Midday. The Edge of the Valley.
The column reformed at the tree line.
Soldiers stumbled back in ones and twos, then groups, then whole units—bloody, exhausted, dragging wounded comrades. The retreat had been orderly enough, but an orderly retreat was still a retreat. Still felt like losing.
Grog stood apart, watching.
Counting.
Willing every face he saw to be one he recognized.
Lira was already back—she'd pulled ahead during the retreat, her scout's instincts driving her to find the fastest path. She sat on a fallen log now, letting a medic tend to a gash on her arm. Her face was pale but steady.
Aldric arrived minutes later, leaning on another soldier. His new armor was dented in a dozen places, covered in blood that wasn't his. But he was walking. Breathing. Alive.
Grog let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.
---
Voren appeared on horseback, riding along the tree line, assessing his forces. His face was carved from stone—no emotion, no reaction. Just counting. Calculating.
When he reached Grog, he stopped.
"Report."
Grog shook his head. "Not here. Not now."
Voren's eyes narrowed. Then he nodded.
"My tent. Sunset. Bring your people."
He rode on.
---
They found a spot at the edge of the camp.
Small fire. Hidden. Private. Lira sat with her back to a tree, arm freshly bandaged. Aldric slumped beside her, too tired to speak. Mirena appeared minutes later, having stayed back during the battle to guard the camp's rear.
She took one look at them and sat down heavily.
"That bad?"
Lira nodded.
Aldric said nothing.
Grog stared into the fire.
---
"The hunters were there," he said finally. "Three of them. In the black tent."
Mirena's eyes sharpened. "Physical?"
"Mostly. Translucent. Wrong." He shook his head. "They didn't fight. Just watched. Smiled."
Lira shuddered. "One of them looked right at me. Like it knew me. Like it had been waiting for me."
Mirena absorbed this.
"They're not at full strength," she said slowly. "Kevin's journals mention this. The first ones through the door—they're weaker. Not fully anchored to our world. They need something—someone—to become real."
Aldric looked up. "Vorlag."
"Yes." Mirena met his eyes. "When Vorlag fully crosses, they'll draw strength from it. Become complete."
Grog's jaw tightened.
"So if we can close the door before that happens—"
"They stay weak. Maybe vulnerable." Mirena nodded. "Kevin's order believed it was possible. That's why they spent centuries preparing."
Lira shook her head. "Preparing for what? We just fought an army and barely scratched it."
"We didn't have Kevin's knowledge then." Mirena looked at Grog. "We do now."
---
Silence settled over them.
The fire crackled. The camp stirred around them—wounded being treated, officers arguing, soldiers trying to make sense of what had happened.
Aldric spoke quietly.
"I felt them," he said. "The hunters. When they looked at me—" He stopped. Swallowed. "It was like they were inside my head. Like they knew everything. Every fear. Every doubt."
Grog looked at him.
"What did they show you?"
Aldric's face went pale.
"You. Dying. Lira. Mirena. Everyone." His voice was barely a whisper. "They showed me all of you dead, and me standing over you, and—" He stopped.
"And what?"
Aldric met his eyes.
"And smiling."
---
Lira reached over. Grabbed his hand.
"They're liars," she said. "That's what they do. They show you things to break you."
Aldric nodded. But his hand was shaking.
Grog thought about what the dying Vargr had said.
He's waiting for you. They're all waiting.
Waiting for what? For Aldric to break? For Vorlag to cross? For the door to open?
He didn't know.
But he needed to find out.
---
Mirena stood.
"I'm going back to the journals. There has to be something—some weakness, some strategy we haven't found yet." She looked at Grog. "Kevin's knowledge. The things he showed you. Anything about fighting them directly?"
Grog thought.
"Not fighting. Closing the door. That's what matters." He paused. "He said the hunters are distractions. Bait. The real threat is what's waiting on the other side."
Mirena nodded slowly.
"Then we focus on the door." She looked at Aldric. "On you."
Aldric's face went pale again.
"I know." His voice was quiet. "I know."
---
Voren's tent was crowded at sunset.
Officers packed inside, arguing over maps, casualties, next steps. The mood was grim—the attack had failed to break the Vargr, and everyone knew it.
Grog stood in the corner with Lira, Aldric, and Mirena. Waiting.
Voren finally called for silence.
"We hit them hard," he said. "Killed a lot. But they're still there. Still waiting." He looked around the tent. "Anyone know what they're waiting for?"
Silence.
Mirena stepped forward.
"I do."
All eyes turned to her.
---
She spoke for ten minutes.
Not about Kevin—not directly. About the darkness. About the door. About things waiting on the other side. About the hunters and their patience and what they needed to become real.
When she finished, the tent was absolutely silent.
Voren stared at her.
"You're telling me this isn't just a war. It's—" He stopped. "It's something else."
"Yes, sir."
Another long silence.
Then Voren did something unexpected.
He laughed.
It wasn't a happy laugh. It was the laugh of a man who'd just realized the fight was bigger than he'd ever imagined.
"Well," he said. "At least now we know."
He looked at Grog.
"You. The one who left and came back. You know more than you're saying."
Grog met his eyes.
"Yes."
"Are you going to tell me?"
"No."
Voren studied him for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
"Fine. Keep your secrets. Just make sure they help us win." He turned back to his officers. "We regroup. Rest. Hit them again in three days. This time, we aim for that black tent."
The officers nodded. Started planning.
Grog slipped out into the night.
---
He found Aldric sitting alone at the edge of camp.
The boy was staring at the valley below. Fires still burned in the Vargr camp. Figures moved between them.
"Can't sleep?" Grog asked, sitting beside him.
"Would you?"
Grog shook his head.
They sat in silence for a while.
Then Aldric spoke.
"In the battle—when the hunters looked at me—I felt something." He paused. "Not fear. Something else."
Grog waited.
"Recognition." Aldric met his eyes. "Like they knew me. Like we'd met before."
Grog's blood went cold.
"The dreams," he said slowly. "The ones you had as a child. The voice in the dark."
Aldric nodded.
"It's the same. The same presence." He looked at his hands. "It's been with me my whole life, Grog. Waiting. Watching. And now—" He stopped.
"Now what?"
Aldric's voice was barely a whisper.
"Now it's ready."