The fire crackled low, the only sound in the scorched hollow.
Calen threw a stone into the flames, his face twisted in a scowl.
"This is suicide," he snapped. "We're walking straight into a gods-damned monster's den."
Shadow didn't flinch.
"We've come this far."
"That's the problem!" Calen stood, pacing like a caged wolf. "The land's bleeding. That storm wasn't natural. Half our scouts vanished two nights ago, and now you want us to just stroll into the Fire Serpent's pit like it's nothing?"
A few of the others muttered agreement.
Mazen sat back against a stone, his muscles tight, that dark pulse still coiled in his chest. He'd felt it too — like something beneath them had woken, and it was watching.
Shadow's voice cut through the murmurs.
"You can leave. No one's stopping you."
Calen's hand went to his axe.
"Maybe it's your time we're done following."
The silence stretched sharp as a drawn blade.
Mazen's stomach twisted. Instinct told him this would go bad fast.
Before his head caught up, his mouth moved.
"Enough."
Heads turned.
Calen scowled. "And you?"
Mazen stood, his voice steady in a way he barely recognized.
"You want to kill each other, fine — do it after we get through this. But if you think that thing underground cares who leads us, you're an idiot."
A beat of silence.
Then a few snorts. A grunt. One or two grudging nods.
Calen spat. "Watch your tongue, outsider."
Mazen met his gaze.
"I'm not the one losing his nerve."
Shadow gave a sharp, approving nod.
"No more time," he said. "We move at dusk."
Mazen sat back down, his pulse still racing.
When the hell did I start doing that?
The wind howled through the ravine like something alive.
Mirra slammed a crude map down on a rock.
"We move before sunrise. Hit the shrine vault while the Crown pulls their men to the southern basin."
A young fighter, Darin, spoke up, voice sharp.
"We're outnumbered. We've got no clean route, no healer, and that storm's about to eat this ridge alive."
"Then stay behind," Mirra shot back.
"We're not walking into a death trap for a temple no one's seen open in fifty years," another spat.
The tension cracked sharp.
Shina felt her muscles coil tight. The endless stress, the hunger, the cold, the constant feeling of chasing a shadow — it all snapped at once.
"Then leave," she said.
The others froze. No one had ever heard her raise her voice.
Shina stepped forward, voice cold.
"Stop wasting breath. You either go with us, or get out of the way. No one cares how scared you are."
Darin opened his mouth.
"Don't talk like you—"
"I've bled for this already," Shina cut him off. "I'll bleed for it again. I'm not here for your permission."
The wind picked up, a sharp gust that scattered ash across the stones.
Even Mirra blinked, a flicker of something like respect in her eyes.
After a long, brittle moment, Darin swore under his breath.
"Fine. I'm in."
One by one, the others nodded.
Mirra smirked, rolling up the map.
"About time."
Shina exhaled, her heart pounding in her chest — and the wind around her eased, like the mountain itself was listening.
The earth shuddered.
It wasn't an earthquake. It wasn't thunder.
It was worse.
A deep, steady pulse — like a massive lung inhaling, exhaling somewhere beneath their feet. A pressure wave that rippled through stone and bone alike.
Mazen froze mid-step, his breath catching.
Shadow stiffened, hand on his blade.
"Again."
Another pulse, faint but unmistakable.
Calen looked around, voice low.
"Tell me that's not the Fire Serpent."
Shadow didn't answer. His silence said enough.
A grizzled merc spat into the dirt.
"I didn't sign up for this temple-waking nonsense. Monsters are stories."
Mazen's voice came out quieter than he meant, but steady.
"Then why does it feel like something's watching us?"
Nobody laughed.
On the other side of the mountain ridge, Shina's group felt it too.
The pulse rolled through the stone under their boots. Low. Ancient. Distant and wrong.
Mirra swore softly.
Darin's hand went to his sword.
"That wasn't the wind."
"No," Mirra agreed, tight. "It wasn't."
Shina kept her head down, feeling that strange hum in her chest — the same one she'd felt since the storm cracked the sky.
A scout coughed, breaking the hush.
"Maybe we turn back. Wait for another moon."
Mirra's glare could've cut stone.
"You'll get one shot. You run now, you die alone."
The mountain pulsed again.
Everyone heard it.
No one wanted to say it out loud.
The world was breathing.
And something old was finally waking.
The mist hung thick, curling around ancient stone like smoke.
Mazen moved ahead of his group, Shadow trailing him by a few paces. The night pressed heavy, vision barely a dozen steps ahead.
A flicker of movement to his right.
Steel rasped free.
He rounded the broken column — and came face to face with a masked figure, dagger drawn.
Slim. Quick.
Amber eyes narrowing behind the mask.
A heartbeat passed, and both weapons stayed raised.
Shina tensed the moment she saw the stranger. The air between them felt wrong — a pull she couldn't name.
"Step aside," she snapped.
Mazen's voice came low, sharp.
"You first."
Neither moved.
A gust swept between them, carrying ash and old leaves.
Shina's grip tightened.
"You're in my way."
Mazen gave a dry, humorless laugh.
"Story of my life."
Somewhere in the back of his head, something twisted — recognition without recognition. A familiarity buried too deep to name.
Shina felt it too. A sharp stab in her gut.
His voice. The way he stood. It was wrong. It couldn't be.
"Last warning," she hissed.
Mazen tilted his head, voice flat.
"I don't take orders from ghosts."
Mirra's voice called out from the mist.
"Nermin, move!"
Shina stepped back, a final glare.
Calen's shout from the opposite side.
"Mark! On me."
They both turned away at the same instant, vanishing into the dark, paths missing by the width of a heartbeat.
The wind howled once more.
The ancient stone doors loomed ahead, half-buried in rock and ash.
Mazen wiped sweat from his brow, the heat from the Fire Serpent's temple pressing down like a living thing. The earth pulsed again, deeper this time — the breath of something huge beneath them.
Shadow gave a sharp signal.
"Pry it open."
Calen hesitated, then drove his axe into the gap between stones. With a grinding shriek, the door cracked open a hand's width. Hot air spilled out, thick and smelling of old, burnt things.
Mazen's heart pounded.
He could feel the darkness inside.
Waiting.
The same pulse in his bones from before, now louder.
Calen grunted.
"Looks like hell down there."
Shadow didn't blink.
"We go."
Mazen took one last look at the dark horizon, the storm coiled over the mountains — and stepped into the gloom.
On the other side of the world, Shina stood before a jagged stone arch barely visible through the mist.
The entrance to the Wind Wyrm's vault.
Mirra's voice was tight.
"No one hesitates. No one wanders. That thing's moving."
Darin grumbled under his breath, but no one else spoke.
Shina's pulse raced. The wind pressed against her back like a hand urging her forward. The scale fragment in her pocket felt like a hot coal.
She gritted her teeth.
"Let's end this," she muttered.
And followed Mirra into the dark.
The land above them trembled.
And Vortrex, ancient and angry, waited.