Harold sat at his desk, leaning back in his chair, the latest stack of reports spread out before him. His office in the central longhouse stayed quiet this time of day — just the faint scratch of pen on parchment, the creak of beams settling in the heat, and the occasional low murmur from the outer office.
Margret's notes ran along the margins of every page. Precise. Underlined. Suggested actions. Thoughtful analysis.
She now had four others working under her — or at least in theory. Harold rarely saw more than one or two of them at a time. The others were usually out "on tasks," which meant Margret had started building her own quiet network inside the settlement.
He didn't mind. She was damn good at what she did.
He flipped to the newest field report — the surveyor's team sent north toward the mountains. They were scouting for richer ore veins and potential sites for a second village. The process had been slow, hampered by goblin ambushes, some kind of territorial mountain snake, and a predatory falcon that dove from the skies without warning.
Despite that, they were making progress. A few promising spots had been flagged. Two adventuring teams were escorting the expedition — their reports were less formal but more colorful.
Apparently, the mountain snake had granted them a Strike Fast perk — an uncommon one. And the falcon, in some lucky kill, had given one of the rangers a vision enhancement perk. Everyone on that trip wanted both now, of course.
It was a good run for them.
But it didn't do much to quiet the worry pressing behind Harold's ribs.
Sarah's team was still out there.
She had confirmed the mission Harold had given her. They had checked in once when they bedded down for the night after a day of searching — but they hadn't reported in since.
It wasn't like her.
He scrawled instructions onto the page for the surveyor expedition, then set it aside and reached for the next.
Captain Hale had successfully rendezvoused with the refugees and was beginning the return journey. Harold had specifically told him to leave the Knights there — just in case. He didn't want any strikes against Henri. Killing the soldiers wouldn't help, and he hoped to fold them into his structure eventually. But he did want a force there ready to react if anything happened.
Preparations at the secondary village site were progressing well. The main hall's frame was already up — it would house half the incoming group by the time they arrived. Four more halls were planned, but materials were tight and labor tighter.
The latest report on the construction for the Guild Hall, Evan and Mark had come to apologize to Harold that morning for changing the designs for the guild hall but they were firm in their stance. They wanted specific things in the guild hall that extended the timeline for building it. Like a vault. Right now fully two hundred people across the settlement were involved in finishing it. Josh had said he would have it done this evening and if that didn't upgrade the settlement he didn't know what would.
Then came the report he hadn't stopped thinking about all morning.
He reread it again with a quiet note of satisfaction.
Centurion Parker's report. A single line, half-buried in a longer update.
A local from the refugee group may possess a crafter-class perk tied to fire manipulation.
That was new.
Not one person in Landing had shown any sign of a crafter-based elemental perk. Even the miners — who he'd hoped might develop one naturally — hadn't. Most crafters were tool-based. Production-focused.
In his last life, fire had been rare. But immenselyvalued.
Able to heat a forge without fuel. Maintain potion temperature to the precise degree. His own fire-based perk had taken enormous effort to earn — and ended with him burning down the workshop he was training in.
Harold leaned forward, knuckles against his chin, reading that line again.
He wanted to meet this person.
But not before he got word from Sarah's team.
Of all the moving pieces right now, that was the most urgent. He needed to keep Henri unstable. Letting Arjun reinforce him — or worse, letting them work together — would make the Basin harder to control in the long run.
Telling Sarah to chase the region boss had been a massive risk.
But if it worked, it would solidify his control and give him time to expand.
And if it didn't—
"Come on, Sarah…"
"Go!"
Mira's shout was drowned by the crash of splitting stone behind them.
They didn't jump. They fell.
Sarah hit the air first — a blur of cold rushing up to meet her. The torch tumbled beside her, flame extinguishing in a hiss before she even hit the water. She barely had time to cross her arms over her chest and tuck her legs.
Then: impact..
The lake swallowed her whole.
She plunged deep, her body buckling under the cold. A pressure wrapped around her ribs like fists — not just from the fall, but the sheer weight of the water around her. It wasn't just a pool.
It was massive. Sarah kicked, twisted, trying to orient herself, but something… shifted in the darkness.
Something huge.
She stilled, instinct taking over.
Below her, far beneath the rippling blue glow, a shape slept — motionless but unmistakable.
Massive spines, like ship hulls. A crown of jagged bone, partially buried in muck. Muscles under scales thicker than stone.
The Thresher King.
Right under her feet. Still asleep and far larger than Harold had described to her.
She didn't breathe. Didn't blink.
A shadow moved to her left — Jace, surfacing beside her, eyes wide even underwater. He had seen it too.
They kicked off together, slow and careful, rising toward the surface in silence.
They broke water with a gasp.
Mira surfaced seconds later, dragging Theo's limp weight with her. She barely managed to keep his head above the surface. His shield was gone. The arrow still stuck in him and Sarah could see blood in the water.
They paddled, gasping, looking for shoreline.
It loomed ahead — wet rock and moss leading up into dry stone and flickering torchlight and the light of some kind of luminescent moss
They made it. But Sarah slowed first, why were there torches?
Her eyes adjusted to shapes. Then dozens of them.
Low structures made of dark stone and timber. Fire pits. Hanging nets. Sleeping forms curled in woven hammocks or stretched near the coals. A large carved and painted Totem with an alter.
She saw weapons stacked against a totem near the center.
And lizardfolk. Dozens. Far more than other den she had fought at.
They had landed in the center of a lizardman den.
Sarah sucked in breath and waved them down. "Stop. Low. Low." she hissed quietly.
Jace twisted to shield Mira and Theo with his body. Mira kept Theo's mouth just above the surface. They drifted — barely — toward a cleft in the rocks along the water's edge, half-submerged, just deep enough to squeeze into.
Sarah reached it first, pulling herself under the lip of stone.
The others followed inside: barely enough room to crouch. Wet rock, stagnant water. A heavy smell of scale and smoke. Sarah had already seen a couple of the lizard folk wondering what had made those splashes in the water. They were lucky they hadn't been screaming as they plummeted into the water.
Jace shifted in the cramped space, breathing hard. Water dripped from his hair into his eyes. "Okay," he whispered. "Okay. Someone tell me we didn't just fall into the center of a damned lizardman city."
Mira peered out through the cleft's opening, her voice low and tight. "We did."
"Fantastic," Jace muttered. "And the thing under the lake—"
"Thresher King," Sarah said flatly.
Jace didn't respond. Just wiped his face and stared at the black water. "I knew you jinxed us..."
Sarah turned her attention to Theo. He lay half-curled between them, skin clammy, the arrow still embedded deep, barely held in place by a shredded wrap. Blood oozed slowly but steadily around the shaft. The entry wound had swollen.
She pressed two fingers against his neck. Still a pulse but it was slow.
Mira leaned close. "He's colder. Worse than before."
"We need to pull it," Jace said. "Bleeding's already happening. Might be we're holding it in."
"We don't have anything to close it after," Sarah whispered. "Not here. What if the smell of blood wakes it up while we are in the water!"
"He won't last another hour like this," Mira snapped, trying not to raise her voice. "He's already unconscious."
Sarah stared down at him, jaw tight.
"We landed in the middle of a hostile den," she said quietly. "No idea how many of them. No idea if they're friendly, territorial, or just hungry."
"I vote hungry," Jace said grimly.
Mira hissed, "Shut up."
A distant snort echoed outside. Bare feet sloshed through water.
All three of them froze.
The lizardman passed just outside the cleft, dragging something wrapped in leather. Its nostrils flared once. Then it kept moving.
Gone.
Sarah let out a breath — slow and shaking.
"We need a plan," she whispered. "We can't stay here. He's dying."
They heard the drums first.
A slow, heavy rhythm that echoed across the water like a heartbeat, steady and low.
Sarah shifted in the cleft, just enough to glance out through the narrow break in the rock. Torchlight flickered along the shore now — dozens of them, moving in circles.
Then came the chanting.
Guttural. Rhythmic. Lizardfolk voices rising in a low, layered drone that pulsed with the beat of the drums.
Figures emerged from the dark between buildings — dozens of them. Some limped. Others bore wounds bandaged in crude cloth and scales. But all of them moved toward the central firepit at the heart of the settlement.
They barely had a view of it between various disturbed buildings.
Mira crawled up beside her, careful not to disturb Theo's body behind them. "What the hell is this?" she whispered.
"I don't know…A ritual?" Sarah guessed.
Then she saw the priestess.
Taller than the rest. Robes stitched from woven reeds and feathers. Gold rings in her ears and nostrils. She moved with slow, practiced steps — carrying a wide, blackened bowl carved from some kind of volcanic glass.
And behind her — the captives.
Four centaurs, bound and bloodied, dragged forward by what had to be a war party. Lizardfolk hunters, lean and scarred, armored in lacquered leather and wielding curved swords and round shields.
The first centaur was forced to its knees.
The priestess raised a knife — obsidian, jagged, cruel.
She spoke a phrase in a language Sarah didn't know. The centaur was struggling to escape but he was held fast by various warriors.
Then she opened the centaur's throat.
Mira flinched.
The blood spilled directly into the bowl. Thick and fast.
The priestess moved deliberately, adding something else to the mixture — some other ingredients. She stirred it with a carved stick of blackened wood, her voice rising.
The lizardfolk didn't cheer but they watched in silence.
The priestess approached the nearest wounded warrior — a limping fighter with a slashed chest.
She offered the bowl.
The warrior drank.
And changed.
It was subtle at first — the way he stood straighter, how his fingers flexed. But then his posture shifted. Eyes widened. Muscles tensed like a wire being pulled tight. The wound on his chest slowly closed and scales regrew.
Sarah's breath caught.
"It's a potion," she said, eyes narrowing.
Mira blinked. "What?"
"That's what she's making. A potion. Healing — probably more. That lizard looks a lot stronger."
Behind them, Theo groaned. Faint.
Jace didn't look up. "He's not getting better."
Sarah stared at the priestess, watching her return to the bowl. Another centaur was being dragged forward.
"I need that potion," she said, voice like flint.
Mira turned to her, eyes wide. "You're not serious."
"She's making it now. With blood, yes. But it heals. And if we don't get it—"
She didn't finish the sentence.
Mira hissed "you want to feed him some kind of lizard blood potion?"
Sarah looked back at her fiercly…"Do you see a better option?"
Jace looked up at her resignation. "Okay," he said, softly. "How the hell do we steal it?"
"Jace," Sarah whispered, still watching the fires. "Come with me."
He looked up. "What?"
"We need a better view. A better plan."
She turned to Mira, who hadn't taken her eyes off the priestess. "Stay with Theo. If he starts to crash, do what you can. But don't move him unless you have to."
Mira nodded once, jaw clenched. "Be quick."
Sarah and Jace slipped into the water in silence, hugging the rocky edge as they drifted, barely making ripples. The cavern was massive — even larger than it had looked at first. What they'd thought was a lake fed by some underground spring was actually a deep tributary, drawing from the main river above. Faint light leaked from a crack in the ceiling high above, like the sky itself had forgotten this place.
They drifted slowly until Sarah caught a clearer look at the village's scale.
What she'd taken for scattered huts was actually an organized layout. Paths. Guard stations. Stone-and-wood structures. And surrounding all of it — a thick palisade, ten feet tall and ringed with watchtowers. Mounted on each tower was a small ballista, crude but looked functional. She counted six of them, covering every angle of approach.
Jace grunted softly beside her. "This isn't just a camp. It's a fortress."
"Yeah," Sarah murmured.
They moved closer to a darker outcropping of stone to observe without being seen. Sarah scanned the terrain — spotted three entrances to the cavern: one large enough for supply wagons, another narrow and winding like the path they'd come through, and a third sunken tunnel across the lake, possibly a water route.
They were cut off. There was no way to leave without being seen. Then the drums changed.
They became slower and heavier.
Jace tensed beside her. "What now—"
The water moved and they both froze.
Something shifted in the lake's center. A ripple that became a swell. The chanting grew louder, echoing off the stone, matching the beat of the drums.
Then the lake exploded upward in a tower of water and scale.
The Thresher King rose.
Moss and silt sloughed off its plated back. It loomed out of the depths like the spine of the world, its head breaching the surface — all horns, jagged teeth, and lidless eyes that shimmered like molten metal. The lake drained around its rising form. Its mouth opened, impossibly wide.
The priestess lifted her arms, chanting louder.
Behind her, the lizardfolk warband dragged the dead centaur's body to the water's edge, and tossed it in. The Thresher King struck.
Its maw clamped down on the corpse with a crack, then vanished beneath the water in a single surge, leaving nothing but foam and blood in its wake.
The drums fell silent.
Sarah exhaled through her teeth.
The priestess turned, stepping back to the bowl. The next centaur was dragged forward.
Jace whispered, "I don't want to be here anymore."
Sarah didn't answer. She just kept watching.
The ritual began again.
And somewhere in the back of her mind, a shape began to form.