They left before true dawn.
No firelight. No loud goodbyes. Just Maera's hand signals and Elowen's steady pace, the rescued family packed tight in the center of the group like a living bundle of fear.
I stayed in the sling against Elowen's chest, hood up, presence folded inward so hard it felt like I was trying to hide from my own heartbeat.
Maera led them off the broken road and into a narrow ravine where the trees grew close and the rock walls pinched sound into silence.
"Next mile-stone?" Elowen whispered.
"Two miles," Maera answered. "If nothing follows us."
The way she said if made my core loop tighten.
We walked for almost a mile before the first sign came.
Not a lantern.
Not footsteps.
A smell.
Metal and wet ash.
The horses—two spare ones the merchants had with them—snorted and started to panic. The mother covered her children's ears, whispering frantic comfort.
Maera stopped dead.
Elowen stopped too.
I felt it before I saw it: a pressure moving low to the ground, sliding between trees like a thought that had learned how to bite.
Maera's voice dropped to a whisper. "Don't flare. Don't speak loudly."
Elowen's hand pressed firmly over my back through the sling—anchor without words.
I nodded even though she couldn't see it.
Then the thing stepped into the ravine's mouth.
It looked like a dog at first.
A big one.
But its fur was wrong—smoke clinging to bone—and its eyes were empty sockets lit from within by a dim red glow. Runes crawled across its ribs like brands hammered into a living cage.
A hound.
Not an animal.
A construct built to track.
It lowered its skull and inhaled.
I felt the tug on my name spike, like a hook catching cloth.
Maera's jaw tightened. "Tracker hound. It doesn't need line of sight. It follows resonance."
Elowen's breathing stayed steady, but the bond flared with cold anger.
It's looking for me, I whispered through the bond.
Then we make you quiet enough to be boring, Elowen replied.
Maera lifted two fingers—hold—then pointed at the rock wall beside us.
A narrow fissure.
"Family," Maera whispered. "In there. Now. No noise."
The merchants moved, stumbling into the crack in the ravine wall, tucking children and supplies into the dark like they were trying to crawl back into the earth.
Elowen didn't move.
Neither did Maera.
They stayed where the hound could see them.
A decoy.
My stomach twisted.
The hound's head tilted.
Then it stepped forward—slow, deliberate—like it already knew the end of the story.
Elowen's hand slid under her cloak to my hilt—because I was still in kid form in the sling.
Rin, Elowen whispered through the bond, can you deny it?
I closed my eyes and wrapped my presence in that smooth, sealed shell—quiet, stubborn, hooded.
The hook tugged again.
It slid off.
The hound paused.
Its red glow brightened.
It sniffed the air harder—then its runes pulsed, and the air around it shifted, like it was forcing the world to tell the truth.
My anchor shivered.
Maera's eyes narrowed. "It can pressure-scan."
Elowen's voice stayed calm. "Then we don't hide. We misdirect."
Maera glanced at her. "You can't outrun it with civilians."
Elowen's grip tightened.
Then she looked down at me.
Not like a weapon.
Like her responsibility.
"Rin," she said softly, "I need you to do something scary."
My throat tightened. "What?"
Elowen inhaled once.
Come into my hand. Sword form. Quiet. And—let me carry you openly for a moment.
I blinked. "What?"
It expects the beacon to be hidden, Elowen replied. We show it the wrong beacon.
My mind raced.
If I flared, the caster would feel it.
If I didn't flare, the hound might still find me.
Elowen's thoughts stayed steady through the bond—steady enough to hold mine.
Trust me.
I swallowed.
Okay… mommy.
The word slipped out, soft and accidental.
Elowen's heart stuttered once—then steadied like she'd accepted the title as armor.
Good girl, she answered—not like the dark voice, not possessive—just proud and warm. Now do it.
Light folded inward.
I snapped into Lumenward in her hand with no glow, no dramatic flare—just a clean shift.
Elowen drew me and let the hound see the blade's silhouette.
But she didn't raise me to strike.
She held me like a normal sword.
Like a traveler's weapon.
Like nothing legendary at all.
Maera moved at the same time—fast hands, precise—she scraped a small chalk sigil on the rock wall and pressed her palm to it.
The sigil lit once.
A faint echo of resonance—my resonance—pulsed from the wall like a heartbeat.
A false scent.
The hound's head snapped toward it instantly.
It growled—low, hungry—and lunged toward the rock wall.
Maera's crescent blade flashed, slicing through the chalk sigil at the exact moment the hound reached it.
The resonance pulse snapped—like a leash breaking.
The hound slammed into the wall anyway, clawing, snarling, trying to dig the "sword" out of stone.
Elowen didn't waste the opening.
"Move!" she hissed.
She turned and sprinted deeper into the ravine—still controlled, still quiet—guiding the civilians ahead with a sharp gesture.
Maera followed, last in line, watching the hound.
It realized the deception a heartbeat too late.
Its red glow flared.
It whipped around and charged after us, claws sparking on stone.
The ravine narrowed into a choke point—two rock faces squeezing into a throat barely wide enough for a person.
Maera stopped at the choke point and slammed her palm against a rune carved into the stone—old covenant work.
The rune answered like it had been waiting centuries.
A thin shimmering film snapped across the gap.
A ward gate.
The civilians stumbled through first.
Elowen crossed with me in her hand—still hooded.
Maera stepped through last and turned—
just as the hound hit the ward film.
It didn't bounce off like a normal thing.
It pushed.
The wardline screamed—silent but felt—like a shield being forced apart.
Maera's eyes widened. "It's keyed to covenant stone!"
Elowen's grip tightened on my hilt.
Rin, she whispered through the bond, can you reinforce without flaring?
I focused, anchoring my loop, shaping defense into a tight seam around the ward film—like stitching torn cloth.
SEALPLATE.
Not a wall.
Not a dome.
A reinforcement.
The ward film thickened.
The hound's claws scraped and skidded, sparks dying against the strengthened seam.
Its red glow pulsed, frustrated.
For the first time, it hesitated.
Maera's voice was sharp. "Good. Hold ten breaths."
Elowen counted silently through the bond.
One.
Two.
Three.
The pressure on my loop built.
Four.
Five.
I held shape.
Six.
Seven.
My reservoir dipped, but anchor stayed stable.
Eight.
Nine.
Ten.
Maera slammed her crescent blade into a small stone notch at the side of the gate—breaking a hidden latch.
The ward film snapped shut like a jaw.
The hound struck it a final time and bounced back—hard—slamming into the ravine floor.
It snarled, furious, then turned away, retreating into the misty trees like a shadow being pulled by a stronger hand.
Silence fell.
Elowen lowered me slightly, breathing controlled.
Maera exhaled once. "That was close."
Elowen didn't look away from the ward gate. "How did it push a covenant ward?"
Maera's mouth tightened. "Someone has old keys. Or old blood."
The mother's voice trembled from behind us. "Is it gone?"
Maera nodded. "For now."
Elowen finally let herself look down at the blade in her hand.
Her thumb brushed my hilt—gentle, grounding.
You held, she said through the bond. You didn't burn out.
I'm still here, I replied, shaky with relief.
Elowen's breath softened. Then, quietly—too quiet for anyone else to hear—she whispered aloud anyway:
"Good."
A pause.
"…Baby."
My runes almost flickered from embarrassment.
Don't, I muttered through the bond.
Elowen's amusement warmed the link. You started it.
Maera turned, already moving. "No more stops until the next mile-stone. That hound will report back—one way or another."
We started walking again.
The ravine opened into a small valley, and far ahead I saw it: the next mile-stone, taller than the others, standing like a sentinel in the pale morning light.
As we approached, my chest tightened.
Not from fear of the hound.
From something deeper.
Black water.
Chains.
That patient pressure behind my name.
And this time, it didn't whisper.
It waited, like it knew we were getting closer to the place it wanted me to reach.
Elowen's hand tightened on my hilt.
Stay with me, she said.
And because my mouth was terrible and my heart was worse, I answered without thinking:
Yes, mamma.
Elowen didn't flinch.
She only held me steadier—as if the word, instead of embarrassing her, had become another vow.
And together, we walked toward the next warded stone.