"Okay," Vesperyn said between breaths. "That makes it three."
He straightened, chest heaving, then lifted both arms.
"Hoo—hoo."
It was half a laugh, half disbelief.
The last marker Harlen had set—three full circuits without stopping—was behind him now.
Three weeks.
That was all it had taken.
Harlen didn't say anything at first. He stood a short distance away, arms crossed, eyes fixed on Vesperyn like he was re-counting something that didn't add up.
He had trained people before. Many of them. Some talented. Some desperate. A few reckless.
Vesperyn wasn't reckless.
That was what unsettled him.
"You're pushing too hard," Harlen said finally.
Then, Harlen stepped closer, gaze sharp.
He hesitated. He knew his own rule. Don't dig. Let the boy speak when he's ready.
Still—
"What's driving you?" Harlen asked.
Vesperyn slowed. His breathing steadied.
Then he stopped moving altogether.
"I have a goal," he said.
The words came out carefully, as he'd already practiced saying them.
"I need to see my family again. No matter what it takes."
Harlen didn't interrupt.
"If it's impossible," Vesperyn continued, quieter now, "then I'll make it possible."
His jaw tightened.
"I'll find a way. Even if I have to go backwards in time to do it."
Harlen studied him for a long second.
"That's…" he muttered. " a thing to aim for."
Harlen nodded once. "Alright. Don't let me catch you lying to yourself about it."
Then, just as suddenly.
"Your turn," Vesperyn said, wiping sweat from his brow. "You've been dodging long enough."
Harlen raised an eyebrow. "Dodging what?"
"You," Vesperyn said. "An old monk with my hair color, living on the edge of Pilgrim land, pretending he's just a tired woodsman."
Harlen snorted. "That's generous."
"Who are you?" Vesperyn pressed.
Harlen rubbed the back of his neck.
"…Fine, I'll tell," he said.
"I was a captain in the Pilgrim Kingdom. Worked under—"
The air trembled.
It wasn't loud. Not at first. Just a faint vibration underfoot, like something far away had shifted its weight.
Harlen froze.
His expression changed instantly.
"No," he muttered. "No—why the hell is this happening now?"
Another vibration rippled through the ground. Stronger.
Harlen snapped his head toward Vesperyn.
Before he could speak—
Vesperyn staggered.
A thin line of blood slipped from his nose.
"Ves?" Harlen said sharply.
The boy swayed.
Blood followed. Not pouring—seeping. From his nostrils. From the corners of his eyes. Then from his skin, emerging in fine, unnatural beads along his arms and neck.
Vesperyn gasped.
His body stiffened as if something inside him had pulled too tight.
Harlen moved without thinking.
He grabbed Vesperyn and lifted him off the ground just as a third vibration slammed through the clearing.
The air warped.
Harlen's teeth clenched.
"Damn it," he growled.
A barrier snapped into place around Vesperyn—tight, layered, hurried. Harlen didn't stop to perfect it.
He threw him.
Not carelessly. Desperately.
The barrier flared as Vesperyn was flung away from the clearing, vanishing into the trees just as the ground beneath them cracked.
Harlen turned back toward the source of the disturbance, jaw set.
Too late.
Harlen looked down.
The ground below him had split open where the vibration had peaked, earth sagging inward like a wound that refused to close.
Something moved inside it.
Segment by segment, a massive centipede pulled itself free, its body armored in dull, chitinous plates that caught the fading light. It was long—longer than any beast had a right to be—and thick enough that each section flexed under its own weight.
Its head rose last.
Too large.
Four limbs unfolded from its skull, jointed wrong, clawed hands flexing. Beneath them, its mouth opened in layers, ringed with pale sensory feelers that twitched constantly.
Fifteen feet.
Harlen exhaled slowly.
"A Rank Four," he muttered. "Out here?"
The creature let out a low, grinding sound that vibrated through the clearing.
Then the air shifted.
Harlen felt it before he saw it—pressure rippling outward, subtle but invasive. His skin prickled. His gums ached.
Frequency waves.
The centipede's head pulsed, and the ground around it darkened with scattered droplets of red. Blood seeped from small animals first, birds dropping from branches, rodents convulsing where they hid.
A wide radius.
The beast wasn't hunting with claws.
It was ringing the world like a bell.
It uses frequency waves to induce bleeding in anyone within a 5 km radius, making them bleed and then attacking them.
Harlen's jaw tightened.
He stepped forward and dropped from the ledge.
As he fell, he brought one fist to his chest, fingers closing around the worn symbol hanging beneath his coat.
"Watcher of the Path," he murmured, voice low and steady. "Grant clarity, not mercy, give me your Blessing, Goddess of Pilgrim."
Light gathered around him.
Not blinding. Focused.
White radiance traced along his arms, sinking into muscle and bone as his boots hit the ground hard enough to crack stone.
A spear formed in his grip—long, narrow, its edge clean and unforgiving.
The centipede reacted instantly.
Its head snapped toward him, feelers flaring. One of its hands slammed into the ground, launching its body forward with terrifying speed.
Harlen met it head-on.
The spear drove into its carapace with a sound like splitting iron.
The impact rattled his arms. The blade bit deep—but not deep enough.
The centipede shrieked, a sound that clawed at the inside of his skull. Its other hands came down in a blur.
Harlen twisted aside. One claw scraped across his shoulder, tearing cloth and skin alike. Blood welled immediately.
The beast recoiled.
Harlen didn't give it time.
He struck again. Then again.
Each blow landed true, but the creature adapted quickly, its body shifting, plates overlapping, minimizing damage. Its frequency pulses intensified, hammering outward in uneven waves.
Harlen's vision swam.
He gritted his teeth and pressed forward anyway.
Too slow.
One of the centipede's hands caught his leg and slammed him into the ground. The impact knocked the air from his lungs. The spear skidded from his grasp.
The creature reared up, towering over him, mouthparts opening wide.
Harlen rolled just as it struck.
Stone exploded where his head had been.
He came up on one knee, coughing, blood dripping from his chin.
"Still got it," he muttered grimly. "Just not enough of it."
He didn't see—
He forgot.
The waves weren't meant for him.
They were meant to call.
Far away, between the trees—
Vesperyn lay curled inside a thinning barrier.
Blood still seeped from his skin, slow and steady, staining the dirt beneath him. The light around him flickered weakly, stretched thin by distance and strain.
The sun dipped lower.