The quiet that followed the storm was deceptive.
After the last of the mutated hounds fell, silence reigned like a curse over the valley. Mia's hands trembled slightly as she lowered her crossbow, the string frayed, one bolt left in the quiver. Every breath was a rasp; the acrid scent of gunpowder still clung to the air.
Lance sat slumped against a rock, blood smeared down his thigh, face pale. Yet he grinned when their eyes met. "Told you… we'd live another day."
Mia dropped beside him, pulling out the antiseptic and gauze. "You're a damn idiot," she muttered, voice cracking. "But you're my idiot."
He winced as she cleaned the wound. "That mean I get to pick the next ruin we ransack?"
"Only if it's not crawling with acid-spitting dogs."
He chuckled weakly, but the laugh faded into silence. Mia's fingers worked automatically, wrapping the wound tight, but her thoughts were far away. That battle—those creatures—they hadn't just been feral mutations. There was something different this time. Smarter. Coordinated.
And that terrified her more than any wound.
As night fell, the group took shelter in the remnants of an old outpost buried in the cliffside. Ava, unusually silent, crouched near the entrance, cleaning her blade with ritual precision. Her eyes flicked toward the darkness beyond the stone threshold like a wolf scenting danger on the wind.
"Something's watching us," she murmured.
"You sure?" Theo asked, hand already on the hilt of his blade.
"Positive." Ava didn't look at him. "We're not alone out here."
No one doubted her anymore. Not after what they'd seen.
Inside the outpost, the walls bore strange symbols—scrawled in something dark, possibly blood. Not ancient, but recent. Fresh. The language wasn't one any of them recognized, but Mia felt an involuntary shiver as her gaze lingered on the curves and hooks of the script.
"I think we found someone's den," she said quietly.
"Or their shrine," Theo added, grim. "And we desecrated it."
The temperature dropped suddenly, unnaturally. The fire Theo had built crackled violently, and then dimmed—as if smothered by unseen hands.
Ava stood up immediately, hand going to the hilt of her knife.
"I don't like this," Mia whispered.
A low hum began to echo through the chamber. Not mechanical. Not natural. Something other. It made the hairs on her neck rise.
Then, just outside the entrance, a figure appeared.
It stood motionless in the moonlight, half-shrouded by mist. Cloaked in layers of tattered cloth, face hidden beneath a hood, it seemed more shadow than man.
Ava's blade was out in an instant. "Who are you?" she barked.
The figure didn't respond.
Mia felt the pit in her stomach widen. This wasn't a scavenger. This wasn't even a survivor.
The fire flickered again.
And then it spoke—its voice neither male nor female, distorted like something underwater:"The Veil is thinning. The gods are waking. You stand on cursed soil."
Nobody moved. Even Lance, half-conscious in the corner, seemed to sense the shift in the air.
"What do you want?" Theo asked, steady.
The figure tilted its head. "Not want. Warn. The stars are misaligned. The Crimson Gate will open. You are marked."
A moment later, it vanished—no step, no noise, no sign. Just… gone.
The silence that followed was worse than any scream.
They didn't sleep that night.
Mia stood alone on the cliff's edge, watching the stars. One of them—a red one—pulsed unnaturally in the sky, brighter than the rest. It hadn't been there before.
She touched the locket around her neck. It had belonged to her sister. The only thing she had left of her.
A whisper of breath drifted on the wind behind her. She turned—no one there.
But a new marking had appeared on the stone by her feet. The same symbol they'd seen inside the outpost.
Scratched in blood.