A few minutes earlier—
Ariel moved like a streak of silver through the forest, her paws barely disturbing the frost-covered ground as she darted between the trees. The scent trail was faint but distinct, clinging to air like smoke after a fire.
It was the scent of a Chosen—Ingrid's scent.
She had learned something during her time with Eli:
Chosens carried a unique signature, not just in their mana but in their very essence. It was sharper, cleaner, and radiated with a faint pulse that ordinary goblins lacked.
Once she recognized it, tracking them became second nature.
That was what she was doing now—following the thin thread of Ingrid's scent through the dense woods, letting instinct and hunger for the hunt guide her.
But the deeper she went, the more her instincts began to scream at her. The air around her changed, thickened with something oppressive. The scent she was following no longer belonged to one Chosen.
