As the moon went pale in the presence of the battle about to unfold.
High above the cracked hills of Udi-Koru, its gray eye glared down at the earth like a silent witness to ancient sins. The wind had stilled, the trees refused to sway, and even the insects had vanished into silence.
The Shadow-Born.
But not as they had seen before.
These were not wild wraiths chasing blood. These were... evolved. Larger. Heavier with power. Their forms moved between beast and man, some hunched and crawling on spindly, multi-jointed limbs, others upright, looming like statues carved from darkness and sorrow.
They emerged from the mist like nightmares uncoiled.
Their forms were vaguely human, but stretched and broken, as though some cruel god had taken the shape of men and twisted it in a moment of rage. Their limbs were too long, their hands ending in root-like claws that scraped the earth with every step. Some crawled low to the ground like starving beasts, others stood tall — mockingly upright — their blackened bodies rippling with living shadow.
Their skin was no skin at all, but a swirling, smokelike mass that absorbed light itself. Wherever they moved, the world grew dim. Their eyes — if they could be called that — were burning coals set deep in hollow sockets, staring not with sight, but with memory. Memory of ruin. Memory of rage.
There were no mouths, only gaping voids that hissed with silence. Yet, sometimes, they spoke — not in language, but in whispers layered with grief, like dozens of broken voices trying to remember their names.
The air grew heavy in their presence. The ground withered. And as they came closer, the warriors could feel it — not just fear, but sorrow, ancient and vast, pressing into their bones.
Nnamdi rose, blades drawn.
Ifeanyi pulled his Machete from the dirt.
Adanna stood behind them, her staff pulsing now — gold veins snaking up her arms.
"They remember us," Nnamdi said through gritted teeth.
"No," Ifeanyi answered. "They remember everything."
And then they attacked.
One leapt from the darkness with impossible speed, claws flashing toward Nnamdi's throat. He ducked, rolled, and sliced across its side — but there was no blood. Just smoke and a screech that rattled his spine.
Two more descended on Ifeanyi. He met them with fury. His obsidian spear sang through the air, carving one clean in half — only for it to re-form, laughing in a chorus of shattered voices.
"They don't die!" he growled.
"They do," Adanna cried, raising her staff. "Just not the way you think!"
She drove it into the earth.
A wave of golden light pulsed outward — not burning, but cleansing. One of the creatures caught in its path screamed — not in pain, but in fear — as its form began to unravel.
"They're made of what's been left behind," Adanna whispered, eyes glowing. "We must unbind what holds them."
The battle turned.
Nnamdi adapted. He fought not to kill, but to separate — slicing limbs, disrupting their form, forcing them into Adanna's path.
Ifeanyi shifted from Machete to fists, crushing what he could, tearing what would not die until Adanna's light could finish it.
But they were many.
Too many.
Surrounded, exhausted, and bleeding, the trio stood back to back. The creatures circled them now, learning, evolving.
Adanna's staff was dimming. Nnamdi's arms trembled. Ifeanyi had broken two ribs and still didn't drop.
And then — a voice.
Not from the sky.
From the land.
A deep, thunderous hum that echoed from the soil beneath them. The ground pulsed with ancestral energy. Adanna's eyes widened.
"They are not the only ones that remember."
She slammed her staff down again — and this time, the earth responded.
A golden shockwave burst forth, etched with ancient runes and the names of forgotten ancestors. It swept through the battlefield, catching every Shadow-Born in its wake. Their bodies twisted, shook, and then withered, turning to black ash that scattered in the wind.
Silence.
The fire still burned, low and defiant.
The three stood breathing hard, the stench of decay hanging thick in the air.
Ifeanyi spit blood. "Tell me that's the last of them."
Adanna looked toward the east, where the horizon trembled.
"No," she said. "But now… the gods are watching. And the land remembers who it belongs to."
Nnamdi sheathed his blades.
"Then we keep walking."
And under the blood-moon sky, they did.
Together.
Warrior. Healer. Hunter.
No longer just survivors.
But legend in motion.