Morning arrived like a thief—quiet, heavy, and unwelcome. The pale light spilled slowly across the mountain ruins, diffused and directionless beneath a veil of fog. What little sun reached the courtyard filtered through the mist in limp shafts, painting everything in shades of silver and bone.
Lucian stirred before the others. His sleep had been restless, fragmented. In his dreams, stone mouths had whispered to him in a language older than the wind, and something cold had traced its fingers across his spine. He hadn't removed his blindfold all night. It felt tighter now, damp against his skin, but oddly comforting—like armor.
He sat upright on his bedroll, the ache in his shoulders echoing the stiffness in his legs. The cold had settled into his bones. Around him, the remnants of camp lay scattered and silent. There was no fire this morning—no sizzling of dry rations, no idle conversation, no cursing from Garrick's lot.
Lucian tilted his head slightly, listening.
No birds.
No wind.
Only the shallow breath of stone and silence.
He rose slowly, fingers brushing the dirt as he stood, and began to walk. His cane tapped gently on stone and gravel, navigating the cracks and crumbled bricks. His head moved in slow, deliberate sweeps with his ears drinking in the smallest sounds.
No fire crackle. No shuffling boots. No chatter.
Just absence.
Then—voices, but low. Tense.
Lucian followed the sound.
He rounded a moss-choked pillar and stepped into the main courtyard where the others were beginning to gather. The mist hung low, as if reluctant to leave the ground, curling around ankles and rising in strange, lazy tendrils that reached for the living.
Kaela stood near the center of the group, rifle slung across her shoulder. Her jaw was clenched, her posture tight. "Three from the Ironbrand," she said, counting off on her fingers. "Brenn. Vix. The twins—Rin and Dall. Four gone."
"Five," came another voice—one of the Vale-Rhys guards, grim-faced. "One of ours is unaccounted for. Elrin. He was on night rotation."
Lucian felt his stomach tighten. Not with fear, but with confirmation.
He turned toward the sound of Garrick's boots—heavy, impatient, frustrated. The man stomped over, jaw clenched, voice raised.
"They were right there," Garrick growled. "Right beside the outer perimeter. Tied down like the rest of us. Now they're just gone?"
"No blood," Kaela said. "No broken gear. No signs of a fight."
"No tracks either," Joran added, approaching from the southern edge of the ruins. His armor was mist-dappled, his expression carved from stone. "And I checked myself. No drag marks. No prints. Just...nothing."
"Which is impossible," Tavian said quietly, eyes scanning the ruin's open edges. "Even trained scouts leave some trace. Especially in damp stone like this."
Lucian slowly approached, his voice low but certain. "Then maybe it wasn't a person who took them."
Garrick turned to him, eyes narrowed. "And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Lucian pointed toward the broken archway that opened toward the western corridor of the ruin. "This place... breathes. I can feel it. So can Kaela. You all just keep ignoring it."
The Ironbrand mercs grumbled, shifting uneasily. One spat on the ground.
"This is superstition," one of them muttered. "Fog plays tricks. Maybe they snuck off. Got scared. Deserted."
Lucian didn't smile. "No one deserts in the middle of the night without weapons. Especially when you've got vicious beasts waiting on the outside.."
Joran's eyes swept the courtyard again. "We'll do a full perimeter sweep in ten. Weapons ready. Everyone moves in pairs from now on. No exceptions."
"That goes for you too, Tavian," Kaela added.
Tavian offered a thin smile. "I'm not planning on getting dragged off by ghosts, I assure you."
Lucian turned his face toward him. "That's good. Because something is dragging people off. And it's doing it without leaving a trace."
Tavian's smirk faded slightly.
Kaela took a deep breath, her eyes narrowing. "There's a rhythm here. It's under everything. The wind. The stone. Even the mist. I've never felt anything like it."
Lucian nodded silently. He'd heard it too. Beneath the idle creaks of ancient architecture and the distant groan of the wind through stone hollows, there was something... steady. A beat. Like a heartbeat buried beneath the rock. Watching. Listening.
Measuring.
Lucian turned toward the ruined shrine, lips tight. "We should never have camped here."
"But we did," Garrick muttered. "So let's deal with it before we lose anyone else."
"Ironbrand," barked one of the merc leaders. "Form up!"
The mercs grumbled as they fell into a loose formation, their earlier cockiness long gone. They looked smaller now, like boys forced to wear men's armor.
Lucian lingered behind the others, his hand brushing the edge of a mossy stone. Cold. Wet. The heartbeat was stronger here.
This place was never meant to be entered. It was built to contain something.
Or to warn others away.
And now they'd walked in like arrogant trespassers.
He turned as Kaela walked past him, catching the faintest grim nod she gave him. No words needed. She felt it too.
Tavian lingered near the back, hands behind his back, eyes darting across the mist-wreathed ruins.
Lucian considered him again. The noble. The curiosity. The way he handled a sword like a man trained—but not tested.
And still... he didn't act afraid.
'Why do I keep getting a feeling that he has been pretending.' Lucian couldn't shake off the feeling that Tavian was more dangerous than whatever it was that made this place scary. It was such a strange thought considering Tavian's behavior during the fight with the ashfangs was rather normal for a scion of a wealthy family. If it was all an act then he must be a really good actor as only Lucian's instinct for danger could pick up on it.
Lucian's mind whirred as he continued like normal.
The wind returned at last—but it did not howl or whisper. It sighed.
As if the mountain itself had just awoken.
The group regathered near the eastern wall of the ruin, now reinforced by hastily stacked crates and shattered stone slabs. A crude perimeter, but it gave the illusion of protection. Joran stood near the center, his arms crossed, issuing orders with clipped precision. Guards rotated in silent pairs. Every eye was alert. Every footstep calculated.
Lucian stood apart, his fingers absently tapping the butt of his rod against the moss-covered flagstone. The vibrations thrummed faintly in his wrist, subtle but rhythmic. A presence pulsed in the rock—not a sound, not quite. More like a breathing pattern buried too deep to name.
It was here before us. And it will be here after.
He wasn't sure if the thought was his.
He turned slightly, angling his blindfold toward the far reaches of the camp. Tavian sat near one of the broken archways, brushing dust from his boots. His face was calm, maybe too calm, his eyes scanning—not the horizon, but the people.
What are you looking for, really?
Lucian moved toward him, each step light. His voice, when it came, was casual. "No sword practice today?"
Tavian glanced up, offering a half-smile. "You're funny. I'm just thinking."
Lucian crouched across from him, resting his cane across his knees. "About what?"
"The mountain," Tavian said. "And how it feels like it's holding its breath."
Lucian said nothing for a moment. Then: "You're not as jumpy as the others."
Tavian shrugged. "Can't be afraid of what you don't understand."
"That's exactly when you should be afraid."
Tavian tilted his head. "Do you think fear keeps you alive?"
Lucian's reply came slowly. "Fear's not the enemy. It's a teacher. You just have to listen."
Tavian leaned forward. "Then teach me something. Why do you think this is happening? The disappearances. The heartbeat in the stone. That other team we're trailing."
Lucian didn't speak at first. He let his thoughts unwind like thread in the dark.
"I think... we're being pulled somewhere," he said. "Not chased. Not followed. Pulled. This ruin wasn't an accident. The storm. The ashfangs. The explosion. It's a pattern."
He stood, brushing stone dust from his knees. "And I think you know more than you're saying."
Tavian blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You didn't flinch when the vehicle blew. You weren't surprised when we found no bodies. You volunteered for this mission like it mattered to you."
Tavian held up his hands, palms outward. "Look, I'm just here to learn."
Lucian didn't smile. "So learn."
He stepped away without another word, his blindfold catching a breeze that had risen suddenly from the northern cliffs. It tasted of ash and old bones.
As night settled again, the fog grew teeth.
It drifted in faster than before, curling between the stones like it had a destination, like it knew the layout. Tavian sat against a broken column now, sharpening a knife with a slow, steady rhythm. Kaela passed nearby, her steps more purposeful than earlier, more wary. She checked every shadow twice.
Lucian knelt near the camp's edge, where a narrow trail wound up into the higher reaches of the Ghost-Bane range. He let his fingers skim the dirt. Cold. Fine-grained. Laced with charcoal.
Burned. But not recently. Someone camped here long before we did.
He found an old indent beside a stone—half a footprint. Deep-set. Too large for any of the current group. Old boot pattern. Worn but efficient.
Whoever came before... they stopped here too. Maybe they slept here. Maybe they vanished just the same.
A rustle from behind drew his ear—Joran's measured stride.
"Report," the commander said.
"No changes," Lucian murmured. "But this place is layered."
Joran crouched beside him, his tone low. "Explain."
Lucian ran a finger along the print. "Someone camped here before. Long before we arrived. I think that other team we were tracking didn't pass through. They paused. Rested. Maybe... disappeared."
Joran nodded once. "Then we move before we do the same."
Lucian pointed toward the narrowing trail ahead. "You're not going to like where it leads."
"I don't have to like it," Joran replied, his tone clipped. "I just have to keep my people alive."
Lucian gave a short nod. "Fair. But I've held up my end of the deal. Don't you think it's time you held up yours?" He stepped slightly closer, voice lower now. "I doubt we'll have much peace from here on out."
Joran studied him for a long moment. The mist shifted faintly between them, silent witnesses to the unspoken tension.
Finally, he gave a slow, reluctant nod. "Alright."