The drumming in my chest is so loud I'm worried it'll give me away. I clutch my bag to my ribs, feeling the creature inside scrambling frantically for a way out. I've been running from these men for miles, my lungs burning with every breath.
"Come on, Flynwood!" a voice bellows from the treeline. "You really think you can outrun us?"
I don't answer. If they're shouting, they've lost my trail—it's a bluff. I dive through a thicket of thorns and spot it: a Ginshoul flower. Its petals are veiny and bloated, trembling with high-pressure gases. I pinch my nose shut and squeeze the bag tight, ignoring the sting of the beast's claws digging into my chest through the fabric.
I stomp hard on the flower's base.
Whoosh. The world turns into a green-and-brown blur as I'm launched over the canopy. For a heartbeat, the terror vanishes. The forest stretches out beneath me like a velvet carpet, bathed in the gold of the setting sun. It's beautiful.
I snap my arms out, catching the wind with my gliders. I bank hard toward the Tree of Ubigor, the massive ancient landmark that guards the gateway to my home. I touch down in a rough slide, kicking up dirt and leaves, and immediately upend my bag.
"Come on, little guy. It's okay now," I whisper. My adrenaline is starting to dip, and only now do I feel the hot sting of the scratches across my chest.
The beast waddles out. It's about the size of a torso, with eyes far too large to be docile. Its skin is a strange paradox—tough, metallic plates covered in a fine, downy fur. It opens its mouth, revealing rows of serrated, chrome-like teeth, and begins to pant. At least, I hope it's a playful pant.
It trips over its own paws—definitely a newborn. It lets out a tiny squeal and belches a mouthful of shimmering, boiling liquid onto the grass.
I reach into my bag to grab the gateway crystal, but my hand hits empty space. My blood turns to ice. "Dammit!" I shout. Without that crystal, the Tree of Ubigor won't open. I'm trapped outside the walls.
A shadow falls over me. Someone just leaped from the branches above.
I scramble backward, clutching the beast to my chest. I don't care that the hot liquid on its chin is scalding my skin; I just need to hide. I dive for a bush, but a voice stops me cold.
"Flynwood? Son of Huburus?"
The voice is deep, weathered, but hauntingly familiar. I turn my head slowly. An armored figure stands in the light of the glowing tree, a massive Greatsword—nearly the size of a person—slung across their back. The glare of the Ubigor light makes the helmet's visor look like a solid wall of silver. Then, they reach out a hand.
"Riley?!" I gasp, my voice cracking.
"It's been a while, Flyn," she says, pulling her helmet off. She's changed. Her face is harder, her eyes sharper. Her silver armor is etched with gold filigree and the Sigil of Ubigor. "My mother finally let me join the Knights. I've been promoted to Commander—turns out they need leaders more than ever after the front lines shifted."
She scans the treeline, her hand hovering near her hilt. "Why are you out past the veil? And why in the world are you alone?"
"I was just... looking for food in the gardens," I lie, my mind spinning. "Then the poachers appeared, and I just started running."
Riley steps forward and lifts my arms, inspecting my wounds with a professional coldness. Then she points to the fresh burn on my chest. "Explain this. As a Knight, I'm supposed to arrest anyone out after curfew. If I hadn't been on this patrol route..."
"I know, Ry. I know it's not safe after the war. But look." I point to the bushes. The little beast is shivering, and as it trembles, its body begins to fade, turning as clear as glass. "No, no, stay with me!"
I reach for it, and it huddles into my arms, still translucent.
Riley doesn't look amazed. She looks terrified. She draws her sword in one fluid, metallic shriek. "WHY DO YOU HAVE THAT?!"
"I don't know what it is!" I yell back.
The beast belches again. A shimmering bubble drifts toward Riley. She ducks, but the bubble swerves in mid-air, tracking her movement with impossible speed. With a flash of steel, she slices the bubble in half. It pops with a hiss of steam that melts the grass where it lands.
"It's a half-breed," Riley whispers, her face pale. "A cross between a Pyre-Drake and an Abyssal-Crest."
She sheathes her sword, but her hands are shaking. "Those weren't poachers chasing you, Flynwood. Those were specialists. If word gets out that a Scald-Stalker exists..." She slaps her cheeks, snapping herself out of the panic. "Come with me. Now."
She grabs my arm, presses a crystal to the bark of the Ubigor Tree, and pulls me through a shimmering portal. We don't emerge in the town square. We emerge in the cold, stone-walled interior of her War Room.