(Pov Grond)

  Clang — clang — clang.

  The molten metal rang beneath the hammer, each strike sharp and measured as the steel slowly cooled. Heat rolled up my arms in flickering waves, the scent of scorched iron thick in the air.

  I pulled the axe head from the anvil and plunged it into the water basin nearby to finish hardening the steel. Steam hissed violently as the metal met the water, white vapor curling around my hands. I removed the head and set it atop the growing pile with all the others, each one waiting in mute silence.

  War was coming.

  The Velmine Empire had fallen, and it had fallen quickly. Within a few short months, it had been wiped off the map by the Asharkith. Now they were prodding the borders of every surrounding nation, testing, pressing, waiting for weakness.

  I grabbed another steel bar and set it into the flames. The forge roared as it accepted the metal, fire licking greedily along its surface.

  We had been lucky not to be where they sought to gain a foothold on Solinar. That fortune had given us and so many others. Time to prepare, time to sharpen steel and harden resolve.

  They had weaknesses. Few, but few were enough. With time to prepare, we had at least a proper chance to fight back.

  Pulling the steel from the flame, I began to hammer it into shape. Sparks leapt with every blow, scattering across the stone floor like falling stars.

  That was when my mind drifted to my friends. Bryn. Sirius. Milo. Malorn.

  I had received word from Zephyra when they arrived in Elderbough; her message was brief. It had been some time since I had received news from them.

  When I learned that Milo and Malorn had chosen to join Bryn and Sirius for the long run, I was happy for them. They were stronger together. It was hard to imagine how quickly everything had turned into a nightmare.

  I returned the steel to the flames, watching as the darkened metal slowly began to glow once more, dull red shifting toward a brighter hue.

  An entire kingdom gone, as if a wildfire had rampaged through the land in one unstoppable surge.

  Zephyra had also shared the news that Sirius was the last remaining member of the royal family. I couldn’t believe it. How was that even possible?

  I also learned that Asher, the Razorwing, had died so my friends could escape.

  Asher had been well known and deeply loved among the nearby kingdoms. He had fought alongside many to destroy monsters that terrorized their lands with the Wild Wardens. His loss cut deep, even from afar.

  I pulled the steel back out and began hammering again, and again. A deep-seated rage started to simmer beneath the surface as I forced the metal into shape, each strike heavier than the last.

  I wanted to go to my friends. They were dead set on growing strong enough to fight back, to reclaim Velmine. But I felt a pull to remain here, to do what I could to protect my homeland first.

  When I felt they were prepared… maybe then I could muster the courage to join them.

  I dunked the finished axe head into the water basin and set it carefully atop the pile.

  “May Thwarfath guide ye, my friends,” I prayed quietly to the god of fire and stone.

  —

  (Pov Commander Roark)

  “The dungeons and rifts seem to have stabilized,” the shaman said.

  “Explain,” I commanded.

  “It appears that since the Asharkith conquered Velmine, all rifts on the continent have settled back to what was considered normal roughly a century ago. Similarly, dungeon behavior has shifted back toward established patterns, at least as far as we can tell,” he finished.

  “Do we know why that might be the case?” I asked.

  “While we cannot be certain, the intelligence we have gathered suggests the Asharkith created a kind of super rift, one over ten times the size of a normal one. By our best estimates, it took over a century to develop and reach its current state. It now sits atop the tallest tower of the Asharkith fortress, where Velmine’s capital, Aurelith once stood. This somehow allowed them to influence dungeons and rifts across the planet.”

  The chamber was silent as he continued.

  “Ultimately, it is believed their primary goal was to create dungeon and rift hybrids they could control to some extent, allowing them to conquer and dominate large portions of land rapidly, among other things. They appear to have reached the limit of how many they can create, or at least that is the current hypothesis. When that limit was reached, whatever was destabilizing the dungeons and rifts ceased.”

  “If that is true… it is terrifying,” I said quietly. “To think that one force could exert such control over something so fundamental.” I shook my head, pushing the thought aside. “Do we have an update on what they are doing now?”

  “Our contacts across neighboring nations report the same findings,” one of the Stalker Commanders replied. “They are deploying investigative nidus creatures to test defenses and gather information. What they plan to do next remains a complete mystery. The Asharkith are unlike any other intelligent species, which makes planning against them nearly impossible.” He paused. “We have our men combing the borders and eliminating any that come too close.”

  I nodded as he finished. “I want preparations for an all-out war to continue, regardless of what our intelligence suggests. We must be ready for anything. Velmine was one of the most powerful kingdoms on this planet, and it fell within a few short months.” I paused, letting the weight of that settle. “Divert all surplus resources into developing whatever counters we can.”

  News had already spread of entropy salt and other aetheric counters effective against the Asharkith. Across the continent, people worked night and day to craft, refine, and gather whatever they could, fortifying defenses at scale, beginning with the major cities.

  It was only a matter of time before the Asharkith picked their next target. If they chose us first… I wanted to be ready.

  —

  (Pov Wraith)

  They couldn’t catch me.

  My shadows had somehow created a blind spot in their network. The parasitical communication lacked the ability to find me. Why that was the case, I was still unsure.

  But it allowed me to walk through what once was Aurelith unnoticed.

  Moving through the ruins again brought a deep, lingering sorrow. Nothing but tainted stone remained of what had once been a beautiful capital. Streets I remembered now lay warped and broken, their foundations swollen with corruption.

  The city was in the process of being transformed by uniquely generated nidus constructs tailored for this purpose. These monsters manipulated the parasitical growth with methodical precision, shaping it into a central fortress structure that defied reason.

  This would surely become the strongest and most impenetrable stronghold on Solinar.

  I wove my way through the streets, teleporting from shadow to shadow, never lingering long enough to be noticed.

  Overhead, dragons circled without their riders present. I assumed the Asharkith leaders were gathered in the main tower of the keep. At its summit sat a rift that blanketed everything in a soul-sucking red haze. It pulled aether inward before pulsing outward again, flooding the city with its corrupted aether.

  I jumped to another shadow on a broken roof, then teleported again, climbing higher until I reached the highest shadow I could find in the city.

  From there, I scanned the horizon and gathered as much information as I could. If our world were to survive, one day we would have to come here and conquer this place. I needed to discover any potential weakness we could exploit.

  From this vantage, I could see the spawning pits. It was here that the Asharkith began creating their new nidus creatures. All kinds of horrors had emerged over the last two weeks as I navigated the city and collected information.

  They seemed capable of creating anything they desired, but often defaulted to creatures and monsters they had encountered before. I watched deep-dwelling horrors crawl from the pits and sink back into the earth, vanishing beneath the streets like living rot seeking to gain a foothold in the depths.

  A vast array of ground and aerial creatures — some I had seen before and others entirely new — had joined their army of fungal monsters.

  I shifted to the other side of the roof and scanned again. Dull amber light pulsed through every inch of the land, and countless cores responded in different cadences to it.

  It was one of the most eerie experiences I had ever endured. While there appeared to be one central, consistent rhythm, the cores themselves pulsed in seemingly erratic and chaotic patterns that did not align. The discord created an unease that my natural senses rejected for reasons I could not explain.

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  Below me, a patrol of the most common bipedal nidus creatures moved through the streets. These were what the Asharkith had begun their assault on Velmine with and appeared to be their most favored creations. I wondered if these represented the original image of the Asharkith themselves.

  They certainly possessed more unique abilities than the others. They could control swarms of maggots, parasites, and other pestilent critters in combat and adapt far more easily. It was worth making note of.

  I spotted several of them, tentacles sprouting from their skulls. As they drew closer, the appendages shifted, slowly turning in my direction, almost directly at me.

  A lifetime of fighting and training kicked in. I shadow-jumped, moving far faster than normal, streaking across the miasmic landscape until I believed myself safe.

  They were adapting. Or perhaps they had sensed my use of aether within their territory and developed a way to detect me.

  My time here was running short, and I needed every scrap of intelligence I could gather.

  —

  (Pov Skithara)

  “Empires come and go. But we will last forever,” the creature spoke, its voice rolling through the cavern and echoing from stone to stone. The sound lingered long after the words ended. It had just regaled us with news from the surface world and of a newly fallen kingdom, spoken with the same detachment one might use to discuss the weather.

  I had to get free. I couldn’t go on much longer.

  “We come near the end of your training. Either you will make it through the Labyrinth of Ending, or you will perish.” Its mandibles clacked together, each sharp snap punctuating the sentence like the verdict that it was.

  Maybe… maybe I could escape there. Maybe the labyrinth could get me away from this place.

  I glanced to either side and saw long rows of initiates stretching down the cavern floor. Some stood willingly, their backs straight and eyes hollow with ambition. Others wore the dull stare of slaves who had learned resistance only invited pain. A few bore the hard, calculating gazes of criminals who had already survived one death sentence and intended to survive another.

  Now, all of us were equal before the gates.

  Dark elves and dwarves stood shoulder to shoulder with deep gnomes and other deep-dwelling races. Crude armor and refined plate mixed together without distinction. Bone-mail stitched with sinew. Chitin plates lacquered black. Heavy stone pauldrons etched with necromantic sigils that pulsed faintly with sickly green light. Every initiate wore something meant to protect the body, though none of it looked capable of protecting the soul.

  Keepers moved among us, tall and skeletal, their forms draped in layered robes and segmented armor. Each carried unique magically enhanced weapons.

  One bore a long scythe with a blade shaped like a crescent moon, its edge shimmering with a dull violet sheen. As it passed an initiate, the blade hovered inches from their chest, humming softly as it drank in their aura. Another carried paired hooks connected by a chain of blackened links. The hooks traced slow circles around throats and wrists, leaving trails of cold that raised goosebumps wherever they passed.

  A third dragged a massive cleaver behind it, the edge chipped and notched. The flat of the blade pressed briefly against spines, forcing initiates to stand straighter. When it touched me, the black veins beneath my skin flared faintly, and the cleaver vibrated in response before the keeper pulled it away.

  I flinched as memory surged forward. The oily black shard. Melted down. Forced into my veins again and again while I was strapped to the table and screamed until my voice failed. I could almost feel the heat crawling through my body all over again.

  Even now, every vein in my body was black as night against my violet dark elven skin, visible proof of what had been done to me.

  There was no initiate here with the kind of power I carried, and no one who wanted it less. I hated what I had been forced to become. I hated how easily the shards power answered my call, how eagerly it waited.

  Maybe… maybe if I escaped, I could find a way to remove it. Or die trying on my own terms.

  The keepers finished their inspection and withdrew, their weapons folding, retracting, or dissolving back into the shadows of their cloaks. The cavern grew quieter, the silence heavy and expectant.

  “Your time in the labyrinth starts now. We will wait for your return upon completion. Your training should make that easy enough.” Somehow, I could tell the creature was smiling beneath its horrifying arachnid face.

  “Try not to use one of the exits that lead to the surface world. They tend to kill first and ask questions later when it comes to our kind,” it added, almost conversationally.

  With a deep groan, the vast black-and-gold gates began to creak open. Cold air poured out from within, carrying the scent of old stone, blood, and something far worse.

  The labyrinth was waiting.

  —

  (Pov Zephyra)

  His hand was intertwined with mine as we walked through the Lethariel woods, his presence a comfort I had never known I needed. Sorrow had brought him to our doorstep, yet it seemed to have carried my heart with it as well.

  I looked up at his dirty blond hair and piercing green eyes as we walked. To me, they matched the quiet grandeur of the trees rising around us, steady and enduring.

  Mother told me that was simply what the emotions of young love did to the mind, but I did not care.

  This last year had been the hardest of his life and the best of mine, though I grieved with him for the magnitude of his loss. Even in joy, there were shadows.

  “I am not sure how yet,” Sirius said for what must have been the thousandth time, “but I will win back my family’s throne.”

  “And I will be at your side,” I replied in turn, our words a familiar refrain in a dance we both knew by heart.

  He looked at me then and smiled. My heart leapt, and I leaned into his arm, breathing in the earthy scent of leather, forest air, and something that was uniquely him.

  “When will Bryn and the others be back?” I asked.

  A complex expression crossed his face. “They should have been back by now. Milo and Fern tend to get into trouble a lot, so perhaps something happened that delayed them.” I could hear the worry beneath his joking tone.

  “They will make it back. Fear not, my prince,” I said as I rose onto my toes and kissed his cheek. “They must. We will need them.”

  We continued along the woodland path, speaking of everything from training to the trees themselves. Time felt more precious in light of all that had been lost, and so we did not rush it.

  Moments like this were rare. I carried my responsibilities as an elven princess, even as the youngest. That, more than anything, was what allowed my parents to be open to my relationship with Sirius, seeing it as something that strengthened rather than distracted me.

  When we were apart, Sirius spent nearly every waking moment training. He pushed himself to grow stronger, to learn every possible way to fight back against the Asharkith. He and the others had delved countless dungeons and traversed numerous rifts, searching for anything that might aid our plan to reclaim his fallen empire.

  I continued my own training as well, though rarely alongside the team. That would change next year.

  Then we would begin our plans in earnest.

  —

  (Pov Storm Claw)

  The wind howled across the jagged peaks of the Ironfang Ridge, carrying with it the scent of wet fur, cold steel, and the metallic promise of an approaching storm. I stood at the edge of the precipice, my cloak snapping like a whip behind me, and looked down into the valley below. It was a sight no living soul had witnessed in three centuries.

  Five camps burned in the darkness, their fires scattered across the valley floor like a fallen constellation. The Five Major Clans were no longer at one another’s throats. The Blood-Maned Lions. The Iron-Hide Bears. The Swift-Foot Wolves. The Shadow-Stalking Panthers. The Sky-Piercing Eagles. For the first time in a dozen generations, their endless squabbling had ceased.

  I had done what the legends claimed was impossible.

  I had broken their pride, bested their champions, and bound them beneath a single banner.

  My banner.

  They were preparing for war now, but not the petty tribal clashes of our ancestors. This was not a season of raids or border skirmishes. This was the mobilization of the beastkin.

  For too long, the so-called civilized kingdoms had looked toward our borders and seen only chaos. Disorganized savages. A fractured people, too busy spilling one another’s blood over hunting grounds, to ever threaten stone walls and paved roads. They were comfortable in our disunity.

  That comfort was about to become their shroud.

  Below me, Iron-Hide smiths hammered heavy breastplates into shape, sparks leaping like fireflies in the night. Swift-Foot scouts knelt in tight circles, sharpening bone-tipped spears with practiced efficiency.

  I had united the tribes for more than defense. I had united them for our destiny.

  We would hold our ancestral lands against the Asharkith, this new, tainted foe spreading rot across the world. But we would not stop at our borders. The upheaval tearing through the continent was a gift, a veil of chaos beneath which we would grow sharp and strong. While humans, orcs, elves, and others scrambled to shore up crumbling defenses, we would move as a pack, with the inevitability of an avalanche.

  The strategy was already unfolding.

  Behind me, the low chanting of the Druid’s Circle thrummed through the mountain itself. Their voices sank into stone and soil alike. They were the key to permanence. As we conquered, they would follow, weaving ancient songs into the land, finding fractures in the ley lines, purging taint, and reshaping conquered ground into Sanctuary Earth.

  Where we stepped, the land would recognize us. The wilds would bloom. The soil would reject those who did not belong to the kin.

  A low rumble rose in my chest, half satisfaction, half hunger.

  The Asharkith did not frighten me. To the soft kings of the plains, they were a nightmare. To me, they were simply another apex predator trespassing on my territory. In the wild, fear has no place. There is only strength.

  And I had spent my life proving mine.

  Rival chieftains. Monstrous beasts. Storm and famine and blade. The Asharkith were no different. Just another challenge. Another reason the Beastkin would rise.

  The timing could not have been better. Every other nation stared toward them, resources drained by panic and infighting. They expected us to cower in our forests or die in the first wave of invasion.

  They did not realize the savages they once mocked had become something else entirely.

  I looked down at my hands, claws catching the orange glow of the campfires below. My blood sang with ancestral memory, of a time before stone-builders drove us to the margins of the world. That age was returning.

  We were no longer the weakest.

  “Let the kings keep their stone thrones and hollow titles,” I whispered into the gale. “They prepare for a war of survival. I prepare for a war of ascension.”

  As dawn bled across the horizon, the war horns of five clans sounded as one. A single, earth-shaking note that marked the end of tribal war and the birth of a new era.

  The hunt had begun.

  And the world was our prey.

  —

  (Pov Writhen)

  Finally.

  They made the right choice, giving it to me over the other flesh weavers.

  For two centuries, the Umbral Legion had guarded their rift while it grew, nurtured, and hidden until it reached the point where it could influence rifts and dungeons on the surface.

  In return for our protection, the Asharkith had agreed to empower the us. With their aid, we would claim the depths of Solinar, while they secured a foothold in this world and began their slow advance toward the surface.

  We were not na?ve. If they succeeded above, they would eventually turn their attention toward us. That much was inevitable.

  But power is never gained without risk.

  The gifts they had already bestowed proved that their strength could be studied, adapted, and we believed, eventually made our own. When that day came, their advantage would no longer belong solely to them. We would take what they offered and shape it into something that served us.

  The bargain was worth the danger. It gave us the leverage we needed to begin conquering the depths, and time enough to prepare for what would follow.

  It was only a matter of time before one of us succeeded.

  Though I would be the flesh weaver to succeed, it was how I would rise in power after all. My experiments with the initiatives had borne fruit, and the hunters I sent to capture some of the more special cases I never got to handle myself in this last batch should arrive soon.

  All I needed now was a little time.

  —

  (Pov Mink)

  Half a century.

  For fifty years, we planned in whispers and secrecy. In scars hidden beneath armor. In promotions earned slowly, carefully. Every chain they tightened taught us how to break them when the time came.

  It was almost time.

  My shade scorpions crawled across my shoulders and down my arms, their bodies dissolving into shadow as they moved. They wrapped around me like a second skin, dulling my outline, swallowing the sound of my steps as I slipped back toward the barracks.

  To the world, I was another legionary returning from a failed mission. To those who knew, I was an emblem of potential freedom.

  The wyrms had stopped us from acquiring arcanite. That was acceptable. Delays taught patience, and patience has been our sharpest blade.

  Soon, we would have what we needed.

  Soon, we would be slaves no longer.

  Soon.