Chapter Twenty: The Edge of Shadows

Morning light filtered through the Hollow as Kael strode past the bustling village square. Scouts checked bows, wolfkin adjusted their armor, dwarves inspected the sharpened edges of axes and hammers, while Lyria oversaw last-minute adjustments to her runed arrows. The air smelled of wet earth, iron, and smoke from early-forged fires.

Elira stepped out from behind a stack of supplies, hesitating. Her small frame was tense, hands clenched at her sides. "Kael," she called, voice wavering but firm. "Wait."

He slowed, crimson eyes meeting hers. Umbra, alert beside him, flicked his ears, sensing her agitation.

"What is it?" Kael asked.

"I… I don't understand. Where are you going? You, Thalos, Fenrik… all of you. It's too dangerous!" Her gaze darted to the well-armed wolfkin, to the scouts, to the dwarf with tools strapped across his back. "This isn't hunting wolves or ogres. This… this wyrm can kill all of you!"

Kael stopped, shadows curling at his feet instinctively. "And if we do nothing, it will continue to kill others—innocent people, monsters, goblins, humans alike. Do you want them trapped in its tunnels, to be picked apart one by one?"

Elira shook her head, stepping closer. "No, but there has to be another way! You can't just—"

Kael's shadows surged slightly, licking along the cobblestones, unnerving her. Umbra growled softly. "Another way?" he murmured, voice low and dangerous. "You speak as if it matters what another way is. This is our way."

Elira's eyes widened as the shadows coiled tighter, swirling around Kael like living smoke. Kael's crimson eyes flared, and with a subtle motion, the shadows twisted upward, forming jagged tendrils that whipped through the air. A pebble leapt from the path, caught in midair, suspended by the raw force of his power.

"Kael… what—" she started, voice trembling.

"This," Kael said, voice low but resonant, "is why I go. I am not human. I am not like them. I can face this wyrm because I carry strength they do not. And you," he said, letting the shadows recoil slightly, "will see why following me is not foolish—but necessary."

Elira's mouth opened and closed. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to look away from the curling shadows. Finally, she said, voice barely audible, "I… I understand."

Kael's eyes softened just slightly. "Good. You will learn much from Lyria and Fenrik. Watch, and remember the difference between courage and recklessness. Learn it well."

She nodded, still pale but resolute. "I will."

Kael allowed the shadows to recede, coiling back into the earth like a living smoke retreating into the cracks. Umbra nudged him, tail flicking once, approving.

Behind them, the strike team gathered, fully equipped and armored. Lyria adjusted her bow strap, her silver eyes meeting Kael's with unspoken understanding. Fenrik's wolfkin patrols stood rigid, disciplined, weapons ready. Thalos flexed his massive hands, gleaming blades in the torchlight, expression unreadable but focused. The scouts checked ropes, grapnels, and lanterns, following Lyria's instructions.

Kael took a slow breath, scanning the line of warriors and allies he had assembled. Every member of the strike team was handpicked, trained, and prepared for the dangers ahead. The wyrm's lair waited, a twisting network of tunnels and poison-laden air, but they were ready—or as ready as any could be.

He turned to the assembled force. His voice rang out, steady and commanding:

"Move with purpose. Protect one another. Follow Lyria's lead, and remember what we fight for. We strike as one."

A chorus of quiet acknowledgment met him.

Kael mounted the small rise at the edge of the Hollow. Umbra beside him, he gazed toward the northeast, where the ridge rose jagged against the dawn sky. His crimson eyes burned with focus, his shadows rippling faintly over the ground.

And with that, the strike team began their march.

The Hollow fell silent in their wake, the first stirrings of wind carrying the promise of fire, steel, and shadows into the forest beyond.