The forest never slept.
Even as Avin lay still beneath stone and shadow, the night outside pulsed with life — the kind that breathed in blood and roared in hunger.
The wind carried the sound of footsteps.
Three figures moved cautiously through a clearing bathed in pale moonlight. The trees around them were enormous, their twisted roots breaking through the earth like the ribs of some buried titan. The air was thick, humid, heavy with the stench of decay — and something else. Something faintly acidic.
The leader — a man with silver armor dulled by ash — raised his hand, signaling his squad to stop. The ground was shifting.
Then came the tremor.
A faint vibration at first, like distant thunder. Then stronger. Louder. The soil cracked.
"Scorpion!" someone shouted.
