The morning sun struggled to pierce the canopy of the Whispering Weald. The trees here weren't made of wood; they were calcified, twisting pillars of white bark that looked like stretched bone. The leaves were violet and whispered in the wind, repeating the last words spoken by travelers who had died here.

  We walked in a tense, silent procession.

  The Alliance (Stormsong and Falken) on the left.

  The Shadowgroves on the right.

  We were ostensibly "allies" now, thanks to the engagement ring of black thorns on Gerald Falken’s finger. But the air was thick enough to choke on.

  I checked my HUD to distract myself from the tension.

  "Money makes the world go round," I muttered, "but it doesn't stop the Shadowgroves from staring at us like we're lunch."

  Ahead of us, York Bladeblood was scouting. He was desperate to prove himself. Desperate to show Brandan that he wasn't weak. He moved with a forced, arrogant swagger, his bow drawn.

  Thwip.

  York fired into the brush.

  "Hah!" York shouted, running forward. "I got it! A Silver-Stag!"

  He dragged the carcass of a small, glowing deer onto the path. He puffed out his chest, looking at the Shadowgroves.

  "See?" York sneered, his voice cracking slightly. "I am the Prince of the Firelands! My blood is hunter's blood! Even in this cursed forest, I dominate!"

  He looked at Brandan, hoping for a nod. A smile. Anything.

  Brandan looked away, staring into the trees, haunted by the ghost of York's sister.

  "Impressive," a smooth, golden voice drawled.

  Ser Alexander Shadowgrove stopped. He looked immaculate in his gilded armor, not a speck of mud on him. He looked down at the dead deer.

  "You managed to hit a target the size of a barn door," Alexander noted. "From ten paces. While it was eating."

  "I hit the heart!" York defended, stepping forward aggressively. "It was a kill shot!"

  Alexander stepped closer. He didn't look angry. He looked bored. It was the terrifying boredom of a man who knew he was the apex predator.

  "You hit the gut, boy," Alexander corrected softly. He nudged the deer with his gold boot. "Look. The bile is leaking. You ruined the meat. You didn't hunt it; you tortured it."

  "I..." York stammered, his face flushing red. "I am a Prince! Do not lecture me, Shadowgrove!"

  York made a fatal mistake. He raised his bow, pointing the nocked arrow at Alexander’s chest.

  "Apologize!" York screamed, his hand shaking. "I am a Bladeblood! I am royalty!"

  Kordula Shadowgrove giggled. She was hanging on Gerald’s arm, playing with the buttons of his coat.

  "Oh, look, Gerald," Kordula whispered loudly. "The stray dog thinks it's a wolf. Isn't that cute?"

  She tugged on Gerald’s arm.

  "Tell him, husband. Tell the boy what he really is."

  Gerald’s jaw tightened. He looked at York. He looked at the black ring on his finger that bound him to Kordula’s will.

  "York, put the bow down," Gerald said, his voice dead.

  "No!" York yelled. "They are laughing at me! Brandan won't look at me! I am the Prince! I matter!"

  Alexander sighed. It was a sound of pure disappointment.

  He moved.

  It wasn't a blur. It was just... perfect.

  He stepped inside York’s guard. With one hand, he caught the bow limb. With the other, he plucked the arrow from the string like he was picking a flower.

  Snap.

  He broke the arrow in half and tossed it aside.

  Then, Alexander leaned down. He didn't hit York. He didn't push him.

  He simply looked into York’s eyes with those perfect, violet, soulless eyes.

  "You are not a Prince, York," Alexander whispered. His voice was gentle, which made it worse. "Princes have armies. Princes have fathers who love them."

  York flinched as if he’d been slapped.

  "You," Alexander continued, "are a leftover. A rounding error in the casualty report. Your father sent your brother and sister to die in a pig-blood prank. And your new 'father'..."

  Alexander gestured to Brandan, who was standing ten feet away, refusing to intervene.

  "...your new father can't even look at you without vomiting."

  "Stop it," York whispered, tears spilling over. "Stop it."

  "Why do you hunt, York?" Kordula chimed in, stepping closer. "Do you think if you bring back enough dead rabbits, the Bear will love you? Do you think he'll forget that he smashed your sister's chest in?"

  "Kordula, enough," Gerald snapped, stepping between them.

  "Down, dog," Kordula hissed, flashing the ring. Gerald froze, his muscles locking up against his will.

  Alexander took York’s bow.

  He didn't break it. That would have acknowledged it as a threat.

  Instead, he unstrung it. Efficiently. Calmly.

  He handed the limp stick and the tangled string back to York.

  "Go play, little boy," Alexander said, turning his back. "Leave the killing to the men. You're just... making noise."

  York stood there. Holding his useless bow. The dead deer lay at his feet, gut-shot and ruined.

  He looked at Brandan.

  "Brandan?" York choked out. "Please."

  Brandan closed his eyes. He gripped the handle of Thunder-Fall. He wanted to step in. He wanted to be the father York needed.

  But every time he looked at York, he saw Vayla’s shattered helmet.

  Brandan turned his back and walked away.

  York let out a sound that wasn't a scream. It was a whimper. The sound of something breaking that couldn't be fixed.

  He dropped the bow. He dropped to his knees in the mud.

  "I am a Prince," York whispered to the dirt, rocking back and forth. "I am a Prince. I am a Prince."

  I watched from the side, my hand hovering over Cinderbrand. But I couldn't strike. Not yet. We were bound by the truce.

  "That was cruel, Alexander," I said, my voice low.

  Alexander looked at me over his shoulder.

  "Cruelty is teaching a flightless bird that it can fly, Wilhelm," Alexander said cold-bloodedly. "I just showed him the ground. It is safer there."

  The Shadowgroves walked on, leaving York alone in the whispering fog, a Prince of nothing, crying over a deer he had killed just to be seen.

  The sobbing of York Bladeblood was the only sound in the Whispering Weald. The Shadowgroves stood apart, their golden armor gleaming in the dim light, watching the broken Prince with amused indifference.

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  Then, the whispering leaves stopped.

  The violet foliage went dead still.

  "Quiet," Gerald Falken hissed, his hand instinctively going to his sword. But the black betrothal ring on his finger pulsed, sending a jolt of pain up his arm. Kordula smirked, holding his leash.

  "Something is wrong," Gutrum growled, sniffing the air. "The smell of ozone... and rot."

  The ground beneath York erupted.

  "MOVE!" Brandan roared, charging forward.

  He tackled York just as a massive claw, made of fused ribcages and dripping with necrotic slime, slammed into the mud where the boy had been kneeling.

  A creature pulled itself from the earth. It was a Grave-Weaver. A spider-like nightmare the size of a carriage, but its legs were made of human spines and its body was a pulsating sac of muscle and teeth.

  "A Weaver," Alexander Shadowgrove noted calmly, leaning against a tree. "Nasty business. They drink marrow."

  "Are you going to help?!" I shouted, drawing Cinderbrand.

  Duke Silas cackled. "We are allies, Wilhelm. But this looks like a... Stormsong problem. Let's see if your family is worth the investment."

  He signaled his troops to stand down. They were going to watch us die.

  "Fine!" I spat. "More SP for me! Formation!"

  The Weaver shrieked and lunged at Brandan. The King raised Thunder-Fall to block.

  CLANG.

  The force drove Brandan’s boots deep into the mud.

  "Wilhelm! Flank it!" Brandan gritted out.

  I activated the [Blood-Leech Vial].

  I drew the Aurean Glassbow.

  "Glassline Shot!"

  The massive glass spear slammed into the Weaver’s flank.

  CRACK.

  It hit the bone-plating. [ENDURANCE 45] vs [Weapon Penetration]. The glass shattered, embedding shards in the flesh but failing to kill it.

  The Weaver turned its multiple eyes toward me. It hissed.

  "Oh, bugger," I whispered.

  It moved. Faster than a creature that size should move.

  I tried to side-step, but a razor-sharp leg swiped at me. I couldn't dodge. I raised Cinderbrand to parry.

  CRASH.

  The impact was like being hit by a wrecking ball. My [STRENGTH 51] wasn't enough to stop the momentum. I was launched backward, smashing through a calcified tree.

  My Vial flashed angry red, draining to almost zero to absorb the blow that would have shattered my ribs.

  "Close one," I wheezed, shaking off the dizziness. "But you made a mistake, ugly. You’re bleeding."

  The glass shards in the Weaver’s side had opened a wound. Black blood was oozing out.

  The black blood didn't hit the ground. It vaporized into red mist and flew across the clearing, straight into the crystal around my neck.

  SLURP.

  "Infinite economy!" I laughed, scrambling up. "Spider Web!"

  My [Web-Anchor Talon] flared. I shot a web line at the branch above the monster. I swung, Bastard style, over its head.

  "Brandan! Hit the legs!"

  Brandan swung Thunder-Fall. "HRAAAH!"

  He shattered the front left leg. The monster screamed, spewing more blood.

  SLURP.

  I landed behind the beast. I took a deep breath.

  "FUS RO DAH!"

  The shockwave hit the Weaver from behind, knocking it face-first into the dirt. It was stunned.

  "Finish it!" Gutrum roared, leaping onto its back with his axe.

  "No, let me cook!" I shouted.

  I gripped Cinderbrand. The blade glowed white-hot.

  "Thermal Shock!"

  I drove the sword into the monster's exposed neck.

  Heat met Organic Matter.

  The fluids inside the neck boiled instantly. The carapace cracked from the rapid expansion.

  BOOM.

  The Weaver’s head exploded. A fountain of gore erupted.

  I stood in the center of the blood rain, arms wide open.

  I wiped the slime from my goggles. I looked at the Shadowgroves. Alexander was clapping slowly, mockingly.

  "Messy," Alexander called out. "But effective."

  "It's called resource management, golden boy!" I yelled back, tapping my full vial.

  I stood over the carcass, alive, full of blood, and richer in power.

  York Bladeblood was still on the ground, staring at the dead monster. He looked at me. He looked at Brandan, who was wiping monster guts off his armor.

  "You..." York whispered. "You killed it."

  "We killed it, kid," I said, offering him a hand. "That's how it works. You find a big scary thing, and you hit it until the numbers go up."

  York didn't take my hand. He just stared at the blood on my coat, realizing just how far away he was from being a real player in this game.

  I opened my menu quickly. One point.

  Speed was key. That monster had been faster than me.

  "Let's move," I commanded, sheathing Cinderbrand. "Before its mother comes home."