The wind changed.
It was not a thing one could hear, or see, or even name. But they all felt it.
The world seemed to inhale—then forget to exhale.
Leaves stilled mid-tremble. Shadows stretched without a source. The air thickened, taking on weight, as though the sky itself had dropped just a little lower.
The mist heavier—not like fog, but like a breath exhaled from the mouth of something old.
Cold seeped into bones that had once burned with confidence.
Into joints. Into the marrow.
Something was coming.
Then—
It padded forward, soundless.
Black fur like smoke stitched with stars. Eyes like split amethysts glowing in the dark. Its maw dragged low, and from it hung the scent of grave-earth and ash.
Ashvaleth had come.
The assassins didn't flinch. Not yet.
But their silence had a different texture now. Not stoic, but watchful.
Measured.
The glaive-wielder clicked his teeth. "Finally summoned your dog, have you?"
