The trail didn't end in a cave. It ended at a cliff edge, overlooking the ruined valley of Deep scar.
Kael lay flat on his stomach, crawling through the scrub until he could see over the rim. Elric was already there, his spyglass pressed to his one good eye.
"Tell me what you see," Elric whispered.
Kael squinted through the gloom. The valley floor, usually a tangle of dead cedars, was... clear. The trees had been uprooted and piled into defensive walls. Smoke rose from hundreds of forge fires, creating a smog ceiling that trapped the smell of sulfur and wet fur.
"A camp," Kael said. "A big one."
"Look closer at the forges."
Kael focused. He expected to see monsters tearing at meat or fighting each other. Instead, he saw... work.
Massive, ogre-like creatures—Beast-hulks—were hammering red-hot iron on stone anvils. Wolf-kin were running in organized lines, carrying bundles of arrows. There were siege ladders. Battering rams.
"They're building," Kael realized, his voice cold. "They aren't just raiding. They're supplying."
"Monsters don't forge steel, Kael. They scavenge it. But that?" Elric gestured to a pile of fresh sword blanks. "That's industry. Someone is teaching them."
Kael's gaze drifted to the center of the camp. A large black tent sat on a raised mound of earth.
Above it, a banner snapped in the wind.
It wasn't the crude skull-totems the Wolf-kin usually carried. It was a proper standard. Black cloth, heavy and expensive. On it was a sigil painted in white ash: A broken tower with a sword driven through it.
"The Black Banner," Kael whispered. "Who are they?"
"A myth," Elric said, collapsing his spyglass with a sharp click. "A ghost story border knights tell each other when the whiskey runs dry. They say there's a cabal that funds the wars to keep the Kingdom prices high."
"They're finding monsters?"
"Profit has no allegiance, boy."
Elric slid backward, away from the edge. "We've seen enough. This isn't a raid. It's an invasion force.
We need to ride to the Fortress. The Lord Commander needs to know."
Kael didn't move. He was staring at the tent.
A figure had emerged.
It wasn't a monster. It was a man.
He was wearing polished black plate armor, the same sigil etched into the pauldron. He wasn't a prisoner. He was giving orders to a Beast Commander.
The Commander—the same massive one from the woods—bowed.
Bowed.
Kael felt the world tilt. His family. Horek. The village. It wasn't just nature. It wasn't just bad luck. It was business.
"Kael," Elric hissed. "Move."
"It's a man," Kael said, his voice shaking. "Elric, it's a man."
"I saw him. And if he sees us, we die. And if we die, no one knows."
Elric grabbed Kael's ankle and yanked. "We go. Now."
Kael dug his fingers into the dirt. The rage was there, hot and screaming. He wanted to slide down the cliff. He wanted to drive his sword into that man's throat. He wanted to burn it all down.
Acceptable loss.
That man in the black armor had probably signed the paper that made Hollow Creek a statistic.
"Kael!" Elric's voice was a knife edge.
Kael squeezed his eyes shut. He forced the image of the man into the vault in his chest, right next to the burning tower.
Not today. Today, survival.
He exhaled, a long, shuddering breath.
"I'm coming," Kael whispered.
He slid back from the edge, leaving the valley of industry behind. But he took the image with him.
The Black Banner. The Broken Tower.
The enemy had a face now. And it looked just like them.