At the edge of the Unmapped Reach the demon cadre halted.
One of the Empress's ten personal commanders stood at the front—tall, gray-crimson skin marked with old battle brands, short black horns filed to sharp points, eyes that had seen three centuries of quiet wars. Behind him twenty elite trackers and blades waited in disciplined silence. The trees ahead rose like a wall. No path. No light. Only the wet, ancient smell of a place that killed almost everything that crossed its boundary.
"No one survives this forest," one of the younger demons muttered. "Not even full cadres. The records are clear."
The commander did not turn. "We have orders. The signature led here. We follow."
They entered.
