The Fiery Dens of Ashfang
In the molten canyons where rivers of fire painted the night, the great obsidian wolf of Ashfang glowed faintly red.
High Shaman Vorrek startled awake, sweat soaking his robes. He rushed to the totem, its basalt eyes burning as though alive. Apprentices trailed behind him, their faces pale.
"It burns without offering," one whispered.
Vorrek pressed his palm against the stone, then hissed as the heat seared his skin. "Not offering. Not fire," he muttered.
"Then what, Master?"
He looked at the red eyes that seemed to stare back at him. His voice was hoarse. "Something has stepped into this world that fire itself fears."
The apprentices fell silent, exchanging fearful glances.
The Serpents Lair of Duskthorn
In the western swamps, snakes writhed restlessly in their coils, hissing at the night.
Inside the totem hall, Elder Yllira leaned on her cane as the serpent idol dripped sap that looked like blood. Young hunters stood uneasily before her.
"Why do they writhe so, Elder?" one asked.
"The swamp knows," she said.
"Knows what?" another pressed.
"That something darker than shadow moves in the north."
The youngest swallowed hard. "Darker than us?"
Yllira's lips curled into a thin smile. "We shall see."
The Stoneclaws of the Mountains
In the eastern peaks, the granite bear groaned in its cave, a rumble that spilled dust and sent warriors scrambling.
A man cursed, bracing the idol. "Earth should not shake without storm."
"Silence," commanded Elder Garron. He pressed his palm against the warm stone, eyes shut tight.
The warriors watched, uneasy, until one asked, "Is it danger?"
Garron opened his eyes, gaze grim. "Not danger. A warning. The mountain bows, and when mountains bow, men fall."
The hall fell quiet, the bear's tremor echoing in their bones.
The Bronze Halls of Veylan
Bronze telescopes tilted skyward in the kingdom of Veylan, where astronomers argued beneath the palace dome.
"The constellations dimmed. I swear it," cried one.
"Nonsense, the glass was fogged," retorted another.
"No," said the eldest, trembling as he peered through the lens. "Something passed between us and the stars."
Their debate broke when a steward rushed in, bowing low. "The king summons you."
Moments later, King Althar frowned from his throne. "You quarrel about clouds while I dream of a boy cloaked in shadow. Tell me—do I prepare for war?"
The astronomers exchanged frightened glances. Not one dared answer.
The Frozen Wolves of Thrymm
Far north, auroras twisted into shapes like spears. Wolves refused to leave their dens, their howls carried on the wind.
In the citadel hall, warriors gathered around a fire. One banged his fist. "Never have I seen the lights twist so."
An old chief, scarred and heavy-shouldered, lifted his head. "The last time the skies turned this way, the world bled."
The younger men fell silent. None laughed at the old man's words.
The Oaks of Sylvasen
In the western forests, druids stood before a shattered oak. Its heartwood blackened, sap running like smoke.
"This tree stood since the first dawn," whispered one.
"Now it falls," another answered.
The eldest pressed her hand against the bark, her eyes closing. Tears streaked her cheeks. "The balance is broken. A child of shadow walks again."
Beneath the Maltic Sea
Deep in the black abyss, a palace of coral and stone stirred. An ancient cultivator, still as a statue, opened pale eyes that glowed against the dark.
The sea itself seemed to hold its breath. Predators fled into the deep, and silence swallowed the abyss.
The eyes closed once more, as though nothing had happened.
In Stagheart Vale
Kael lay awake in his hut, staring into the dark. He had felt it, the echo of the shadow's hunger. Holding it down had nearly torn him apart, yet he had bound it within himself. The world believed it had seen a curse. In truth, he had chosen to let them glimpse only a whisper of its presence.
He thought of the villagers' fear, the chief's glare, Dagan's smirk. All had moved as he expected. Yet somewhere beyond the forest, tribes, kingdoms, and powers stirred because of him. The ripple had reached them.
A faint smile touched his lips. If they fear the whisper, what will they do when the storm speaks?
Outside, Astwood Vale sighed beneath the weight of a shadow too vast for its roots to bear.