We returned the next morning, just after sunrise.
The city was still half-asleep, the first light spilling over the eastern walls and stretching long shadows across the commons. A thin mist curled low over the grass, brushing our boots as Squad Four moved in silence. The only sound was the muted crunch of frost-tipped blades beneath our soles.
Ahead, the old aqueduct rose from the haze—a relic from another age. Its towering arches reached into the distance, fractured and forgotten, half-swallowed by ivy and fog from the lowlands. Once, it had been a lifeline to the city. Now it was nothing but a hollow carcass of stone.
No birds sang. No wind stirred. Even the insects were gone. The silence pressed in, broken only by our footsteps, faint echoes skimming along the stone like whispers in an empty cathedral.
I took point, eyes sweeping the treeline. Danya shadowed me, spear angled low, her gaze cutting in long arcs. Brayden and Riken flanked us, hands never far from their weapons. Vell ghosted at the rear, quiet as breath.
The air grew heavier as we neared the tunnel mouth.
Our chalk mark from yesterday was still there, bright against the weathered stone. But beneath it, something new had been added.
A handprint.
It dragged downward in a long, trembling smear, as though left by someone—or something—barely holding itself upright. The fingers were unnaturally long, thin, and crooked. Whatever made it had stained the stone in a dark, rust-brown sheen.
Blood, maybe.
We halted as one.
Brayden's voice was low. "That wasn't there yesterday."
"No," I said, crouching for a closer look. "It wasn't."
The print was too high for a child, too narrow for a man, too warped to be human at all. Beside the tunnel, in the soft dirt, faint impressions told another story—three-toed, clawed, lopsided in stride.
And there were two sets. One larger. One smaller. Both leading inward.
Danya's grip tightened on her spear.
We lit torches and entered. The aqueduct sloped downward, the air cooling with each step. Moss slicked the walls, water dripped in slow, patient rhythm. The stone smelled of rot and rusted metal.
Twenty paces in, the tunnel bent sharply. That's where we found the first carcass.
A wild dog, ribs split wide as if pried apart. Its cloudy eyes stared upward. The kill wasn't fresh, but not long abandoned either.
And untouched.
"No scavengers," Vell murmured. "Not even the rats."
Riken crouched beside it. "Multiple claw marks. One small, one big."
"Two different creatures?" I asked.
He nodded slowly. "If both are hunting here… why leave the kill?"
There was no answer worth speaking aloud.
We pressed on until a half-collapsed storeroom opened to our right. Old life lay scattered there—splintered crates, rusted tools, a lantern in shards. But in one corner, the dust had been swept aside in a rough circle.
A bed.
Leaves and grass, woven loosely with cloth scraps. No bones. No stench of decay. Deliberate, almost careful.
I knelt and sifted through the pile. My fingers caught something soft.
A feather.
Pale green. Faintly luminous in the torchlight. Warm to the touch, as if freshly shed.
Vell's eyes narrowed. "That's not from anything local."
I slipped it into my satchel. "We're not alone down here."
We marked the storeroom, sketched the feather, and left before noon.
That night in the barracks, the table felt smaller without our usual noise.
"So," Riken began, "we've got two things down there. One's a killer. The other… maybe not."
"There was no blood in that den," Danya said.
"Which means it's not the monster's," Brayden added.
"Two sets of tracks," I said. "Different markings, different behavior. The den was careful. The dog was torn apart."
Riken leaned back. "So they're fighting? Or—"
"Not sharing," Vell cut in. "Something drove the other out. Or is still trying to."
His gaze met mine. "What's the plan?"
I turned the feather in my hands. The green shimmer caught the firelight and seemed to pulse faintly.
"We wait," I said. "We watch. This isn't a starving wolf. This is something else."
"And if it's dangerous?" Brayden asked.
"Then we'll know before it decides to come up from the dark."
Riken smirked faintly. "You really do like walking into danger, huh?"
I allowed a thin smile. "I've seen worse."
Outside, the wind rose, rattling the shutters. Somewhere beyond the trees, something howled—low and mournful, fading into the night.