By evening, the city glowed like a dying fire in the dark. Amber lines flickered under its thick skin, and the giant city moved with slow, steady breaths. Eryndor wasn't sure if they were inside a great machine or the body of a sleeping giant.
They decided to eat in an open hall seemingly made of thick roots. The high ceiling looked like giant ribs, and glowing spots floated in the air, giving soft light to the long tables. The smell of roasted meat, spices, and warm sap filled the room.
Eryndor studied his meal with suspicion as he poked at the dish that looked disturbingly animated.
He narrowed his eyes. "Is this moving, or is the table breathing again?"
Lirien did not look up from her food. "Probably both."
Garruk tore into something charred and enormous with the enthusiasm of a man who had decided that questions were unnecessary.
"Food that tries to escape makes the best eating."
"That sentence alone has destroyed my appetite," Eryndor muttered, though he still took a cautious bite.
The hall was crowded. Beastfolk from many clans filled the long rows of tables. The bull kin, Members of the Aruq Clan that sat in groups near the central hearths. Group of Lion-kin moved through the hall with calm but unmistakable presence. Wolf-kin, boar-kin, panther-kin, and more filled the space in layered conversations.
Not all were Beastfolk. Eryndor noticed a few humans, a broad-shouldered golem with stone plates etched in faint runes, a treefolk figure whose bark-skin shimmered with sap-light, and even few of the reclusive elves sitting and talking quietly near the edge of the hall.
Conversation rose and fell in waves, loud enough to push the wooden table beneath Eryndor's elbows into a small shiver.
"The Beastlord will arrive tomorrow, with her Fangguard," A beastfolk said near Eryndor seat. His voice was quiet but excited.
"Truly? The Beastlord Nakira?"
"Yes, the very Beastlord of the eastern plateau"
"They say she will spectate and bless the chosen warrior herself."
"For few generations only the Iron Fang marshal Darius Lohkar has attended the Trials."
That last remark piqued Eryndor interest.
"That sounds significant." He murmured
"The trial this time is going to be different boy." Garruk suddenly said to him. Seemingly also had heard the conversation.
Eryndor leaned slightly.
Garruk wiped his hands "I heard a Beastlord attending the trial in person is not common and unusual."
" Tomorrow, her presence would never be just ceremony." he said slowly,
Eryndor tilted his head. "So It's a message.."
"Let me guess. Power. Legitimacy. Fear."
"Possibly all three," Garruk said with a short laugh.
"A warning." Lirien joined
Eryndor exhaled quietly. After a while he just shook his head with a chuckle.
"Nakira Nekhir. The current Eastern Plateau Beastlord of the Nekhir Totemic Clan. The one who can stare down a thunder-praetor."
"Or bite through one," Garruk grinned.
Lirien glanced at Eryndor. "She sounds like your type."
"My type," Eryndor replied flatly, "includes people who can't eat me in one bite."
But despite his dry tone, he couldn't ignore the buzz that filled the hall. The Herd City was alive tonight and not just because the fortress literally lived.
Anticipation ran through it like a second heartbeat because tomorrow, the Beastlord of the Eastern Plateau would stand on this city. Tomorrow, The Voice of the Hunt trial would begin. Tomorrow, the Eastern Plateau would hold its breath.
After they finished eating, the three of them stepped out onto a broad balcony at the upper floor. The night air was warm and faintly metallic.
Below them, the city spread in layered tiers. They saw few young Beastfolk in small groups, painting their skin with fresh symbols, rehearsing combat stances, and murmuring prayers to their totems.
Eryndor leaned on the railing, studying it all. Garruk and Lirien joined him in silence for a moment.
"It is interesting isn't it?" Eryndor said at last.
"It is impressive," Lirien replied.
Eryndor nodded. "It feels ancient, but not fragile. This land culture is wilder than anything I've seen."
Garruk stepped between them. Rested his forearms on the railing. "Tomorrow we will witness one of their greatest events. That alone makes this journey worth the detour."
Both of them nodded in an agreement.
After a moment, Eryndor sighed dramatically. "Finally. Something peaceful."
Both of them looked at him.
"What?" he asked.
Lirien shook her head. "Whenever you say something like that, it feel like the the world take it personally."
"Do not tempt it," Garruk grunted his agreement.
Eryndor lifted his hands in surrender. "I am simply appreciating the quiet."
Meanwhile, deep under the city where the walls were thick and the amber lines pulsed slowly, the city's upper brass met quietly.
This wasn't a fancy hall for ceremonies; it was a strong, practical room that had been repaired many times over hundreds of years. The walls had scars from riots, battles, and old accidents that had shaken the city's foundation. The air smelled like tree sap, iron, and old wood.
In the middle stood the Heart-Totem—a huge pillar made of bone, horn, and hard sap. It was covered in symbols carved by many different generations. The city's high officials sat in a circle around it.
High-Chieftain Mahrak of the Aruq Clan, the de facto mayor of the Herd-City, broke the silence.
"The city is under strain."
His voice was calm and even.
"The walls tightened at midday. The support-beasts grew restless. Maintenance roots began regrowing without command." His jaw tightened. "That does not happen without cause."
A districk Warden nodded grimly. "The city seems to preparing for impact."
An elder scoffed quietly. "Or because of the arrival of the Beastlord tomorrow. It has been a long while since the beastlord visited our city. A city this old remembers power."
"That was my first conclusion," Mahrak said. "It no longer satisfies me."
A Totem-Seer stepped forward and placed her palm against the Heart-Totem. Amber light flickered faintly at her touch.
"The city is essentially a beast, the ancient one." she said plainly. "And it is bracing. Like a muscle before a blow."
A murmur rippled through the chamber.
One of the younger clan heads crossed his arms. "So to say it clearly. You believe an attack is coming."
"Yes," the Seer answered without hesitation. "Or something close enough that the city cannot distinguish the difference."
Then another elder spoke, voice rough with age. "No scouts report hostile movement. No clan signals war. There are no clear omens."
"Threat does not always announce itself," the Seer replied. "Sometimes it comes disguised as opportunity."
"That is suspicion, not proof," the younger lord argued.
Mahrak exhaled slowly. "What we do know is that the Trials will draw every major clan's attention to one place. The Beastlord herself will attend. The city will be crowded."
"That is reason enough to delay," one elder insisted.
"And delay would signal fear," another countered sharply. "You would announce to the Plateau that the Herd-City doubts its own strength?"
Silence followed.
"The Trials are older than the current body of this city," Mahrak said. "Cancel them, and the clans will not hear caution. They will hear fracture."
The Totem-Seer turned toward him. "And if we proceed and blood is spilled?"
"Blood is always spilled," Mahrak replied. "This is Karshvar."
Some elders nodded. Others did not.
An elder spoke again. "We can reinforce patrols. Secure the Conduit routes. Restrict access to the deeper structures."
"We are already doing so," Mahrak said. "But we cannot lock down a city of this size without crippling it."
An older elder cleared his throat. "And if we are wrong?"
"Then the Trials proceed as tradition demands," Mahrak said. "And our caution becomes invisible victory."
He placed his hand against the Heart-Totem.
"If we are correct, then the Hunt will reveal the threat."
He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again. "The city will endure. It always has."
One by one, the elders voiced agreement. Some with conviction. Some reluctantly. None objected.
"The Trials will proceed," Mahrak declared. "No public changes. No delay."
The Heart-Totem pulsed once, deep and heavy.
The decision was made.
Above, drums echoed faintly across the city. Fires were lit along terraces. Warriors sharpened blades and steadying breaths.
The Herd-City did not know the shape of the danger that approached.
But it had chosen to face it directly.
Back on the balcony, Eryndor yawned and leaned back.
"Very well," he said. "I suggest we sleep before something inconvenient occurs."
Lirien gave him a look. "Something will occur. It always does."
"That is precisely why I want to sleep first."
Garruk clapped him on the shoulder. "Enjoy the calm while it lasts lad. Tomorrow's a day of blades, blessings, and beasts. If nothing else, it'll be entertaining."
Eryndor shrugged, offering a crooked smile.
"Let just hope the Trials are the only dangerous thing waiting for us."
The city hummed under their feet while somewhere deep within it, unseen and unheard, a plot continued to grow like a hidden thorn.