The Whispering Barrens was not empty. As Alaric and Evelyn moved deeper into the fog, the silence was broken by the sound of clicking metal. It wasn't the rhythmic march of Gareth's knights; it was the erratic, skittering sound of the forest's bottom-feeders.
"Wait," Alaric hissed, his silver arm suddenly pulsing with a cold, rhythmic light.
He grabbed Evelyn's cloak and pulled her behind a petrified trunk just as a jagged iron wire snapped across the path. The wire was etched with corrosive runes, designed to slice through magical armor.
From the canopy above, three figures dropped down. They were Hollow-Walkers—outcasts who survived by harvesting mana-conductors from dead travelers. Their skin was grafted with mismatched leather, and their faces were hidden behind bone masks.
"Look at that arm," one of them rasped, pointing a notched spear at Alaric. "That's not just iron. That's Star-Steel. We could buy a whole city with that much silver."
Alaric stepped out from the shadows. With the white scars on his neck and the grey scales creeping toward his chest, he looked more like a demon than the Paladin he once was.
"You want the arm?" Alaric asked, his voice vibrating with the low thrum of the dragon-core. "Come and take it."
The lead Scavenger lunged, but Alaric was faster. He caught the poison-tipped spear with his Star-Steel hand. The silver metal hissed, neutralizing the toxin instantly. With a roar, Alaric twisted the spear, snapping it like a dry twig, and delivered a punch that sent the scavenger crashing through a tree.
The other two froze. They realized too late that they weren't hunting a man—they were hunting a dragon in human skin.
"Leave," Alaric growled, his golden eyes glowing in the dark. "Before I stop being merciful."
The creatures scrambled away into the fog, leaving behind a trail of black blood. But Alaric knew this was just the beginning. The Barrens had tasted his power, and now, something much darker was watching them from the rib-tower ahead.