Chapter Twenty-One: Into the Wyrm's Reach
The forest changed as the strike team advanced.
The Hollow's trees had been tall and welcoming, their leaves whispering in gentle breezes, sunlight dappling soft paths and the forest floor alive with movement. Now, the canopy thickened, leaves dark and choked with moss, branches twisting in unnatural angles. The air grew heavy and humid, scented with damp earth and decay. Roots gnarled across the path like living serpents, forcing careful footfalls.
Umbra padded ahead silently, tail low, ears twitching. The wolfkin scouts moved with cautious precision, sniffing the air, ears alert for unseen threats. Even Fenrik's patrol shifted nervously among the thick shadows, claws brushing roots as they pressed forward.
"This place…" Dain muttered, eyes wide, "it feels… wrong."
Elira swallowed hard, gripping her bow tighter. "Like it's alive."
Kael's crimson eyes swept the trees, noting the subtle movements—branches that bent without wind, shadows that didn't match their source. "It is alive," he said, voice low. "And it is watching. Every sound, every step. The wyrm knows we are here."
Lyria moved silently to his side. "Then we move carefully. This isn't about brute force yet. Watch the ground, the air. Watch the tunnels. We strike only when we are ready."
The team pressed forward, every sense straining. The further they went, the thicker the air became, the light dimmer, the sounds of distant wings and faint rattlings sending chills through human and nonhuman alike. Even the goblins shuffled behind the wolfkin patrols, muttering quietly but following orders without hesitation.
After hours of careful movement, the ridge appeared ahead—jagged, iron-gray rock rising like a broken crown above the treetops. A fetid stench drifted downward: sulfur, decay, and the unmistakable tang of poisoned air.
Kael signaled a halt. Lyria stepped forward, scanning the terrain with her keen eyes. "There," she whispered, pointing toward a partially collapsed cave entrance, hidden behind a curtain of moss and roots. "The wyrm uses multiple entry points. These tunnels here, here, and here. Each leads to a chamber, and the air currents indicate the wyrm's resting places inside. We can't storm blindly. It will crush us if we do."
Thalos knelt beside the map, fingers tracing paths along the ground. "Collapse tunnels first?" he suggested. "Cut off its retreat, force it into one chamber."
Kael nodded slowly. "Yes. That is step one. Fenrik's patrol will block the northern ridge and shadow paths. Wolfkin hunters will collapse these three tunnels," he said, pointing. "Lyria, your scouts mark ambush points from above and run the alarms. I will engage it directly when it surfaces."
Elira and Dain listened, wide-eyed. Kael's voice, calm and commanding, left no room for argument—but their fear was palpable.
Lyria continued, "Its tunnels are booby-trapped. Pitfalls, spikes, venom traps. We must move carefully. Only when Kael signals, we close the net."
Kael's crimson gaze swept the team. "We strike as one. Mistake, hesitation, or recklessness, and we lose more than just the battle." He stepped closer to Elira, tone softer but unyielding. "And you," he said, "watch and learn. Today you see why following me matters. Today, survival is everything."
Umbra growled softly, stepping forward, his golden eyes fixed on the largest tunnel. Even the wolfkin leader's ears flattened in warning.
The team tightened their formation, checking gear, whispering last-minute confirmations, and shifting into position. Lyria signaled the scouts into the trees, Fenrik's wolfkin spread to their posts, Thalos flexed his massive hands over his weapons, ready to collapse earth if needed.
Kael's shadow stirred slightly, curling around his feet like living smoke. A ripple of crimson light brushed the ridge in the distance, warning that the hunt was about to begin.
And in the heart of the ridge, the wyrm waited.
The strike team exchanged silent nods. Kael took a deep breath, feeling the familiar thrill of the coming battle—the dangerous, intoxicating pull of combat and strategy entwined.
"Move forward," he whispered, almost to himself. "Step one begins now."
The Hollow's protectors advanced, shadows and steel moving as one, into the wyrm's lair.