Saahag slammed her shoulder against the heavy infirmary doors, forcing them open while struggling to keep Leeonir upright. He was dead weight against her side, his arm dragging, and the heat radiating from his skin soaked through the layers of cloth and armor between them. The arm, the one covered in black scales, hung limp, pulsing with a faint, sickly luminescence that made her stomach turn.

  She shouted for Tetus, her voice cracking against the stone walls. The healer emerged from behind a curtain of drying herbs, wearing the look she had seen on physicians a dozen times before: the swift calculation of symptoms and odds. His eyes swept over Leeonir once, then twice, and a flicker of recognition settled in his expression.

  “The altar,” Tetus said, clipping the words. “Now.”

  They hauled him onto the cold stone slab. The moment his back touched the surface, the carved runes flared to life, soft blue deepening into a bright, rhythmic pulse that seemed to beat against the air. Tetus hovered his hands over Leeonir’s arm. The scales had spread since Mosiah; what had been contained to his forearm now crept past the elbow, the plates dark and veined with something that looked like liquid shadow moving beneath the skin.

  “What is this?” Saahag asked, the words sharper than she intended. “What’s happening to him?”

  Tetus didn’t look up. His fingers traced quick symbols in the air, leaving trails of pale light that sank into Leeonir’s flesh like water into dry earth. “Leelinor gave me orders. Whatever it takes. Whatever I must use.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  “No.” Tetus finally met her eyes. “It doesn’t.”

  He turned back to his work, pressing both palms flat against the scaled limb. The runes on the altar flared bright enough to make Saahag flinch, and Leeonir’s body arched in a violent spasm before collapsing back. The scales stopped. They didn’t retreat, but the creeping advance halted at the edge where black plates met pale skin, frozen like water hitting a dam.

  Tetus exhaled a long breath, wiping sweat from his temples. “It’s holding. For now.”

  “For now? What does that mean?”

  “It means I’ve read about this in texts that were ancient when Eldoria was just a cluster of huts, and those texts offered descriptions, not cures.” He began arranging a secondary circle of herbs and powdered stone, his movements precise despite a slight tremor in his hands. “The scales are evolving. Trying to spread. I’m holding them back, but I cannot reverse what has already taken root.”

  Saahag swallowed against the tightness in her throat, looking down at Leeonir. He looked pale and drawn, though peaceful enough in unconsciousness, his chest rising in shallow rhythms. This was the boy who had fought beside her at Mosiah. The prince who had bled for strangers.

  “Will he wake?”

  “When his body is ready.” Tetus wiped his hands on a stained cloth. “Hours, maybe days. There is no rushing this.”

  “I’ll stay.”

  “No.” Tetus pointed toward the door. “What I must do next requires precision, silence, and authorization you don’t possess. Only those permitted by the Council may witness the deeper arts.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off.

  “Leelinor’s orders,” Tetus said quietly. “Not mine. Go find something useful to do. Eldoria still stands, and it needs every blade.”

  She stood there for a long moment, jaw tight, fists clenched at her sides, before turning on her heel and walking out.

  The corridor was cold. The muted sounds of the city filtered in through distant windows, shouts, the clatter of carts, the organized chaos of a city bracing for war. Saahag leaned her head back against the stone wall.

  Peheef.

  The thought surfaced unbidden. Her stepfather. The man who had raised her after her mother died, who had taught her to read schematics and understand the bones of machines. If anyone could make sense of the mess in her chest, it was him.

  She moved through the castle with the ease of muscle memory, up the eastern stairwell, past the armory, and through the narrow passage connecting the keep to the engineering tower. The tower door was ajar.

  That was wrong. Peheef was meticulous about security; years of working with volatile materials had made him paranoid about unauthorized access. He never left the door open.

  She pushed inside.

  The workshop was a wreck, but not the usual clutter of ongoing projects. Blueprints had been ripped from the walls. Drawers hung open, emptied. A travel satchel sat on the central workbench, half stuffed with tools and scrolls, and Peheef was bent over it, his back to her.

  “Father?”

  He stiffened but didn’t turn. “You should be with the others,” he said. His voice was flat, devoid of its usual warmth. “Preparing.”

  “Preparing for what? What are you doing?”

  He went back to packing, his movements quick, efficient. “Leaving.”

  Saahag stepped closer, heart hammering against her ribs. “Leaving? Eldoria was just attacked. Mosiah is burning. Leelinor is wounded, his son is…” She choked on the words, forcing herself to swallow. “You can’t leave. Not now. We need every engineer. We need you.”

  “Eldoria is finished.”

  He said it casually, as if commenting on the weather. Simple. Certain.

  “What did you say?”

  Peheef finally turned. It was the same face, the weathered lines, the gray streaked beard, the dark eyes that had watched over her childhood, but something behind those eyes had shifted. It was as if the essential part of him had been hollowed out.

  “You need to stay,” she said, voice trembling. “Whatever you’re afraid of, we can face it together. Eldoria has survived worse. We’ve survived worse.”

  Peheef crossed the distance in three long strides. Before she could react, his hands were on her shoulders, the grip too tight, fingers digging into muscle. He leaned in close enough for her to smell burnt copper and old paper on his breath.

  “You,” he said, the words dropping like stones into deep water, “and all those who cannot withstand evolution, will die.”

  It didn’t make sense. It couldn’t, not coming from him, not from the man who had held her when she cried, who had taught her that strength came from unity. She shoved him away. The force surprised them both; Peheef stumbled back against the workbench. For a second, confusion flickered across his face before that terrible, hollow calm returned.

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  “You’re not the same.” Her voice cracked. Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to blink them loose. “I don’t recognize you. I don’t know who you are anymore.” She drew herself up. “And we won’t die. Eldoria will resist. We will fight. When the dust settles, remember that you chose to run.”

  Peheef straightened, slung his satchel over his shoulder, and laughed. It was a soft sound, almost gentle, but empty, the laugh of a man watching a child insist monsters aren’t real while standing in their shadow.

  “Goodbye, Saahag.”

  He walked past her without looking back and disappeared down the stairwell. Saahag stood alone in the ransacked workshop, surrounded by the debris of a life she no longer understood, while outside, the bells of Eldoria continued to ring.

  - - - -

  The wind on the mountain was sharp and constant, cutting through cloth and skin with the patience of something that had been eroding stone for millennia. Guhile stood at the edge of the outcropping, looking down at the encampment sprawling across the lower ridges. Fires dotted the darkness like scattered embers, and the sound of drums drifted up, a steady, relentless rhythm.

  Nakar paced behind him, his massive frame blocking the wind in gusts. The ogre’s tusks gleamed in the light of a nearby brazier, his fingers twitching toward weapons that weren’t there.

  “More soldiers,” Guhile said, not turning. “The villages east of the Thornback Ridge. The outcasts. The exiled. Bring them all.”

  Nakar snorted. “You give orders like you’ve earned them.”

  “I give orders because Kareed trusts me to execute his vision.” Guhile turned to face him. “Do you question his judgment?”

  Silence stretched between them, filled only by the wind and the drums. Nakar’s eyes narrowed, fists curling into balls the size of human skulls, but he didn’t strike. The name Kareed hung between them like a blade.

  “There’s another matter,” Guhile said, smoothing over the tension as if it hadn’t happened. “Karg.”

  “The councilor?” Nakar sneered. “What of him?”

  “He’s been distant. Quiet. My sources in the camp have seen him meeting others in private, speaking in hushed tones, vanishing for hours.”

  “Your sources.” Nakar spat the words. “Your little spines, crawling through shadows.”

  “Useful vermin,” Guhile replied. “They haven’t found anything concrete, but I want you to watch him. Personally.”

  “You want me to spy on my own kind.”

  “I want you to ensure nothing jeopardizes what we’ve built. If Karg is loyal, you’ll find nothing. If he isn’t…” Guhile let the sentence hang. “Kareed does not forgive failure. From any of us.”

  Nakar’s jaw tightened, nostrils flaring, but the fight drained out of his posture. “Fine. I’ll watch him.” He jabbed a thick finger toward Guhile. “But you, you still haven’t found the last node. The portal is incomplete. Every day we wait is another day the elves prepare.”

  Guhile’s expression remained placid, though his eyes hardened. “I’m aware of the timeline.”

  “Are you?” Nakar stepped into Guhile’s space, close enough to breathe rot into his face. “Because from where I stand, it looks like you’re failing. And when Kareed learns…”

  “Kareed will learn that I delivered exactly what I promised.” Guhile didn’t flinch. “The node will be found. The portal will open. And when Eldoria burns, it will be because I made it possible.”

  Nakar held his gaze for a long beat, then spat a thick gob of yellow phlegm onto the stone between them.

  “You would be dead if our master hadn’t saved you, Guhile,” the ogre said slowly. “Kareed is the evolution. He is the one who sees. Remember that.”

  Guhile inclined his head, a gesture that was half bow, half mockery. “Yes. He sees. And I execute.”

  Nakar turned and stalked away, his heavy footsteps shaking loose pebbles as he descended. Guhile waited until the ogre vanished into the dark, then moved to where the portal shimmered against the mountain face, a vertical tear in reality, swirling with darkness and edged in pale blue.

  He stepped through.

  The transition was instant, a sensation of being turned inside out and reassembled in a heartbeat. He emerged into air thick with the smell of old stone. His first thought rose unbidden: Deehia.

  She was the key. The blood that could unlock what centuries of study had failed to open. Without her, the final node would remain hidden. Without her, the portal would stay incomplete. He needed her by his side. She was the key to the portal, and the key to finding the weapons of the harpoons.

  Somewhere in the distance, the drums of the Awakening continued their rhythm, and Guhile moved deeper into the shadows.

  - - - -

  The gates of Eldoria rose before them like the ribs of a vast, wounded beast. Leelinor sat astride Arcanjos, keeping himself upright by will alone. A day and a half at Mosiah had drained something from him that sleep wouldn’t restore. Organizing the wounded, directing the evacuation, ensuring every survivor was accounted for, the attacks had left wounds that would scar the land for generations. Now, with smoke still smudging the northern horizon, he had to return to the capital and pretend hope was more than a convenient fiction.

  Behind him, the column stretched back toward the ruined city, carts laden with the injured, soldiers on foot, civilians clutching whatever they had managed to save. The sound of hooves and shuffling feet created a low, grinding dirge.

  Luucner rode up beside him, armor still stained from battle. “The healers are ready. They’ve prepared the central hospital. Tetus has been working without rest.”

  Leelinor nodded, mind elsewhere. His son. His wounded son, lying in that same hospital with an arm that had become something else.

  They passed through the gates. The streets were crowded with grim purpose. Soldiers moved in units; civilians hauled supplies. Hammers rang on wood and stone as the city fortified itself.

  At the steps of the keep, Thalion waited with Naramel. Both looked as if they hadn’t slept in days. Naramel stood with arms crossed, scars catching the light, watching the column approach with steady honey colored eyes.

  Leelinor dismounted, ignoring the sharp pain lancing through his side. Later. He could hurt later.

  “Tell me where we stand,” he said.

  Thalion stepped forward. “Western wall reinforced. Archer positions doubled. ARK lines rerouted around the damaged sectors, though we’ve lost nearly forty percent of our…”

  “Move faster.” Leelinor cut him off. “All of you. Luucner, Thalion, Naramel, advance the preparations. Spare no effort. Call in every debt, every alliance, every favor owed to this Council. Contact the villages that pledged support. Tell them Eldoria calls. Now.”

  The three exchanged glances. Luucner nodded first. “It will be done.”

  “The Council must remain silent about the specifics,” Leelinor continued. “No leaks. Guhile is to present his studies on the enemy immediately. I want Isaac, Edduuhf, and Toumar here. If they’re en route, send riders to hurry them.”

  Naramel cleared his throat. The forge master was built like a mountain, dense and immovable. “I brought the three hundred. As promised.”

  “And I am grateful, brother.” Leelinor met his eyes. “But if it is possible, bring three hundred more.”

  Naramel’s jaw tightened. “The Council of Saal’Ekar will not send more reinforcements this quickly. They need convincing. Proof of the danger.”

  “Proof?” Leelinor’s voice was heavy with exhaustion. “Mosiah burns. Our people die. And still they require proof.”

  He turned, looking out over the city, his father’s city, the city his son would inherit if any of them survived.

  “Eldoria only exists because we once fought together,” he said quietly. “First Peoples and Elves. Humans and those who came before. That unity made this continent strong.” He let the words settle. “If Eldoria falls, the conqueror will not stop at our borders. He will look north, to your lands, to the underground cities. Make them understand that.”

  Naramel was silent for a long moment, then inclined his head. “I will try.”

  Luucner stepped forward, placing a hand on Leelinor’s shoulder. “Go to the healers. Get treated, then return to lead us.”

  Leelinor looked at them. Warriors. Commanders. Friends.

  “I will.”

  He left them there, moving through the keep’s corridors. His stride grew heavier with each step, the pain in his side a dull, constant throb reminding him he was no longer young, no longer invincible.

  The doors to the healing chambers stood open. The smell of herbs and ozone hit him before he crossed the threshold. And there, on the central altar, lay Leeonir.

  Leelinor stopped. The High Councilor vanished. The commander vanished. The weight of the war fell away, leaving only a father looking at his son.

  Leeonir was pale, his face drawn tight. His chest rose in shallow, uneven rhythms, and his arm, the scales had spread past the elbow, black as the void, shot through with veins that pulsed like a second heartbeat.

  Tetus appeared at his side. “Leelinor. You should not be standing.”

  “Neither should you.” Leelinor didn’t look away from his son. “How is he?”

  “Stable.” Tetus moved to prepare a second, smaller altar near the window. “He hasn’t woken. I have slowed the progression, perhaps stopped it. For now.”

  “For now.”

  “It is the best I can offer. This is beyond our texts. Beyond anything I have seen in seventy years.”

  Leelinor finally turned to face the healer. His eyes, green as forest depths, held a terrible resolve.

  “Use everything. Every herb, every spell. Forbidden or forgotten, I don’t care. Save my son.”

  He moved to the second altar and sat heavily on the edge.

  “And heal me. Quickly.” He met Tetus’s gaze. “I feel it, old friend. We’re out of time. The darkness isn’t coming; it’s already here.”

  Tetus nodded, reaching for his instruments. “I will do my best. For both of you.”

  Leelinor lay back, staring at the ceiling. Beyond these walls, Eldoria prepared for war. His allies debated. His enemies gathered strength. And his son lay unconscious beside him, fighting a battle that no sword could win.