The Eastern Hills. Afternoon.
The scouting party moved through the forest in silence.
There were seven of them—two veterans and five recruits, led by a woman named Vex. She had been with the guild since the early days, had fought in the canyon, had lost friends to the creatures. She was hard, steady, and she didn't take chances.
The recruits were young. Eager. They had heard stories about the heroes who closed the portal, about the barbarian who killed monsters with his bare hands. They wanted to be part of something. They wanted glory, fame, a story to tell their children.
Today, they were tracking a pack of creatures that had been seen near the old quarry. The guild wanted numbers, movement, anything that would help them plan the next culling. Vex had done this a hundred times. She knew the signs, the sounds, the way the forest changed when danger was near.
The trees were thick here, their branches twisted, their leaves sparse. The light barely reached the ground. The air was cold, still, wrong.
Vex raised her hand. The party stopped.
"There," she whispered, pointing.
A clearing. The creatures were there—gray-skinned, red-eyed, their limbs too long, their teeth too sharp. Five of them, feeding on a deer. The carcass was torn open, its blood dark on the grass. The creatures snarled and snapped at each other, fighting over scraps.
Vex counted again. Five. No more. No less.
"We're not here to fight," she whispered. "Just watch. Note the location. Report back."
The recruits nodded. They settled behind the trees, drawing their cloaks tight, blending into the shadows. They watched. They waited.
Vex's eyes never left the clearing.
---
The tear appeared without warning.
Not near the creatures—above them. A crack in the air, thin at first, then wider. It looked like a wound in the sky, raw and pulsing. Light spilled through—pale, hungry, wrong. The same wrong light that had spilled from the portal in the canyon.
The creatures stopped feeding. Looked up. Snarled.
Vex's blood went cold. She had seen something like this before. In the canyon. When the portal opened. When everything changed.
"Fall back," she whispered. "Now."
The recruits moved. Too slow. Their feet crunched on dry leaves. Their armor clinked. They were young. They were scared. They made noise.
The tear split open.
Three figures stepped through.
---
They were not like the creatures.
They were human—or almost human. Two men and a woman, their clothes dark, their faces hard. They carried weapons—swords, daggers, a staff that crackled with energy. Their movements were smooth, practiced, deadly.
The tear closed behind them with a sound like tearing fabric.
The creatures turned. They had been feeding. Now they were hunting.
The strangers did not run.
The woman raised her staff. Lightning arced from its tip, blue and white and terrible, slamming into the nearest creature. It convulsed, its limbs spasming, its eyes bulging. It fell, smoke rising from its flesh. It did not rise.
The taller of the two men drew his sword. The blade was dark, almost black, and it moved through the air like it was alive. He stepped into the creatures without hesitation. His blade found throats, chests, eyes. He moved fast—faster than anything that size should move. Creatures fell around him. Their blood sprayed across the grass. He did not slow.
The shorter man stayed back, his hands raised. Flames erupted from his palms—hot, hungry, consuming. They washed over two creatures at once. The creatures screamed, a sound like metal scraping stone. They stumbled, fell, burned. The smell of scorched flesh filled the air.
Within moments, the clearing was silent.
Five creatures lay dead. Their bodies were broken, burned, torn apart. The strangers stood among them, unharmed. Not breathing hard. Not even sweating.
Vex couldn't move. Her legs were frozen. Her breath was caught in her throat.
The woman with the staff scanned the tree line. Her eyes were dark, cold, hungry. She tilted her head, listening.
"We're not alone," she said.
The taller man wiped his blade on a creature's hide. The dark metal gleamed in the fading light. "How many?"
The woman closed her eyes. Her staff pulsed faintly. "Seven. Behind the trees. To the north."
The shorter man smiled. It was not a kind smile. It was the smile of someone who enjoyed what he did.
"Then we finish what we started."
---
The attack was swift.
The woman raised her staff. Lightning arced through the trees, blue and white, finding one of the recruits in the chest. The young man didn't have time to scream. He fell, his body smoking, his eyes staring at nothing.
The taller man was among them before they could draw their weapons. His blade moved like water, like shadow, like something that couldn't be stopped. It cut through armor, through flesh, through bone. One recruit fell. Another. A veteran tried to block—his sword was knocked aside, and the dark blade took him in the throat.
The shorter man unleashed fire. It erupted from his palms in waves, washing over the undergrowth. Trees ignited. Leaves turned to ash. Screams filled the air.
Vex grabbed one of the recruits—a young woman, barely eighteen, her face pale with fear—and pulled her into the undergrowth.
"Move," she hissed. "Don't look back."
They ran.
Behind them, the woman screamed. A blade took her in the back. She fell. Did not rise.
Vex ran alone.
---
The forest blurred around her.
Branches whipped her face. Roots caught her feet. She stumbled, fell, rose, ran. Her lungs burned. Her legs screamed. The sounds of the attack faded behind her—the crackle of fire, the clash of steel, the screams.
She didn't look back.
She ran until the sun began to set. She ran until the trees thinned. She ran until the capital appeared in the distance, its walls gray and solid and safe.
She collapsed at the gates.
---
The guards found her at dusk.
Her clothes were torn. Her face was bloody. Her eyes were wild, wide, staring at something they couldn't see.
"Strangers," she gasped. "They came through a tear. They killed everyone. They're still out there."
The guards stared at her. One of them knelt beside her, pressing a cloth to the gash on her forehead.
"Strangers?" he asked. "What strangers?"
Vex grabbed his arm. Her grip was weak, but desperate.
"Get Grog," she said. "Get the Prince. Get the mages."
Her hand fell.
She passed out.