Sleep came reluctantly to the camp.
The Wizards rested where they could—on bedrolls warmed by residual magic, beneath cloaks stitched with sigils meant to repel nightmares. Their power did not fade in sleep, but it loosened, drifting outward like breath in the cold.
Thane slept with his staff across his chest, one hand wrapped around the shaft even in dreams. His brow twitched, lips moving soundlessly, as if negotiating with something that refused to listen.
Nyra did not truly sleep at all.
She lay still beneath her veil, eyes open, watching the dark canopy above. Threads of moonlight tangled in the silver embroidery of her robes, pulsing faintly with each slow breath. Somewhere beyond the wards, something pressed gently against her awareness—testing, not touching.
Kaelos dreamed of fire.
Not the obedient kind, but the old flames—wild, hungry, remembering wars his teachers had sworn were finished. Embers curled around his fingers in his sleep before fading as he shifted, restless.
Eladora's ledger rested open beside her bedroll, pages fluttering though there was no wind. Symbols bled softly through the parchment, rearranging themselves when she wasn't looking, as if the future had grown impatient.
Mira slept curled close to the ground, palms flat against the soil. The earth murmured beneath her touch—roots stirring, stones complaining, something deep and ancient turning over in discomfort.
And Darius—
Darius did not sleep.
He sat against a tree at the edge of the camp, eyes closed but mind sharp, listening to the forest breathe. His hand hovered near the hilt of his blade, not in fear, but in familiarity.
Something was wrong.
The wards held. The magic was clean. The night was calm.
Too calm.
Above them, the branches did not sway.
And far beyond the circle of firelight, the forest waited—patient.
It did not announce danger.
That was the first sign.
No birds fled. No insects fell silent. The night did not tense the way it always did when Tsumiki drew near. Instead, the woods remained unnervingly calm—too aware, like a held breath that had gone on too long.
Aria felt it before anyone spoke.
A pressure at the base of her skull.
Not fear, attention.
She stood up and came out of the camp.
She sat near the fire, blanket pulled tight around her shoulders, ribs still aching beneath the bandages. Across from her, Darius leaned against a tree, one hand resting casually near his dagger, the other still faintly trembling from exhaustion.
"You feel it too," she said quietly.
Darius didn't answer at first. His eyes were fixed on the darkness beyond the ward line.
"Yes," he said at last. "And whatever it is—it's not hunting."
The wards shimmered faintly, their runes steady and intact.
Then one of them dimmed.
Just for a heartbeat.
Darius straightened. "That's impossible."
Nyra's veil stirred as she rose, silver threads rippling like disturbed water. Thane's staff gave off a low, warning hum. Kaelos stepped forward, fire gathering instinctively in his palm.
"Reveal yourself," Kaelos commanded.
The darkness did not part.
It condensed.
Mist gathered between the trees—not rolling in, not drifting, but assembling, as if the forest itself were remembering a shape it had once allowed to exist.
A figure emerged.
Tall. Thin. Wrapped in layered cloaks that seemed stitched from shadow and old ash. Its face was hidden behind a smooth mask carved with symbols so ancient they made Eladora inhale sharply when she saw them.
No eyes were visible.
Yet it looked directly at Aria.
Mira whispered, "That is not Tsumiki."
Thane's voice was grim. "A Revenant Tracker."
Nyra turned sharply. "They were destroyed."
"They were erased from records," Thane corrected. "Not from reality."
The thing did not move closer.
It did not need to.
When it spoke, its voice did not come from its mouth—but from the space between heartbeats.
"Blood-that-chooses-itself," it intoned.
"You have deviated." it turned to aria.
Aria's fingers curled into fists. "From what?"
"From certainty."
Kaelos unleashed his fire.
The flames tore through the figure—and passed straight through, dispersing harmlessly into mist.
The Tracker tilted its head.
"I am not here to claim you," it said. "Not yet."
Darius stepped forward despite Kaelos's warning glare. "Then why are you here?"
The masked face turned toward him.
"Because Virel interferes," it said.
"And because the Seventh Key refuses alignment."
Aria's heart slammed.
"The Devourer stirs," the Tracker continued calmly. "The Crystal has awakened. The war you anticipate is not the war approaching."
The wards flared violently, reacting too late.
Mist began to unravel, the figure dissolving back into the forest like ink into water.
"We will observe," it said as it faded.
"When choice is no longer sufficient."
And then it was gone.
The forest resumed its sounds.
Crickets. Leaves. Breath.
No one spoke.
Finally, Aria broke the silence. "That thing wasn't on anyone's side."
Mira nodded slowly. "It hunts balance."
Darius looked at Aria—not smiling now, not hiding anything.
"That means," he said, "you're no longer just part of the prophecy."
Aria lifted her chin, pain and resolve burning together.
"Good," she said. "Let the world adjust."
Far away, unseen by all of them, the Shadow Pack Lord paused mid-step.
And deep beneath stone and root, something ancient shifted in its sleep.
Because something had changed.
And it had been noticed.