The Third Trial had begun in earnest.
The darkness ahead did not move like normal shadow. It shifted slowly, deliberately, as though something beneath it breathed. Selara stepped forward anyway.
Every instinct in her body was alert, but her movements remained measured. The forest had grown quieter than before too quiet. Even Fenryk's pack had stopped moving, their shapes scattered behind the trees, watching.
Draven stayed close beside her.
Not crowding.
Not interfering.
But close enough that she could feel the steady warmth of his presence beside the Nightborne storm inside her.
Selara took another step.
Then another.
The ground beneath her boots was damp with fallen leaves and dark soil. Every scent was clearer now: bark, moss, old rain and beneath it all, the lingering metallic trace of corrupted blood.
The wind shifted.
A whisper brushed the back of her mind.
Closer.
Selara's jaw tightened.
"Did you hear that?" Draven asked quietly.
She nodded once.
"He's here."
