The wind had changed.
By morning, the air around the Silver Temple felt colder, heavy with something unseen. Even the birds that usually circled the ruins were gone. Lira sensed it first — that quiet dread that came before something broke.
Kael stood at the temple's edge, his hand resting against the ancient stone. His wings shimmered faintly in the morning light, fading and returning like breath. He could still feel the echo of the dragon vow pulsing deep in his veins — but it wasn't alone anymore. Something else was watching.
"Maelor," he said, voice low. "Something's coming."
The old man didn't turn from where he stood by the fire, tracing symbols into the dirt with his staff. "Of course it is. Power calls to power. The moment you spoke those words, the Dark Valley heard."
Lira gripped her bow. "Then what do we do?"
Maelor's pale eyes flickered toward her. "You run when I tell you to. Until then… you breathe."
The air cracked.
A ripple spread through the trees surrounding the temple, as if reality itself had bent for a heartbeat. Shadows gathered into a shape — tall, thin, moving like smoke. Its eyes glowed deep crimson.
Kael's pulse quickened. "What is that?"
"The first of many," Maelor said softly. "A Hunter. Born of demon blood and silence."
The shadow stepped forward, the ground beneath it blackening. Its voice was smooth, almost polite.
"Kael of the Silver Line," it hissed, "the Lord of the Valley sends his regards. He requests your return… alive if possible."
Kael's claws extended instinctively. "You can tell him I'm not interested."
The Hunter smiled — a soundless gesture that chilled the air.
"Then I will take your ashes instead."
It moved. Too fast. A blur of shadow and claws. Kael barely dodged as it struck, the impact shaking the temple stones. He countered with a burst of fire — but the flames passed right through it.
Maelor's voice thundered across the ruins. "Flames cannot burn what lives between them! Use the words, boy — the words you spoke last night!"
Kael's heart raced. He reached deep, calling the memory of the vow — the ancient sound that had answered his blood. The Hunter lunged again, and Kael whispered a word that burned the air.
The world exploded in silver light.
The Hunter screamed, its form unraveling, half-formed faces writhing inside its smoke. Kael advanced, his wings unfurling fully now, each feather etched with faint runes of light.
"You wanted the Silver Line," Kael growled. "Here it is."
He thrust his hand forward, a beam of pure flame — silver and white — piercing through the creature. For a moment, it reached toward him as if pleading… then shattered into nothing but dust.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Lira exhaled shakily. "Was that… the first?"
Maelor nodded slowly. "Yes. And the weakest."
Kael turned toward him, his glow fading. "Then he knows where we are."
"He knew before you even spoke, boy." Maelor looked toward the horizon, where dark clouds were beginning to churn like boiling smoke. "But now… he knows you're ready."
Kael's hands clenched. "Then let him come."
The old man's eyes gleamed beneath the hood. "He will. And when he does, Kael, the choice you make will burn the world — or save it."
Lira looked at them both, her voice trembling. "What choice?"
Maelor turned away. "The one written in your blood long before you were born."