The first scream came from the river.
Kael was already moving when it cut through the village—high, sharp, and abruptly cut short. The ringing in his ears flared in response, sliding into a jagged pitch that made his teeth ache.
There.
He didn't need the sound. The land told him first.
The ground beneath his boots tightened, a subtle resistance in the soil that hadn't been there moments ago, as if the earth itself were bracing.
Bren cursed and grabbed a spear from the rack by the well. "Everyone inside!" he shouted. "Now!"
Villagers scattered. Doors slammed. A child stumbled, was yanked back by the arm just before something heavy crashed through the reeds near the riverbank.
Kael caught only fragments at first.
A massive shape.
Too low to the ground.
Moving wrong.
Then it stepped fully into view.
The beast looked like a boar at a distance—broad shoulders, thick hide—but its proportions were off. Its legs bent at the wrong angles, joints too many, muscles pulling in directions that made Kael's stomach twist. Dark lines pulsed beneath its skin, glowing faintly in the mist.
Resonance.
Not wild.
Not natural.
"This close to the village?" Bren muttered. "That's not possible."
Kael swallowed. "It shouldn't be."
The beast lifted its head.
Its eyes fixed on Kael.
The ringing in his ears spiked violently.
The creature didn't charge. It circled instead, slow and deliberate, hooves crushing wet reeds. Each step sent a ripple through the ground—small, contained, but unmistakable.
Kael felt it tug at him.
Not hunger.
Recognition.
It's not here for the village, he realized. It's here for me.
"Bren," he said quietly. "Get people farther back."
Bren hesitated. "What are you—"
"Please."
That was enough.
Bren barked orders and retreated, spear raised but shaking slightly. Kael stepped forward alone, heart hammering.
The beast snorted. The air around its mouth warped, breath visible despite the mild morning.
Kael planted his feet.
He didn't know what he was doing.
That terrified him less than the fact that some part of him did.
He focused on the ground.
Not commanding it.
Not forcing it.
Just… listening.
The soil beneath his boots responded with a faint pressure, like a muscle tightening in anticipation.
The beast lunged.
Kael reacted on instinct.
"Now—!" he gasped.
The earth buckled.
Not a wall. Not a spike.
Just enough.
The ground dipped sharply under the beast's front legs, throwing its weight forward. It stumbled, momentum carrying it past Kael instead of through him. Mud sprayed. The impact rattled his bones.
Kael staggered, vision blurring.
Too much, he thought. That was too much.
The beast recovered faster than it should have. It twisted, muscles rippling unnaturally, and charged again—this time faster, angrier.
Kael tried to step back.
The ground resisted.
Not trapping him.
Testing him.
Panic flared.
He pushed again, harder.
The pressure behind his eyes exploded. The ringing became a shriek as the terrain surged upward, forming a jagged rise between him and the beast.
The creature slammed into it with a sickening crunch.
The barrier held.
For half a second.
Then it cracked.
Kael dropped to one knee, blood trickling from his nose. His hands trembled violently, fingers numb.
Stop, he told himself. You have to stop.
The land felt… strained.
Like a pulled tendon.
The beast roared and surged through the broken earth.
Too close.
Too fast.
A blur crossed Kael's vision.
Steel flashed.
The beast's roar cut off in a wet, choking sound.
Kael blinked, disoriented.
A woman stood between him and the creature.
She was tall, broad-shouldered, her stance grounded and unyielding. A heavy blade rested in her hands, dark with blood. The beast collapsed at her feet, twitching once before going still.
Silence fell.
The woman didn't look at Kael immediately. She watched the body, breathing slow and controlled, as if waiting for it to rise again.
When it didn't, she finally turned.
Her eyes were sharp. Assessing.
"You're alive," she said. "Good."
Kael tried to stand. Failed.
She noticed. Of course she did.
"That was clumsy," she added.
"Agreed," Kael managed.
She snorted softly and offered a hand. Her grip was firm, calloused. She hauled him to his feet as if he weighed nothing.
The ringing in Kael's ears dulled slightly when she let go.
That caught his attention.
"What is that thing?" Bren asked, approaching cautiously.
The woman wiped her blade clean on the grass. "A warped boar-echo. Low-tier, but unstable."
She glanced at Kael. "It followed a signal."
Kael stiffened. "What signal?"
She met his gaze. Held it.
"The kind people like you leave behind."
The villagers murmured nervously.
Kael swallowed. "I didn't mean to—"
"I know," she said. "That doesn't matter."
She sheathed her blade and finally looked around the village, eyes narrowing slightly. "This place isn't safe anymore."
Bren bristled. "We've lived here for decades."
"And now the land is paying attention," she replied flatly. "Those two things don't coexist for long."
Her gaze returned to Kael, sharper now. Not hostile.
Wary.
"You opened something," she said. "Didn't you?"
Kael hesitated.
Then nodded.
She exhaled slowly. "Figures."
"What's your name?" Kael asked.
"Senna," she replied. "Senna Vark."
She glanced toward the treeline, where the mist still hadn't settled properly. "You didn't find a ruin."
Kael felt the truth of it settle in his chest.
"You rang a bell," Senna continued. "And now the things that hear bells are going to start showing up."
The ringing in Kael's ears shifted again—lower this time.
Deeper.
As if something far away had just taken notice.