Smoke still clung to the clearing.
Alaric's ears rang, the world swaying as if it hadn't decided whether to stay upright. Every breath scraped. His chest felt heavy—overfilled, like something had been forced into him and hadn't settled yet.
"Up."
Seris Crowe grabbed his collar and yanked him to his feet. "If you fall here, you die here."
Alaric didn't argue. He couldn't. His legs moved because they were pulled.
The forest around them was wounded. Trees leaned at wrong angles. The ground smoked where the sigils had burned themselves out. Whatever had attacked them wasn't coming back—but that didn't mean they were safe.
Marek wiped blood from his mouth, eyes flicking over the destruction. "That wasn't a collector squad."
"No," Seris replied. "That was a caller."
Rowen swallowed hard. "What's that mean?"
Seris didn't answer immediately. She turned to Alaric.
"They don't hunt," she said. "They announce."
The words sank in just as the air shifted.
Not movement.
Attention.
Alaric felt it before he saw it—the pull inside his chest tightening, aligning, locking onto something distant. His vision blurred at the edges. For a second, he saw shadows layered over the forest. Paths that weren't there. Doors that shouldn't exist.
Then a voice cut through it.
"Target has responded."
The figure stepped out between two trees like it had always been there.
No armor this time.
Just a man.
Tall. Lean. Pale skin marked with thin black lines that moved slowly, like veins made of ink. His eyes were calm—too calm for a battlefield.
In his hand was a short blade, dull and unremarkable.
Seris's grip tightened on her sword. "Don't engage," she said quietly. "That's a named hunter."
The man tilted his head slightly, listening.
"Alaric Vane," he said.
Hearing his name spoken like that—clean, precise—sent a spike through Alaric's spine.
The hunter smiled faintly. "Good. The mark answered correctly."
He stepped forward.
Seris moved instantly.
Steel flashed. She went for the throat—fast, perfect.
The hunter vanished.
Not dodged.
Removed.
He reappeared behind her and struck once.
Seris crashed into a tree, coughing blood.
"SERIS!" Rowen shouted.
Alaric didn't think.
He lunged.
The pull inside him surged violently. The air twisted as he reached—grabbing at something invisible, something attached to the hunter.
For half a second, it worked.
The hunter staggered, expression flickering with mild surprise.
"Oh," he murmured. "So you really can take."
Then he cut Alaric across the chest.
Pain detonated. Alaric hit the ground hard, vision exploding into white.
The hunter stood over him, blade dripping slowly.
"My name is Kael Voss," he said calmly. "And I am assigned to end anomalies."
He raised the blade.
Marek screamed something—words tearing out of him as he slammed his grimoire open. Chains of light burst forward, wrapping around Kael's arm.
Kael glanced down. "Inconvenient."
He flexed.
The chains shattered.
Rowen charged anyway, broken spear raised in both hands.
Kael turned—and stopped.
The pull inside Alaric screamed.
Not outward.
Inward.
Something tore loose.
Kael froze mid-motion. His breath hitched. For the first time, his calm cracked.
"What—"
The black lines on his skin dimmed. His eyes widened—not in fear, but in realization.
Alaric forced himself up, blood soaking his clothes, hands shaking.
"I don't know how," Alaric rasped. "But you shouldn't be here."
Kael stared at him for a long second.
Then he smiled.
"Good," he said. "That makes this interesting."
He stepped back—and vanished into shadow.
The forest went still.
Silence crashed down harder than the fight.
Seris dragged herself upright, breathing hard. Marek collapsed to his knees. Rowen stood frozen, staring at Alaric like he'd never seen him before.
Seris wiped blood from her mouth and looked at Alaric.
"A named hunter doesn't retreat," she said.
"He remembers."
Alaric looked down at his trembling hands.
Somewhere far away, something had learned his name.
And it had sent another answer.