The detour north felt like swimming against a strong current. Every instinct honed by Alaric's ghost screamed that they were losing valuable time, that Eryndor Frostmane was slipping further away, that Kaedor's hunters were likely closing the net even now. But watching Kaelith guide young Finn through the increasingly dense woods, her patience unwavering despite the boy's fear-induced stumbles and whimpers, Lunrik found a strange quiet settle over the internal storm. This act, this deviation born of compassion, felt grounding in a way Alaric's relentless drive for power never had.
Finn, initially terrified into near silence, slowly began to trust Kaelith's steady presence. He flinched whenever Lunrik came too close or spoke too abruptly – the latent intensity Lunrik couldn't entirely suppress clearly unnerved the boy – but he clung to Kaelith's side, occasionally answering her gentle questions about his family or the attack in broken whispers. He clutched the ragged bundle he carried as if it were his last link to the world that had burned.
They traveled for the better part of a day, backtracking into the higher, wilder terrain Kaelith knew intimately from her training with Faelan. The air grew colder, the pines thicker, the signs of human passage disappearing entirely. Kaelith moved with certainty, navigating through seemingly trackless forest towards a specific destination etched in her memory.
Finally, as late afternoon sun slanted gold and long through the trees, she led them to a cleverly concealed spot: a shallow cave hidden behind a thick cascade of ancient ivy clinging to a mossy rock face near a small, clear stream. It wasn't large, but it was dry, sheltered, and almost invisible unless one knew precisely where to look.
"Faelan showed me this place years ago," Kaelith explained quietly, pulling back the ivy curtain. "An old den, expanded slightly by hermits long forgotten. No one comes this far north usually, except deep-woods hunters, and they respect hidden shelters."
Inside, the air was cool and still. Kaelith quickly built a small, smokeless fire using dry birch bark and techniques Faelan had taught her, the warmth instantly making the space feel safer. She unpacked a generous portion of their dried meat, berries, and left one of their waterskins for Finn.
"We'll leave enough supplies for several days," she told the boy gently, laying out the food on a flat rock. "The stream is clean for drinking. Stay hidden inside, especially at night. Keep the fire small. Can you do that, Finn?"
Finn nodded mutely, his eyes wide as he surveyed the small cave, then looked back towards the vast, intimidating forest outside. He looked terribly small and alone.
Lunrik felt a pang of unease leaving him, but knew they couldn't stay. Their own path lay south, towards danger far greater than this quiet refuge could shield them from. He approached the boy, kneeling down slowly, keeping his movements calm. He held out the wolf-head amulet Kaelith had given him.
"Hold onto this," Lunrik said, his voice softer than usual. "It… it's meant for protection. Keep it close." He wasn't sure why he offered it – perhaps a gesture to ease his own conscience, perhaps sensing the amulet held a genuine echo of the protective intent Faelan and Lysandra imbued in such things.
Finn hesitated, then reached out with a trembling hand and took the amulet, his small fingers closing around the smooth, warm wood. He looked up at Lunrik, a flicker of something other than terror – perhaps wonder, or simple gratitude – in his eyes for a brief moment.
Kaelith gave Finn final instructions on staying hidden, on rationing the food, and on watching for signs of trouble. Then, with a final reassuring touch on the boy's shoulder, she turned to Lunrik. "Time to go. We've lost nearly a day."
Leaving the small haven felt difficult, like leaving a part of Lunrik's own fragile hope behind. As they moved away, Lunrik glanced back through the trees just once. He saw Finn huddled near the small fire, clutching the Dravenwolf amulet, a tiny figure swallowed by the vast indifference of the wilderness. Would he survive? They could only hope.
With the detour completed, they turned south again, resuming their original quest with renewed urgency but altered perspective. The sun was sinking low now, painting the western sky in bleeding hues of orange, purple, and angry red. The dying light cast long, distorted shadows that seemed to writhe like living things amongst the trees.
They moved faster now, pushing themselves, Kaelith setting a relentless pace only a Dravenwolf could maintain for long. Lunrik forced his body to keep up, fueled by adrenaline and the gnawing sense that every moment counted. They descended once more towards the more populated, more dangerous borderlands, leaving the relative purity of the deep woods behind.
As full darkness enveloped the forest, broken only by a sliver of crescent moon offering scant illumination, the atmosphere grew heavier, charged with unseen tension. The sounds of the forest seemed muted, expectant. Kaelith moved even more cautiously now, pausing often to sniff the air, her head tilted, listening intently.
"Something's wrong," she whispered finally, pulling Lunrik behind the thick trunk of an ancient oak. "Too quiet. No night birds calling. Even the wind sounds… hesitant."
Lunrik strained his own senses. He smelled the usual damp earth, decaying leaves, pine resin. But beneath it, carried faintly in the night air, was something else. A sharp, metallic tang, different from blood. And a low, almost subsonic hum that vibrated faintly through the soles of his boots. It felt… unnatural. Artificial.
He remembered the automaton in the tunnels beneath Skyrend, the smell of ozone and hot oil. This wasn't the same, but it shared that unnatural quality.
Kaelith pointed silently towards a low rise ahead. Through the tangled branches, Lunrik saw it – a faint, intermittent blue light pulsing rhythmically just beyond the crest of the hill. It wasn't the warm flicker of a campfire or a lantern. It was cold, precise, technological.
Dwarven? The thought sprung instantly to mind. So far from Skyrend? It made no sense. Unless… unless someone else possessed similar technology? Silverhowl enchantments sometimes produced cold light, but usually steadier, tied to lunar cycles. This felt different.
Alaric's ghost urged caution, retreat. Lunrik's curiosity, mingled with unease, pushed him forward. Kaelith too seemed intrigued, her huntress instincts wary but unwilling to flee an unknown phenomenon without assessment.
They crept forward, using every scrap of cover, moving from shadow to shadow until they reached the crest of the rise. Peering through the branches, Lunrik felt his breath catch.
Below them, in a small, unnatural clearing that looked recently carved out of the forest, stood several figures clad not in Ashfang leather, but in sleek, dark uniforms he didn't recognize. They moved with quiet efficiency around a strange device planted in the center of the clearing – a tripod supporting a crystalline structure that pulsed with that disturbing blue light, emitting the low hum they'd sensed. The air around it shimmered slightly. Wires snaked from the device to packs worn by the figures. They weren't dwarves. They weren't any werewolf clan he knew. Human, perhaps, but equipped with technology far beyond typical Lykandran capabilities.
One figure detached from the group and walked towards the edge of the clearing, holding a smaller handheld device that clicked softly. He raised it, sweeping it across the treeline where Lunrik and Kaelith hid.
Instinct screamed. Lunrik grabbed Kaelith's arm, pulling her down flat behind a mossy log an instant before the handheld device emitted a sharp ping.
"Organic signatures detected, Sector Gamma," the figure reported back to the others in a clipped, emotionless tone utterly unlike Lykandran speech. "Likely local fauna. Proceeding with field calibration."
The figures around the central device adjusted controls. The blue pulsing intensified, the hum deepening, making Lunrik's teeth vibrate. What was this? Who were these people? This wasn't just Ashfang patrols anymore. A new, unknown faction was operating in these woods, deploying strange technology under the cover of darkness. Their journey south, towards the supposedly dying light of the hunted Frostmane heir, had just stumbled into a deeper, more complex shadow war than they could have possibly imagined.