The moment I stepped beyond the camp's outer ring, the noise died.
The shouting, the laughter, the constant scrape of stone on hide—all of it faded behind me as though the valley itself had swallowed the sound. The earth beneath my feet softened, layered with damp leaves and old rot, and the air cooled beneath the canopy of twisted branches overhead.
No weapon.
No fire.
No protection.
Just me.
My heart hammered against my ribs as I moved deeper into the wilds, every breath sharp and shallow. I forced myself to slow, to listen. The forest wasn't silent—it never was—but its sounds had meaning if you paid attention. The distant flutter of wings. The rustle of undergrowth. The subtle wrongness when something stopped moving altogether.
I crouched near a shallow stream, fingers brushing the wet soil. Tracks. Narrow hooves, light weight.
Small prey. My chest loosened slightly.
This I can do.
Then a branch snapped to my left and I froze.
The air shifted—heavy, tense.
Not prey.
But a Predator.
It stepped out of the brush with deliberate slowness.
A stone-fang hound.
Its body was long and lean, muscles coiled beneath mottled gray hide like living wire. Its jaw hung slightly open, teeth thick and jagged like broken rock, saliva dripping freely as it tested the air. Its eyes locked onto mine, unblinking.
I backed away.
It followed.
I grabbed the first thing my hand touched—a heavy branch—and raised it uselessly. "Go," I shouted, swinging it wide. "Get back!"
The hound lunged.
Pain exploded across my forearm as its teeth sank in. I screamed, slamming the branch against its skull. It yelped—but didn't release. Flesh tore as I stumbled backward, lost my footing, and fell hard down a shallow incline.
The world spun.
The hound snapped again, teeth closing inches from my throat.
I kicked wildly, heel connecting with its snout. It recoiled just long enough for me to roll away and scramble to my feet, blood pouring freely from my arm. I ran—blindly, desperately—branches tearing at my skin as I dove beneath a fallen log and pressed myself flat against the earth.
The hound prowled nearby.
Sniffing.
Waiting.
My arm burned. My vision blurred. Blood soaked into the dirt beneath me as I clamped a shaking hand over the wound. Every breath felt too loud, too fast.
I failed.
I couldn't kill it.
I couldn't even drive it away.
If I returned like this...Empty-handed and bleeding—I'd be cast out. If the hound waited me out, I'd die here.
I lay there until the shaking slowed.
Until the pain dulled into something deeper.
And beneath it, something stirred.
That familiar pressure under my skin.
The thing I had buried. Starved.. Denied...
'If you use it, they'll know.' But another thought followed, colder and clearer.
'If you don't, you won't survive long enough for it to matter.' I exhaled slowly.
And let go—just enough.
Darkness pooled beneath me, thickening my shadow unnaturally. The air grew heavy, cold. Sound dulled, swallowed by something deeper and wrong. When I opened my eyes again, the forest felt slower—like it was moving through water.
The hound lunged.
I reached out.
The shadow surged forward, rising from the ground in grasping, formless lengths. It wrapped around the beast's legs mid-leap and slammed it into the dirt with bone-shaking force. It snarled and thrashed violently, jaws snapping as I staggered forward, my head pounding like it would split open.
Blood trickled from my nose.
"Enough," I whispered.
The darkness tightened.
There was a wet crack.
The hound went still.
The shadows collapsed instantly, sinking back into the earth as though they had never been there. I dropped to my knees, gasping, hands trembling violently as the forest slowly returned to itself.
Wind brushed leaves.
Birds stirred again.
The stone-fang hound laid dead. Up close, it looked even more monstrous. Its jaw was wider than it should've been, teeth thick and uneven like shattered stone. One eye stared blankly at nothing.
This wasn't my proof.
Not the way the tribe meant it.
Using a sharp stone shard, I worked quickly, forcing myself not to think. The blade scraped against bone as I pried free two of its largest fangs. They came loose with a wet sound, heavy and slick in my hands.
Strong.
Dangerous.
I wiped them on the grass, then slipped them into my hide pouch.
* * * * *Later* * * * *
The trial wasn't over.
I forced myself upright and moved deeper into the forest—slower now, quieter. I didn't chase danger this time.
I hunted down.
Tracks revealed themselves once panic faded—disturbed soil, bent grass near a berry patch. Something small. Fast. Prey.
A brush-runner burst into view, long-bodied and lean, its mottled fur blending perfectly with the undergrowth.
I crouched.
It paused.
I let the darkness stir again—not fully, not carefully. It wrapped around my arms like weight, like pressure, veins burning as my body strained under borrowed strength.
The brush-runner bolted, and I lunged.
The darkness surged with me, slamming it into the ground mid-run. I dropped on it instantly, hands closing around its throat as the shadow reinforced my grip with wild, merciless force.
The creature thrashed violently, claws scraping uselessly against my arms.
I snarled through clenched teeth, vision tunneling. "Stay down." The pressure increased.
The thrashing slowed.
Then stopped.
I held on longer than necessary, breath ragged, heart pounding, until I was certain it was dead. When I released it, the darkness unraveled and sank back into my shadow, leaving only my shaking hands behind.
I stared at the corpse.
Small.
Fragile.
Enough.
Using the stone shard, I worked quickly, cutting proof from the kill and slinging the rest over my shoulder. My arm throbbed. My head ached. My body felt hollow.
But I was alive.
When I turned back toward the camp, the sky was already darkening, clouds heavy with rain.
And this time, I would return with exactly what the trial demanded.