The forest did not feel the same.
The Wolfswood had always been silent.
But this—
This was different.
Heavier.
Watching.
The men gathered in a loose circle, their breaths fogging in the cold air.
No one spoke at first.
They all felt it.
Even without seeing what lay beneath.
Halric broke the silence.
"We seal it. Mark the place. Burn it if we must."
Corvyn shook his head slowly.
"It won't matter."
A few of the men shifted uneasily.
One of them, a younger scout, spoke up.
"My lord… what was that?"
Corvyn didn't answer immediately.
His eyes remained fixed on the collapsed entrance.
"I don't know," he said at last.
"But it was old."
Older than the ruin.
Older than the markings meant to contain it.
Older than memory.
The wind stirred, carrying loose snow across the ground.
For a moment—
The earth beneath their feet trembled.
Subtle.
But real.
Every man felt it.
Halric cursed under his breath.
"That's not good."
"No," Corvyn agreed.
"It isn't."
He turned away from the sealed entrance.
"We return to Ravenhold."
That got their attention.
"And leave it?" Halric asked.
"For now."
Corvyn's voice was firm.
"We are not prepared for what lies below."
The men did not argue.
They had seen enough.
More than enough.
They began to move.
Quietly.
Quickly.
No one wanted to linger.
The deeper they went into the forest, the more the silence followed them.
Not absence of sound—
But absence of life.
No birds.
No distant howls.
Even the wind seemed to hesitate.
Halfway back—
Corvyn stopped.
Suddenly.
Sharply.
The others froze with him.
Halric stepped closer.
"What is it?"
Corvyn didn't answer.
His gaze had shifted to the snow beside the path.
Tracks.
Fresh.
Not theirs.
Too large.
Too deep.
Halric followed his line of sight.
"…That wasn't there before."
"No," Corvyn said quietly.
It couldn't have been.
The snowfall earlier would have covered anything older.
Which meant—
These were new.
The tracks led from deeper within the forest.
And toward the direction of the ruin.
One of the men swallowed hard.
"You think it came out?"
Corvyn's jaw tightened.
"No."
A pause.
"Not it."
He looked up.
Scanning the trees.
Dark shapes.
Still.
Watching.
"Something else."
The forest shifted.
A branch cracked somewhere in the distance.
Too heavy for wind.
Too deliberate.
Halric drew his blade.
"That's worse."
Corvyn slowly unsheathed Nightfeather.
The Valyrian steel gleamed faintly in the dim light.
Silent.
Ready.
"Form up," he ordered.
The men moved instantly.
Closing ranks.
Weapons drawn.
Eyes searching the trees.
The silence broke.
Not with a roar.
But with movement.
Shadows slipping between shadows.
Fast.
Controlled.
Hunting.
A figure stepped into view between the trees.
Then another.
And another.
Not beasts.
Men.
But not like any they had seen before.
Their armor was dark.
Crude.
Marked with symbols that twisted the eye.
Their faces hidden behind bone-like masks.
They said nothing.
They simply watched.
Halric exhaled slowly.
"Well…"
He tightened his grip on his sword.
"I suppose we're not walking back quietly."
Corvyn stepped forward slightly.
Nightfeather steady in his hand.
His voice was calm.
Cold.
"Who are you?"
No answer.
Only silence.
Then—
One of the masked figures tilted its head.
As if listening.
Not to Corvyn.
But to something else.
Something far beneath the earth.
And in that moment—
Corvyn understood.
They weren't here by chance.
They were waiting.
Watching.
Guarding.
Or perhaps…
Worshipping.
The figure raised its weapon.
Others followed.
No warning.
No words.
Only action.
Corvyn lifted his blade.
"Hold the line."
The forest exploded into motion.