Dawn bled across the horizon in pale gold, burning the mist from the trees.
Edgar crouched at the edge of the ravine, watching the valley below.
The Black Fang stronghold rose from the earth like a scar — black spires, broken towers, and a ritual circle cut deep into the stone. Even from here, he could see the figures moving below: robed cultists, armored warriors, beasts stitched from flesh and shadow.
Sebastian came up beside him, breath shallow, eyes dark-rimmed.
“Do you feel it?” Sebastian murmured.
Edgar nodded, jaw tight.
“Yeah. Like the ground’s holding its breath.”
Sebastian’s fingers twitched — black lines flickering under his skin.
Back at the camp, Professor and Magnet Man were setting up.
The Professor chalked runes into the dirt, whispering under his breath, his face gaunt with exhaustion. Magnet Man sharpened a wicked set of steel claws, his repaired armor catching the morning light.
Edgar joined them.
“We move soon.”
Magnet Man grinned.