The Ghost-Bane Mountains loomed larger with each passing mile, jagged teeth tearing at the bruised sky. They didn't sit on the horizon so much as they crouched there, ancient beasts, hunched and waiting. The closer the expedition drew, the heavier the world seemed to breathe, each gust of wind dragging a whisper across the stone. The very clouds themselves seemed reluctant, sagging low, like sullen children forced to rise before dawn.
Lucian moved at the outer edge of the convoy, walking like a shadow that didn't know where its owner had gone. His head tilted every so often, sharp ears straining for the delicate sounds others ignored—the dry pop of a twig under uncertain weight, the slight hush of something brushing through wet leaves, the deceptive rhythm of disturbed insects falling silent.
The ashfangs had been a warning. Not just hunger driving them closer to civilization, but desperation. Something was stirring these wilds, unsettling patterns that should've stayed predictable. The wilderness was like a chessboard in Lucian's mind, only now the pieces moved themselves.
Lucian's blindfold, a ragged strip of faded cloth, was damp with sweat and stained by old blood. It was tied neatly, the knots practiced, as much armor as any blade or leather. Beneath it, empty sockets itched faintly, not with pain but memory. The world beyond that cloth was painted in sound, scent, and pressure. The others wore their armor; Lucian wore his blindness.
The convoy was a fractured parade of contrasts. Garrick's mercenaries shuffled in loose knots, grumbling, their boots scraping over gravel. They carried rifles and blunt blades with the posture of men who had confidence, but no clarity. The nervous energy rolling off them was palpable. The louder they laughed, the more afraid they were.
By contrast, the private guards of House Vale-Rhys moved in practiced silence. Their combat suits, reinforced with dark plates of lightweight composite mesh, barely made a sound. Each bore the burning cloud insignia, curling orange flame upon gray, as if the sky itself had chosen to mark them. A subtle mark of prestige and money. Whereas the mercenaries smelled of sweat, rust, and poorly tended leather, the private guards smelled of oiled gear, faintly herbal, subtly expensive.
Following the group, trailing behind the walking party by about half a kilometer, were two of the convoy's armored vehicles—hulking, matte black with reinforced wheels caked in dry mud. They trailed behind like watchful wolves. The low growl of their engines seemed more thoughtful than aggressive, like old predators conserving strength. Occasionally, mounted lamps swept across the rocks, igniting patches of green lichen or illuminating fractured stones, overgrown bushes and crushed bones of animals long dead.
Tavian Vale-Rhys strode somewhere between refinement and recklessness. His cloak—finely stitched, embroidered with subdued gray thread—hung from his shoulders, the faint sigil of House Vale-Rhys barely visible unless caught in a stray shaft of light. His boots were new but well-made, and his gloved hands occasionally drifted to the hilt of the blade strapped to his back, as though he could will experience through mere contact.
And then there was Lucian, standing apart from both classes of men, his blindfold ragged against the backdrop of polished wealth and gleaming gear. His boots were cracked leather, his clothes patched so many times that no original thread remained. To anyone else, he was the beggar the noble's pet charity had dragged along. The dirty, broken stray standing next to a purebred pup.
Lucian didn't dislike Tavian. Not yet. But trust was a luxury, and Lucian hadn't eaten luxury in years.
The armored vehicles offered some security, but the spacing of the convoy made Lucian itch. It was poor discipline—or worse, arrogance. Too many gaps for something clever to slip through. He didn't like it.
Tavian's voice finally broke the low drone of boots on gravel. "So... how did you learn all of this?"
Lucian arched a brow beneath his blindfold. "Learn what?"
"Survival. Tracking. Reading the ground like a map."
Lucian shrugged. "Easy when you grow up with nothing else to look at."
Tavian laughed under his breath. "Noble tutors could learn a thing or two from that. Ten years of formal fencing and I'd still trip over half the roots you've dodged."
Kaela Voss, striding a few paces ahead, snorted faintly. "Depends on what you're fencing. Words or blades."
Lucian tilted his head slightly. "Both cut. One just leaves prettier scars."
Behind them, one of Garrick's mercs stumbled with a string of profanity. "Bloody rocks! Why can't we just stay in the trucks? We've got wheels. Use 'em."
"Traps," Lucian said sharply. "Old world mines, reinforced pits. You take a six-wheeled monster over one of those, you don't have a wheel anymore. You'll have a very expensive grave instead."
The mercenary scoffed, spitting to the side. "Fancy dying with a blown tire on a mountain. Perfect ending for a merc, eh?"
"Enough," Joran Kestel said, his voice soft, words clipped with authority. The private guards snapped into quiet alertness like hounds awaiting a whistle.
Ahead, the world narrowed. Once, a mining route had cut through here. Now jagged stone flanked them on both sides, rising like broken knives stabbed into the earth. Shadows draped themselves lazily across the cracked earth, curling into dark pockets of uncertainty.
Joran lifted his fist, a silent signal honed by training. His men froze. Garrick's crew hesitated, eyes flicking toward the shadows like children afraid of the dark but too proud to admit it.
"What now?" one muttered. "Ghosts gonna crawl outta the rock?"
Lucian moved forward with practiced grace, his metal rod tapping the earth softly ahead of him. Each step measured. Calculated. He crouched, pressing his fingertips to the soil.
It was damp. Damp with something that clung thick and oily to his skin.
"Blood," he murmured.
Kaela appeared beside him, short hair stuck slightly to her brow, breaths coming evenly despite the incline. "How old?"
Lucian cocked his head, listening beyond the moment. "Few hours. Maybe a bit more. Fresh enough." His fingers twitched. "More than one set of prints. Several people passed this way."
Joran nodded, gesturing silently. Two of the guards ghosted forward into the broken terrain, their forms blending almost unnaturally with the stones.
"Who comes this deep?" Tavian asked, curiosity edged now with something brittle.
Lucian's lips drew into a thin line. "Scavenger guilds, sometimes. But they wouldn't take this route unless someone paid them well to risk it."
Kaela's gaze sharpened. "Another hunting party?"
Lucian worked his jaw, the grinding sound subtle. His blindfold absorbed a bead of sweat. The tension in the air was thick, sticky, clinging to skin and nerve endings alike.
"It would be better to tread carefully from here onward," he finally said. His thumb subtly brushed over his bloodied blindfold 'it won't be long now.' He said internally.
The pass opened into a basin, ringed by ruined stone like the remnants of an old amphitheater, nature reclaiming what civilization had abandoned.
And at the basin's center: bones.
Whatever creature it had been, it had been large—something between a grazing beast and a predator. What remained was fractured, gnawed, and stripped of every scrap of meat.
Not by beasts.
By people.
Joran crouched near a shattered femur, running a calloused gloved hand over the bone's splintered edge. "Sharp blades. Clean work."
Kaela's sharp green eyes studied the scene. "Any clues of who our unknown friends are?"
Lucian didn't move. "None."
"From what we can see the group seems to be about the same as ours." One of the private guards reported to Joran.
One of the private guards who left earlier approached him and said with his voice low. "Tracks head east. Toward the inner peaks."
Tavian stepped closer, his earlier humor still present as though this wasn't a cause for concern. "I thought this was supposed to be a training expedition. Not an ambush waiting to happen."
Lucian gave the faintest smile. "Congratulations. You've graduated to practical exams."
Lucian wondered why it was that Tavian was still not bothered. Could he be more than he was just letting on or was he just plainly stupid.
"Any chance this is a scavenger guild passing through?" Joran glanced at Garrick.
Garrick's massive frame shifted slightly, his beard bristling. "None I know of. Not on this trail. And I would've heard."
The first drops of rain were slow, almost apologetic, before gaining confidence and weight. Fat, cold beads pattered against armor and rock, sliding like reluctant tears.
Thunder growled in the distance, not sharp but low, like an old god muttering curses from behind thick curtains.
"Wonderful," Garrick rumbled. "Now the skies cry for us too."
Lucian adjusted the grip on his rod. His other hand hovered close to his metal blade. The weight of old instincts pressed on his shoulders, itching like an old scar in wet weather.
"I don't like this," Kaela muttered.
"Neither do I," Lucian agreed quietly.
Ahead, the basin path curved into another narrowing. Stone walls slick with moss pressed in close, forcing the convoy into a vulnerable file. The armored vehicles rumbled faintly behind them, distant now, like guardians who had wandered just a bit too far.
Lucian's fingers twitched as his ears picked up something else: not the rain, not their boots, but breath. Faint. Distant. Watching.
"Keep your eyes open," he whispered.
Kaela drew closer to Tavian, one hand resting near the hilt of her short blade. Tavian nodded stiffly, face pale but his smile still on his face like he was in an everyday average picnic. The rain not affecting his charisma at all.
Lucian's blindfold shifted slightly as rain soaked it through. The bloodstains darkened, hidden now beneath water.
He could smell the danger looming over their heads and he knew things were going to go south pretty soon. It wasn't normal for two groups of the same size to suddenly follow the same trail on what was supposed to be a simple expedition and training experience for a spoiled brat. He listened for the sounds of the two armoured vehicles and wondered if they would be enough for what was to come.