The plains wind carried the scent of dust and smoke. The dungeon loomed behind Adair, its new halls stretching unseen into the rock. Ebb stood with his new goblin infantry at the edge of the grassland, their armor clinking softly as they adjusted their grips on worn spears. Abe and his assassins were little more than shifting shapes, their dark eyes watching everything without a word.
They spoke briefly. Abe's group would move south to meet with Rantir and mark targets. Ebb's infantry would train alongside the Wolf tribe, building trust while strengthening their numbers. Adair would travel alone.
When they split, the silence that followed was deeper than before. The wind swept across the grass, bending the tall stalks until they whispered against each other. Adair stepped forward, his boots sinking slightly into the earth. The vast open plain stretched ahead, and somewhere within it, the war between tribes was still burning.
He traveled light, keeping low. His senses sharpened after his evolution, every sound in the grass distinct. The soft scrape of a cricket, the distant rumble of hooves, the sudden snap of a twig carried far in the still air. His eyes cut deeper into the distance now. Colors were sharper, shadows more distinct.
Signs of war were everywhere. Spears lay broken in the dirt. Patches of scorched grass marked where fire had swept through. There were places where the ground was darker, soaked deep with blood that the sun could not burn away.
He moved slowly, skirting open ground, keeping near dips and rises in the land. More than once he paused to watch scavenger birds circle low, their cries sharp against the quiet.
By midday, he reached the edge of an abandoned skirmish site. The bodies lay where they had fallen, half hidden in the grass. Wolf and Lizard warriors both were scattered here, their weapons lying beside them. The air was heavy with the copper tang of blood.
Adair's gaze fixed on one of the fallen Wolves. The man's chest still rose faintly, though his breath was shallow. His furred ears twitched once, weak and slow. The scent of blood was overpowering, sinking into Adair's thoughts until the world narrowed.
He knelt beside the man. His fangs ached as they lengthened, the hunger stirring in a way that felt almost alive. The warrior tried to lift his weapon but his strength failed before it cleared the ground.
Adair's hands closed around him. Warm blood surged against his tongue, hot and rich, flooding through him with a rush that made his limbs feel lighter. The man shuddered once and went still.
He was still drinking when the wind shifted.
The scent reached him first, fur and sweat, close and moving fast.
"Stop!" a voice barked.
Adair lifted his head, blood on his lips. Three Wolf tribe scouts stood in a half circle around him, weapons drawn. Their armor was light, patched from scraps of leather and metal, but their eyes were bright and unflinching.
The one in front had streaks of white in her dark hair, her spear aimed at his chest. Her tail was low but tense, swaying slightly as she measured him.
Adair rose slowly, letting the body slip to the ground.
"I am working with Lunaris," he said, keeping his voice calm. "Your chieftain knows me."
"Lunaris is the chief's daughter," the second scout said, his grip tightening on his axe. "And she would not send someone to drink from our wounded."
Adair's mind worked quickly. "He was dying," he said. "This way his death is not wasted."
The woman's eyes narrowed. "You speak as if you are doing us a favor."
"It is more than a favor," Adair replied, though the words felt like they were forming as he spoke them. "Every drop of blood I take strengthens me. Strength I can use against your enemies."
The third scout, younger than the others, looked unsettled. "He smells wrong," he muttered. "Not like any tribe."
"I am not of any tribe," Adair said. "But I fight with Lunaris. That should be enough."
The front scout stepped closer, her spear point nearly touching his chest. "It is not enough for me."
They stood in silence for a long moment, the grass shifting between them. The sun caught the red in Adair's eyes, and the woman's gaze lingered there.
Finally she stepped back a pace. "We will confirm with Lunaris," she said. "Until then, you are watched. If we see you take one of ours again, your body will feed the crows."
The younger scout gave a low growl of agreement.
Adair nodded once and stepped away from the body. The hunger still coiled inside him, but he forced it down. He could not afford to make enemies here, not when the war was still tipping.
They followed him for a short distance before splitting away, disappearing into the grass without a sound.
When they were gone, Adair let out a slow breath. His heart was still steady, but there was a weight to the air now, as if the plains themselves had decided to watch him.
He continued on toward the sound of distant battle.
By late afternoon, the wind carried the clang of weapons and the roar of voices. He dropped low, crawling through the grass until the battlefield opened below him. Wolves and Lizards were locked in close combat. The Wolves fought in a surge, fast and aggressive, teeth bared and blades flashing. The Lizards held tight formations, their shields overlapping, spears bristling like a wall.
The fight was brutal but short. The Wolves broke the line once, scattering the Lizards, but the lizard warriors regrouped quickly and began to push back. When it was done, the Wolves retreated toward the hills, leaving the field to their enemies.
Adair stayed hidden, watching the Lizards tend to their wounded and gather their dead. Their movements were precise, disciplined.
He waited until they left, then slipped closer to study the ground. Blood soaked the grass in wide arcs where bodies had fallen. The smell was strong enough to blur his thoughts, and he had to force himself to pull away.
He moved west, keeping low. As the sun began to drop, the light turned gold over the plains. Shadows stretched long across the grass, and the air cooled.
When night fell, he found a ridge overlooking the Bear tribe's forward camp. Fires burned in a half circle, their light glinting off armor made from thick animal hide. Bears moved between the fires, their sheer size making them look more beast than man.
Adair crouched low, counting tents, noting the number of patrols and the way their sentries rotated. He could see supply crates stacked near the largest fire, guarded by two massive warriors with hammers across their shoulders.
The longer he watched, the more he was certain this was where Abe's assassins would strike first. Killing leaders was good, but cutting supplies would weaken them faster.
A howl rose in the distance, carried by the wind. It was far, but not far enough.
He turned from the camp and began the long walk back toward the dungeon. The moon was high when he heard it, the sound of movement in the grass behind him. It was too heavy for an animal, too deliberate for scavengers.
He kept walking, pretending not to hear, but his hand slid to his weapon. The grass hissed softly as it parted behind him, and in the faint moonlight, he caught the glint of eyes watching.
The sound behind him grew louder. Adair stopped and turned, his eyes locking on a towering figure pushing through the grass. The man was huge, shoulders as broad as a door, his chest wrapped in heavy hide armor. A thick scar cut across his muzzle-like face, and his eyes glowed faintly in the moonlight.
Bear tribe.
The warrior gripped a battle axe as long as Adair's arm and stepped forward without a word. His breath steamed in the cool night air.
"You have been following me," Adair said, his voice low.
The man's lips pulled back in something between a grin and a snarl. Then he charged.
The first swing split the air where Adair had been standing a heartbeat earlier. He rolled aside, drawing his blade, and countered with a quick slash at the man's ribs. The strike met solid armor and barely cut through.
The bear warrior's backhand swing came fast. Adair ducked, feeling the air shift over his head.
He needed more than speed.
The change came without thought, his bones lightening, skin tightening over new muscle. His vision sharpened, the world framed in shades of silver and shadow. His wings burst wide, catching the night air.
The bat form felt… right. As if he had always had it, waiting under his skin. Light. Precise.
The warrior's next swing caught only empty space. Adair had risen above him, wings folding tight before dropping like a stone. He shifted back to his humanoid form and struck from above, his blade cutting deep into the gap between shoulder and neck.
The bear bellowed and spun, his axe arcing upward. Adair transformed and snapped his wings wide and veered sharply to the side, feeling the rush of air from the blow.
He used the wings not just to dodge, but to angle in from impossible positions. A feint from the left turned into a downward strike from the rear. A sudden dive became a rolling slash across the back of the legs.
The warrior was strong, faster than his size suggested, but he was rooted to the ground. Adair was not.
The man's breath grew heavy, his stance faltering. Adair circled him once more, wings beating quietly, before darting low. His blade slid beneath the edge of the armor, finding the unguarded stomach.
The warrior's eyes widened. He staggered back, the axe slipping from his grip, and fell to one knee.
Adair landed lightly, folding his wings and watching until the man stilled. His heart pounded, but not from fear. The bat form had given him angles no human body could reach, and the freedom of movement felt like a weapon on its own.
Convenient… natural. He would use it again.
He turned toward the dungeon, the moonlight painting the grass in silver.
Simultaneously.
Abe sat across from Rantir in the Wolf tribe's war tent, a rough map stretched between them. The air smelled of smoke and oiled leather. Warriors moved in and out, their voices low.
Rantir's clawed hand spread across the map, pressing it flat. His yellow eyes were sharp, his voice steady despite the tension in his frame.
"The Bear tribe keeps their war chief, Varkun, at the front. He is large, even for them, and carries a double-bladed axe made from iron pulled from the mountain mines. Kill him, and their warriors will lose their push. But he will not fall easily. He is always surrounded by his shield guard."
His finger traced a line along the eastern edge of the plains. "The Lizard tribe has a scaled shaman named Ssethra. She keeps their warriors bound together. It is her magic that hardens their scales and quickens their strikes. Without her, they will scatter. She stays behind the lines, guarded by spear throwers."
Rantir leaned closer. "Both tribes have supply lines running through the river crossings here and here." He tapped two points on the map. "Burn their food. Smash their carts. Starve them, and you will slow the war without losing many of our own."
He looked up, meeting Abe's eyes. "Do this, and you will give us a fighting chance."
Abe's claws drummed lightly on the edge of the table, his gaze sweeping over each marked target. "Varkun. Ssethra. Supplies." A small grin tugged at his mouth. "Me can do that."