Something shifted between the trees. I could hear it. I tensed, reaching for the hammer at my side and turning in one swift motion. The trees stared back in silence.

  Then there was movement again.

  A small figure stepped out from behind one of the moss-covered trunks.

  A cloak of deep green, almost black in the dim light. Boots so quiet, I could only hear the occasional branch snapping underfoot. And long hair that gleamed like silver moonlight from under the hood.

  A Selenari, one of Nyx’s people.

  They raised their hands, palms outward in a gesture of peace. With a voice that was young, uncertain, and distinctly female, like a page torn from a book not finished yet, she said, “I… ah. I didn’t mean to startle you. I heard the resonance. I thought the shrine had finally awakened. It seems that… I was right.”

  She wasn’t carrying any obvious weapon, only a satchel with some herbs and papers sticking out from under the flap. More scholar than threat.

  Her gaze dropped to the coin pouch pulsing softly from my belt.

  I lowered my hammer halfway and her stance shifted with hints of urgency, maybe fear.

  I studied her with a slight tilt to my head.

  After a few heartbeats of neither of us speaking, she swallowed and cleared her throat.

  “My name is Ryn. I’m an archivist from the royal archives… well, technically still under review. I came to this place because of rumors of an old shrine that was still active.”

  Her eyes flicked to the two statues and the basin between them, then back to me.

  I answered with a raised eyebrow. “Doesn’t seem active to me.” Not wanting to explain my particular brand of stupid to a stranger.

  She took a slow step forward, hands trembling slightly. Not with fear, with excitement.

  “That resonance wave came from around here, I’m sure. There are... others searching for things like this. Scholars. Priests. And things that are not so gentle.”

  Her voice dropped to a whisper.

  “If Narfas is still awake here…that would be the discovery of the decade.”

  Her nervousness and excitement turned serious. She glanced at the trees again, as if expecting them to answer, then looked back at me. “Will you help me search the shrine for artefacts?”

  “What kind of artefacts are you hoping to find in a place like this?” I said, gesturing around us. “There isn’t much left, other than rotten stone and moss. Besides, I’m not a scholar.”

  She was running her thumb over the satchel, as if to steady herself. “I’ve studied Narfas’ shrines since I could read. Springs like this one used to be places of protection. Healing. Hope. If this one is still active, there has to be a reason for it.”

  Her gaze went to the coin pouch hanging from my belt.

  “There has to be something sacred here, something meant to be kept safe… and I don’t think anyone should carry it alone”

  Her voice softened. “No pilgrim walks forever without aid. And… I could use someone who knows how to swing a hammer.”

  The last part was an attempt at humor, small, awkward, but earnest. She shifted her weight nervously.

  I tilted my head at her. “You seek protection.” A statement, not a question.

  Ryn’s breath caught and surprise flickered across her silver eyes. She opened her mouth, as if to deny it, but the lie died before it can become dangerous.

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  Her shoulders dropped. “Yes. I won’t pretend bravery I don’t have.”

  She clutched the satchel tighter, as if afraid its contents might vanish.

  “My mentors say knowledge is a shield. I’ve learned that some truths are sharp. But truth doesn’t stop blades.”

  I looked her up and down with a raised eyebrow. “And what makes you think I can?”

  She tried to hold my gaze, but it flickered away. Humility, or shame?

  “You look like someone who knows what it means to stand alone,” she said. “But also someone who stands because it matters.”

  Slowly she walked towards the basin. Her fingers brushed the moss in silent respect. When she rose again, her voice was steadier. “I won't slow you down… and I won't ask for more than you choose to give.”

  Before I could answer, something broke the silence that was growing between us.

  The birds had gone quiet. Then a distant howl. Low, drawn-out and unnatural. Nothing that would belong near a shrine.

  Ryn’s face paled.

  “It followed me. We should go. Now!”

  She stepped closer, as if to seek protection without touching. And the disc in my pouch pulsed harder, once.

  “Fuck.” The word slipped out like steam from a cracked vent, low and real.

  I grabbed Ryn’s arm and shoved her behind me before she could react. Her breath hitched in surprise, but she didn’t resist. I leaned into my left foot and raised my hammer with my right.

  The forest held its breath. Leaves shivered, but no bird sang.

  And then I saw it. A shape moving between two trunks, too fast to track. A blur of shadow and bone-pale hide.

  Another howl, closer now, vibrating the air.

  Ryn’s voice behind me was small. “It shouldn’t be here. Nothing corrupted by the sundering should ever come this close to a sacred shrine.”

  Corrupted, that’s what it truly was.

  The thing lunged into view.

  The body of a wolf, stretched and gaunt. No fur, just sickly grey skin. Eyes like cracked moons. And jaws too wide, with teeth like sickles.

  Its limbs stuttered to keep it balanced. It skidded across the moss, head low and teeth bared. Then its head snapped towards my belt, growling with the sound of broken glass rubbing against itself.

  Ryn’s voice trembled. “It can hear the resonance.”

  The beast crouched, its muscles coiled. It leaped.

  My world shrank to the wolf and me.

  My hammer whistled through the air in a hard and honest arc. I stepped into the swing, half a step but enough to transfer weight to the shaft of my hammer.

  My focus narrowed to the beast and my hammer as it connected with a crunch like rotten wood in damp earth.

  The howl became a ragged, surprised sound as it tumbled sideways. Stunned. Blood like dirty oil oozing over one of its eyes.

  Ryn let out a startled breath behind me, then scrambled forward. Her eyes wide with awe and fear that began to turn to hope.

  But the beast wasn’t finished.

  It lashed out with an imprecise swipe that caught my left forearm. Pain flared hot, sharp and a line of crimson bloomed under my torn sleeve.

  Through the pain I felt the disc pulse faster in my pouch. It somehow matched my heartbeat.

  The monster’s head lolled. Its movements slow as it glared at me with wild eyes.

  I edged backwards, hammer raised like a promise, my eyes fixed on the monster. Ryn stayed behind me, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

  The monster spun to meet us, narrowing its one clear eye, and for a terrible heartbeat everything slowed again. The disc in my pouch thrummed a race against my heartbeat.

  Then the thing moved, jerking and stuttering. With my hammer held high, I waited, muscles coiled for another strike. When the monster leapt again, my hammer came down. Steel bit flesh and already cracked bone with the sound of splitting timber. Oily blood and hide turned into a fine mist as the monster crumbled under the blow.

  The air tasted sickly sweet, like rotting meat, as the forest exhaled and Ryn let out a sharp laugh. Half in relief, half in incredulous joy. Then she immediately flipped open her satchel with a hand that trembled but moved with practiced certainty.

  “Hold still,” she said, her voice quick and efficient.

  “A salve, a stitch and you’ll be fine. That swipe was nasty but not too deep.”

  As she knelt in front of me, she unrolled linen and produced a small vial that smelled of bitter herbs. Her earlier awe was still there, but tempered by careful competence as she worked.

  I gritted my teeth through the sting as she cleaned the cut and pressed cloth to the wound.

  When she was finished, she sat back on her heels and studied me, her expression shifting between worry and curiosity.

  “You fought like someone who was used to swinging a hammer.” She said softly. “And the thing in your pouch… it’s obviously resonating with something. If it’s something from the shrine, that’s… dangerous. And important. Both.”

  Birdcalls returned. Leaves rustled. The sun had climbed a bit higher, soft fingers of light streaming through the trees.

  I inspected Ryn’s work on my arm, then went to the basin between the two statues. Kneeling before it, I murmured a quiet apology to Narfas, then asked Ryn, “Why was that… thing following you?”

  I cupped my hands in the basin, took some water, and splashed it against my face.

  For half a heartbeat it was relief. Then the water turned slick on my skin, cold, dirty, wrong. I wiped at my cheek with the back of my hand and only smeared it across my jaw. The basin clouded, oily blood dripping from my chin in dark threads.

  “Lovely,” I muttered, blinking hard. “Absolutely lovely.”

  Ryn froze, fingers still resting on the satchel flap. Her eyes flicked to the corpse, then to the trees and then to me.