The howl echoed across the barren expanse, sending a chill down James’s spine. He froze in place, his Veilmark burning faintly against his wrist, a sensation that was becoming all too familiar. Around him, the group tensed, weapons unsheathed, their eyes scanning the horizon.
Rook crouched low, signaling for everyone to stay quiet. He moved to the edge of the outcropping, peering into the shadows cast by the pale morning light.
“What is it?” James whispered, his voice barely audible.
“Carrion Wretches,” Rook murmured, his voice grim. “A pack of them. Close.”
Vance swore under his breath, gripping the hilt of his sword tightly. “Fantastic. Just what we needed.”
Leena’s daggers were already in her hands, her eyes sharp and alert. “How many?”
“Too many,” Rook replied. He turned back to the group, his face set. “We move fast and quiet. Stick together. If we get separated, they’ll pick us off one by one.”
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The group descended into the rocky terrain, their steps cautious but quick. The howls grew louder, more numerous, each one reverberating through the jagged cliffs like a warning.
James’s heart pounded in his chest. His Veilmark pulsed in time with the distant cries, a steady rhythm that seemed to urge him forward—and warn him of danger.
“What are Carrion Wretches?” he asked, his voice shaking slightly.
“Predators,” Derrin said quietly, clutching the device containing the shard to his chest. “They track blood and fear. Their bites are venomous—fatigue and hallucinations set in fast.”
“Lovely,” James muttered.
“They’re not invincible,” Leena added, her voice calm despite the tension. “Fire and blunt force work best. Keep your distance, and don’t let them corner you.”
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The first Wretch appeared just as the group reached the edge of a narrow ravine.
It was gaunt and wolf-like, its matted fur clinging to an emaciated frame. Its glowing eyes locked onto them, and a low growl rumbled from its throat. Behind it, more shapes emerged from the shadows, their forms shifting and twisting unnaturally as they stalked closer.
“Stay together!” Rook barked, raising his blade.
The Wretches charged.
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James barely had time to react as the first creature lunged at him. He stumbled back, his Veilmark flaring instinctively. A burst of shadowy energy erupted from his hand, striking the Wretch in midair and sending it crashing into a nearby rock.
“Nice shot!” Vance called out, swinging his sword at another Wretch. The blade connected with a sickening crunch, and the creature yelped before crumpling to the ground.
James didn’t have time to respond. Another Wretch was already closing in, its jaws snapping. He raised his arm in defense, but before it could reach him, Leena was there, her daggers flashing. She struck with precision, driving the creature back.
“Focus, Forsyth!” she snapped, her voice sharp but not unkind.
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The battle was chaotic, a blur of movement and noise. The Wretches were relentless, their numbers overwhelming.
Rook fought with brutal efficiency, his sword cutting through the creatures with practiced ease. Vance held his own, his strength and sheer determination making up for his lack of finesse. Leena moved like a shadow, her blades a blur as she struck with deadly accuracy.
James struggled to keep up, his Veilmark flaring sporadically as he lashed out with bursts of energy. The power felt wild and unpredictable, surging through him in waves.
Derrin stayed behind the group, using the device as a makeshift weapon when necessary, but it was clear he was out of his depth.
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“Behind you!” James shouted as a Wretch leapt at Leena from the side.
She turned just in time, driving a dagger into the creature’s chest and shoving it away. “Thanks,” she said breathlessly.
James nodded, his grip on his weapon tightening. The adrenaline coursing through him was the only thing keeping him on his feet.
But the Wretches kept coming.
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“Rook!” Vance called out, his voice strained. “There’s too many!”
Rook glanced around, his expression grim. He raised his sword, its blade catching the faint light of the rising sun. “Hold the line!”
James felt the Veilmark on his wrist pulse again, stronger this time. It was as if the shard’s energy was resonating with the mark, feeding off the chaos around them.
A sudden surge of power rushed through him, and before he could think, he raised his hand. A wave of shadowy energy erupted outward, striking several Wretches at once. The creatures yelped and scattered, their forms flickering like broken images before disappearing into the shadows.
The group froze, their eyes wide.
“What the hell was that?” Vance asked, his voice filled with equal parts awe and fear.
James stared at his hand, his chest heaving. “I... I don’t know.”
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The remaining Wretches retreated, their howls fading into the distance.
Rook lowered his sword, his expression unreadable. “We need to move. Now.”
The group didn’t argue. They gathered their belongings and set off, their pace quick despite their exhaustion.
James walked in silence, his mind racing. The power he had unleashed felt both exhilarating and terrifying. He didn’t understand it, couldn’t control it—but it had saved their lives.
As they climbed a steep incline, Derrin fell into step beside him.
“That wasn’t just your Veilmark,” Derrin said quietly. “That was the shard.”
James frowned. “What do you mean?”
Derrin hesitated, then said, “It’s connected to you now. The shard, the Spire... the Forsyth name. It’s all tied together. And whatever it’s awakened in you, it’s only the beginning.”
James’s stomach churned. The shard’s power had saved them, but at what cost?
As the group crested the hill, the horizon stretched out before them. The Spire was a distant memory now, its glow barely visible.
But James couldn’t shake the feeling that they hadn’t truly escaped.
The Veilmark on his wrist burned faintly, a constant reminder of the power—and the danger—he carried with him.