They didn't stop moving until the column's rumble faded behind them.
Leon found a thick copse of ancient oaks and signaled for a halt. Everyone pressed close to the trunks, breathing hard, listening. The forest remained silent—no birds, no insects, nothing but the whisper of wind through leaves.
Lyra: What in the hell was that?
Dorn: An army. That's what it looked like.
Sylas: Not just an army. A coordinated one. Runners, heavy infantry, aerial support. That's tactics.
Vex: Monsters don't use tactics.
Sylas: These do.
Leon's senses stretched back the way they'd come. The column was still moving, but not toward them. Deeper into the forest. Gathering point, maybe. Or staging ground.
Leon: We keep going. We need to see more.
Dorn: Albert said three days. We've been out half a day.
Leon: And we've already found enough to worry him. Imagine what else is out there.
No one argued.
---
They pushed deeper east, moving slower now, using every bit of cover. Leon's tremor-sense guided them around pockets of monsters. Sylas's magic detection warned them of enchanted traps or patrolling creatures with magical senses. Vex scouted ahead, slipping through shadows like they were made for her.
An hour later, she returned, her face grim.
Vex: Another clearing. This one's worse.
They followed her to the edge of a shallow ridge and looked down.
It was a camp. A monster camp.
Crude shelters leaned against fallen logs—branches and leaves piled into rough shapes that suggested something almost intelligent. Piles of carcasses were stacked near the center, food stores for whatever was coming. Sentries patrolled the perimeter—loping creatures with too many eyes, stopping every few paces to sniff the air. Dozens of monsters rested in the shade, conserving energy for something.
Vex: They're not just gathering. They're preparing. Like they know something's coming.
Sylas: Or like they're waiting for orders.
The thought hung in the air, cold and heavy.
Dorn: How many?
Leon counted. The camp held at least eighty creatures—Glimmerhides, Thornbacks, Stonebacks, things he couldn't name. And that was just this camp. If there were more like it…
Lyra: We should hit them. Now. While they're resting.
Dorn: No.
Lyra: No?
Dorn: We're five. They're eighty. And we don't know what else is close enough to hear the fight. We observe. We report. That's the mission.
Lyra looked ready to argue, but Sylas touched her arm.
Sylas: He's right. This isn't a fight—it's reconnaissance.
Lyra exhaled slowly, her grip on her axes loosening.
Lyra: Fine. But I'm counting every one of these bastards for later.
---
A patrol of Thornbacks moved along the camp's edge, their spiked backs glistening with something wet. Leon signaled. They went wide, circling through thicker brush, moving slow, barely breathing. Every step was placed with care. Every breath held when the wind shifted.
One of the Thornbacks paused, sniffing the air. Its head turned toward their direction.
Vex froze mid-step, one foot hovering above a dry leaf. The Thornback sniffed again. Its head turned away.
They moved on.
They found two more camps before dusk. Each one larger than the last. Each one more organized. By the time the sun began to set, they had counted over four hundred monsters spread across the eastern woods—and those were just the ones they could see.
Leon called a halt as darkness fell.
Leon: We camp here. No fire. Cold rations only. We move again at first light.
They settled into a tight circle, backs to each other, facing outward. The forest around them was alive with distant sounds—growls, clicks, the occasional roar. But nothing close. Nothing hunting.
Yet.
Vex: How many do you think? Total?
Sylas: Based on what we've seen… eight hundred. Maybe more.
Dorn: That's just east. There are three other directions.
Lyra: So thousands.
Silence.
Leon stared into the darkness. His senses pulsed outward, feeling the weight of so many life forces scattered through the trees. Waiting. Gathering.
Leon: Albert needs to know. Tomorrow, we head back.
---
They moved at first light, faster now, driven by what they'd seen. The return journey took half the time—familiar ground, known paths, no need for stealth once they'd cleared the monster concentration zones.
By midday, the walls of Greyhaven rose ahead. By mid-afternoon, they were through the gates.
Albert was waiting at the postern gate, his face drawn with worry that shifted to visible relief as he counted them—all five, alive, moving under their own power.
Albert: Report.
They gathered in his study. The door closed behind them with a heavy thud. Leon spoke first.
Leon: The monsters are organized. We saw camps. Patrols. Columns moving in formation.
Lyra: Hundreds of them. Maybe more. The Wyverns alone—
Dorn: They're waiting for something. Or someone. The way they stood, the way they watched. It wasn't random.
Albert listened, his expression growing grimmer with each word. When they finished, he turned to his desk and pulled out a fresh scroll, covered in hasty notes.
Albert: You're not the only ones who saw things today. Three traders arrived this afternoon. One from the north, two from the east.
He read from the scroll.
Albert: Northern route: "Saw a herd of Thornbacks moving together. At least two hundred. Heading south. Didn't attack. Just marched." Eastern route: "Column of mixed species. Runners, heavy beasts, flyers overhead. Estimated three hundred strong. Moving west. They ignored me completely." Second eastern trader: "Had to abandon my cart. Monsters everywhere. Camps in the woods every few miles. They didn't attack. Just watched me pass. Like they were waiting for permission."
He set the scroll down and looked at them.
Albert: It's a stampede.
Lyra: A what?
Albert: A mass migration of monsters toward a single point. It happens naturally sometimes—food sources, environmental changes. But this…
Sylas: This is organized.
Albert: This is something else. Something I've only read about in old records. The kind of thing that—
He stopped.
Sylas had gone still. Her silver eyes were distant, unfocused—the telltale sign of a system notification.
Beside her, Lyra jerked.
Lyra: What the—
Sylas held up a hand, silencing her. Her lips moved silently, reading words only she could see.
Then she spoke aloud, her voice flat with shock.
Sylas: Trial III: The Stampede. A monster horde numbering in the thousands will converge on Greyhaven in seven days. Objective: Protect the city from annihilation for one week. Survive.
She paused, reading more.
Sylas: Warning: Even if not accepted, the stampede will still occur. Trial credit will only be granted upon acceptance and successful completion.
Silence.
The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
---
End of Chapter 35