The mist coils around me, thick as breath, muffling sound and swallowing light. My grip tightens on my spear as I step forward, muscles coiled, senses sharp. Something moves in the fog. Not the skitter of a rodent or the tread of a man. No, this is heavier, deliberate. A shadow shifting at the edges of perception.

Then I see it.

The Spidrae.

It emerges from the fog, towering, its body covered in coarse black hair. Its legs, long and spindly, stab into the earth, and though it doesn't leave footprints, it does leave long marks. This isn't the monster that's brought me her . Its many eyes stare down and see the way runes on my spear light up. The thing is massive, its carapace thick and ridged, its fangs clicking and throbbing.

It is a monster that many would fear and run from.

But I am a King’s man.

That means something. It doesn’t just mean I served. It means I am stronger, stronger than most.

The Spidrae lunges, and I move one of its legs slams into the ground where I stood. The earth cracks beneath the force. I roll, coming up on one knee, spear raised, eyes locked onto the beast.

Its fangs drip venom, sizzling where they touch the soil. It knows what I am. It knows this is not just another hunt. It screeches.

I don’t wait. I don’t hesitate.

"Ignite."

The runes along my spear pulse, then blaze to life. Fire erupts from the shaft, up to the blade.

Enchanted fire.

The Spidrae rears back, hesitating, but only for a breath. Then it attacks.

It lunges again, legs slamming down, trying to crush me. I move, dodging, spinning, the fire of my spear trailing and moving, burning.

I strike, once, twice, then some more.

The first blow barely sinks in, but the second finds a softer joint. The beast screams, jerking back, black ichor spraying.

It’s fast. Too fast. But I am not slow.

It tries to flank me, but I pivot, the fire trailing behind me in a blur of heat. I slam the spear’s haft into the ground, using it to vault back as one of its limbs sweeps through the space I just occupied, then I raise my hand and the spear moves, resummoned.

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The creature is cautious, learning, more hesitate.

I shift my grip, lowering my stance. It charges again, fangs flashing, legs hammering forward. This time, I don’t dodge. I meet it head-on.

My spear thrusts forward, sinking deep into the beast’s side. The fire grow hotter, burning away flesh. The Spidrae screams, thrashing, trying to pull away, but I twist the blade deeper, shoving all my strength behind it.

I am a King’s man.

And I do not fall.

With a final surge, I drag the spear upward, carving through chitin and flesh. Fire pours into the wound, spreading, consuming. The Spidrae convulses, its legs buckling. Its screech becomes a dying gurgle as it collapses, twitching, the fire burning through its insides.

I step back, breath steady despite the heat, watching as the beast curls inward, its body collapsing into itself. The flames devour what’s left.

Then there is silence.

I lower my spear, the fire flickering, dimming. The runes pulse once, then go still.

The mist settles. The world holds its breath.

And I turn, leaving the corpse of the monster behind. There will be more. There is always more.

But for now, the hunt is done.

The Spidrae still smolders as I kneel beside it, and check over the ruined body. The fire from my spear has burned it thoroughly, but there are still parts of value. The legs are long and sturdy, and other pieces are thick enough to be reforged into armor or plating. The venom glands, if intact, could fetch a price from an alchemist. Even in death, monsters have their uses.

I pull a long hunting knife from my belt and get to work, slicing through the cooling flesh, careful to avoid the ruined sections. The ichor is thick, dark as tar, and stinks of burnt hair and rot. I grimace, cutting free a length of leg chitin, testing its weight. Heavy, but durable. Good enough to sell.

The fog hangs low, curling around the corpse like hungry fingers. The wind has died down, leaving behind an unsettling stillness. The kind that doesn’t sit right.

I glance up, scanning the fields, the barn, the farmhouse. Nothing stirs. No shapes moving in the mist. No waiting eyes, no shifting shadows. It’s wrong. There should be more. If the Spidrae was here, there should be something else. A trail. A sign. Another beast lurking nearby.

But there’s nothing.

I stand, gripping my spear, letting my breathing steady.

Nothing is worse than something.

With one last glance at the carcass, I wipe my blade clean and start toward the farmhouse. The door hangs open, exactly as I left it. The silence inside is thick, pressing. Dust hangs in the air, disturbed only by my earlier passage. My boots echo against the wooden floor as I move through the empty rooms. I check again, looking for anything I missed—papers, signs of struggle, anything that might explain why this place was abandoned.

But there’s nothing. Just old wood and fading echoes.

Then, as I turn, a sharp sting flares across my arm.

I hiss, jerking back my sleeve, eyes narrowing at the mark appearing just beneath my skin—dark, curling lines, shifting like ink in water. It pulses, faintly, almost like it’s reacting to something unseen.

I frown. "Not now."

A breath passes, then another. The mark fades, disapearing back into my skin, then I roll my sleeve down.

I leave the house, andsling my pack over my shoulder and start back down the road.

Time to head back to Greyhaven. I need to offload this monster’s remains and find out why the other creatures didn’t show.

And, more importantly, I need answers about this cursed mark before it decides to show itself again.