finger was a tribunal. Each movement, an irrevocable edict. Its joints creaked with the sound of rock splitting under eternal pressure.
Its abdomen coiled in a serpentine curve, heavy, swollen with ancient hunger and forbidden secrets. Something moved inside it, slow, patient, as if digesting entire eras.
The legs that supported it were canine and geometric, too angular to be natural, stabbing into the ground with a precision that devoured Law itself. Where it stepped, the ground lost meaning.
A long, taut neck supported a primordial crocodilian head.
The jaw opened in three impossible sections: the upper one endless, sharp not by teeth, but by intent. It didn't need to bite. Closing was enough.
It had no eyes.
Its attention was an anathema.
To be perceived by it was already a sentence.
Its entire body was stained a withered yellow, like forgotten parchment, like a sick sun that should never have existed. It did not shine. It warned.
It walked on eight limbs.
Kael barely breathed.
Arhelia advanced as one entering a familiar room.
The sphere All or Nothing spun faster.
Light and shadow sharpened around her.
—Let's see, Kael —she said without looking back—
if the world can withstand what I'm about to do.
And she advanced.
Everything began.