The rustle of vines broke the morning's quiet first. Thorn stepped into the clearing, his thorn-laced fur matted with dirt and blood, each movement careful and deliberate. Between his jaws, he dragged a limp, shadowy form.
The creature was sleek, almost liquid in its movement, about the size of a large dog. Its fur shimmered in the dim light, shifting like smoke, blending seamlessly with the twilight shadows. Its paws ended in razor-sharp claws, and faint, glowing veins ran along its spine, pulsing with a dim, ethereal light.
Thorn dropped the limp body at Karl's feet. His green eyes shone with satisfaction, chest rising and falling in slow, steady rhythm.
Karl lowered himself beside the kill, his hand brushing the creature's strange fur. His Breath of Spring flared, just enough for him to feel the faint threads of fading vitality clinging to its form.
"Good hunt, Thorn," Karl said quietly, his voice warm, steady. He reached up, fingers scratching behind the wolf's ear. Thorn rumbled low in his throat, vines along his shoulders shifting lazily as his tail flicked once in quiet pride.
The newcomers drifted closer, by sudden arrival of Thorn with something in its jaw, their curiosity pulled them toward the kill.
Sylus was the first to kneel, his twin runed daggers catching the pale light as he used one to lift a corner of the beast's strange fur. His gaze sharpened, every motion precise, the look of someone who had studied too many carcasses in silence and shadow.
"A Shadow Lynx," he murmured, voice clipped, steady. The words carried the weight of experience more than warning. His eyes flicked briefly to Karl before settling back on the beast. "Slippery bastards. They fade into darkness, strike from blind spots. In my old territory, they hunted in packs at dusk—nasty for scouts like me. This one's young, but its hide could make good camouflage gear."
Karl nodded, impressed by Sylus's quick assessment. The rogue's solitary background showed in his wary stance, always scanning for threats, but the bond made him share freely. "Toren, can you use it?"
The smith stepped forward, his movements unhurried, like a man accustomed to weighing ore and fire before committing. His scarred hands brushed the shadowy fur once, then shifted to the pile of Razorhide Bear remains nearby. With a grunt, he lifted a jagged spine, testing its weight before letting it fall with a dull thud.
"Yes, my Lord," Toren said at last, his voice gravel-rough but certain. "The fur's light and flexible. After Infusing it with vines, binding it with bear sinew, and it'll blend like mist when worn. Give me some time, and I can shape it into cloaks for scouting.
Before Karl could respond, the air shifted. A sudden gust spiraled through the clearing, carrying the whisper of wings. Ember cut through the treetops, feathers glinting in the morning light, and landed on Karl's outstretched arm with a thrum of urgency. Her sharp chirp echoed against the barrier's faint hum, feathers flaring, amber eyes wide and restless.
Karl steadied her with a touch, fingers brushing along her neck. His voice lowered, calm against her agitation. "Easy… what did you find, Ember?"
The answer surged not in words, but through the thorn bond —impressions pouring into his mind, bright and swift, like fragments of wind and shadow stitched together.
From above, Ember had traced faint disturbances at the northern edge of the barrier: A humanoid figure, cloaked in shadows, lurking just beyond sight, observing the Sanctuary.
Ember had tailed it discreetly, her Storm Sense tracking its subtle movement. The stranger retreated northeast, vanishing into a distant shimmer—a barrier much like Karl's, encircling a small territory about a mile away.
Karl's blood ran cold. "A scout," he whispered, piecing it together. "From another Lord." The figure's careful movements, the hidden observation—it screamed reconnaissance.
Lysa's eyes widened, her hand tightening on her staff. "Another Lord?"
Karl nodded slowly. "Yes. Ember tracked them back… there's a territory barrier not far from here. Northwest. Which means another Lord has set up near us—and they're already sending scouts."
Finally, Renn spoke, his tone even but heavy with intent.
"Neighbors… If they're scouting, it means they've noticed our hunts, our barrier, maybe even the spoils we've gathered last time, that makes us a target."
Toren crossed his arms, "Then we'd better be ready. They'll strike when they think our guard is low."
Dren cracked his knuckles with a booming chuckle. "So, we've got neighbors. Good. Easier to know where to smash."
Sylus's fingers twitched near his daggers, eyes narrowing like a predator catching the scent of rival prey. "We should hit them first, my Lord. they're planning something. Waiting's suicide."
Veyra shook her head, her longbow resting across her lap, her cool gaze analytical: "Too risky. We don't know their numbers, their strength. we need to scout from afar—and strike only when we have an advantage."
"That's dull," Dren boomed with a laugh, slamming his mace into his shield. "I say we march northwest, tear their barrier down, and show them who rules these woods before they do the same to us."
Toren frowned, his voice steady as stone. "Recklessness leads to dead allies, better to strengthen ourself and wait until we understand their numbers."
Sylva crossed her arms, her vine-haired form shifting uneasily, her voice practical and measured: "Yes we can't afford a fight yet. we need to strategies our move.
Renn spoke next, his voice calm but firm. "We were already facing problem with the beast and now a rival lord."
Toren grunted in agreement, crossing his arms. "The wolves will descend the moment our barrier drops. If the rival lord intends to attack, he won't find a better opportunity than when we're engaged with the pack and our defenses are down." His eyes narrowed, soot-darkened features hard. "We need to defeat one of them before barrier drops. Then sharpen our blades for whatever comes next."
The circle stirred, murmurs and half-arguments sparking. Some, like Dren, clearly wanted blood. Others, like Grok and Toren, leaned toward caution. Sylus's eyes never left Karl, watching, weighing.
Finally, Karl raised a hand, His voice carried a quiet authority. ""You've all made your points. But remember this—beasts and Lords alike are enemies. Both can threaten us, but we should focus on the wolves first.
His eyes swept over them one by one, lingering on Sylus last—acknowledging the rogue's sharp, silent watchfulness. "Survival comes first. That means defeating the wolves. Every plan, every task, every drop of strength goes into preparing for that fight.
He let the words settle, then added with a harder edge, "But we cannot ignore what Ember saw either. Another Lord this close… it changes everything. If they're cautious, they'll wait. If they're bold, they'll strike when the wolves weaken us. Either way, we must be ready."
So, we should also put watch over them for their movements against us. wolves are the immediate threat—cunning, close, and vengeful. Once they're gone, we can scout the rival territory. We will gather intel see if they are hostile to us at the same time build strength, then decide our move."
A stillness settled. Then Lysa nodded firmly. "That's the wisest plan."
Renn let out a quiet breath of relief. "Then I'll lay more traps around the barrier, to make sure no stranger gets close to sneak attack us." Dren grumbled but shrugged. "Fine. Wolves first. But when we're done, I want the fight that's waiting to the northwest."
Karl lowered his spear, his voice firm. "Then it's decided.
The Sanctuary hummed again, as if the land itself accepted their resolve. Beyond the barrier, the forest whispered with beasts and secrets—but now the companions stood united, their path chosen.