Chapter 7 – The Gathering Storm
The flames in Voss's veins burned hotter, yet they carried a strange weight—a darkness coiling at their edges. Shadow and fire wove together, twisting into something new, something unstable.
She staggered back, her breath ragged. The bodies of fallen riders lay at her feet, their armor scorched and shattered. The remaining soldiers hesitated, their weapons trembling in their hands.
Even they could feel it.
The power inside her was changing.
"Voss!" Soren's voice cut through the chaos, grounding her for a moment.
She turned toward him. His expression was wary—concerned, but not afraid. Unlike the soldiers who now scrambled back, uncertain whether to fight or flee.
Drakonix let out a low rumble, his massive form shifting as he shook off the bloodied remnants of his last opponent. His silver eyes flickered toward her, unblinking.
Voss clenched her fists. She had to stay in control.
Had to use this power—before it consumed her.
She forced herself to move, stepping forward. The soldiers, already shaken, broke. Some turned and fled, their discipline shattered.
But one didn't.
A lone figure stood at the edge of the battlefield, untouched by fear.
Draped in dark leathers, a long sword resting at his side. His silver hair caught the wind, his eyes cold and knowing.
Soren stiffened. "Shit."
Voss's stomach tightened. She knew that stance. That presence.
A hunter.
One of the High Lord's chosen.
And he wasn't here to fight.
He was here to watch.
And to judge.
---
A Shadow in the Night
The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken challenges.
Voss met the hunter's gaze, defiant. "You should run while you can."
The man smirked. "That's my line."
His voice was smooth, carrying no urgency—only patience. Confidence.
He wasn't afraid of her.
That was a problem.
Soren shifted beside her. "Voss, we need to move. Now."
Drakonix growled, lowering his head slightly. He didn't like this either.
The hunter sighed, rolling his shoulders as though preparing for something inevitable. "You can run, but it won't matter. The High Lord has already set things in motion."
Voss didn't flinch. "Then let him come himself."
The man chuckled. "Oh, he will."
Something in his tone sent a chill down her spine.
She didn't wait for more.
"Soren, mount up. We're leaving."
Soren didn't argue. He moved quickly, pulling himself onto Drakonix's back.
Voss turned to follow—
And the hunter stepped forward.
His sword remained sheathed. He made no move to attack.
Yet power radiated from him.
"A warning, girl," he said, voice low. "You're not the only one waking up."
Voss paused.
A gust of wind swept through the battlefield, carrying the scent of frost and fire.
The hunter didn't explain. He didn't need to.
She could feel it too.
Something was changing in the world.
Something bigger than just her fight for survival.
Without another word, she climbed onto Drakonix's back. The dragon tensed beneath her, his muscles coiling as he prepared to take flight.
The hunter watched them rise into the sky.
And as they vanished into the night—
He smiled.
---
The Message is Sent
The icebound towers of Eldridge stood silent, shrouded in perpetual frost.
Inside, the High Lord moved through the shadows, his expression unreadable.
borth stood at his side, his pale features unreadable.
"The girl grows stronger," borth murmured.
The High Lord's fingers tightened over the icy railing of his balcony. His gaze stretched beyond the horizon, toward the distant storm brewing in the east.
"She will become a threat," borth continued.
The High Lord exhaled slowly. "She already is."
He turned away from the balcony, stepping deeper into the chamber.
Figures knelt before him—warriors clad in dark armor, their faces obscured by hoods.
Silent. Deadly. Loyal.
His most trusted hunters.
"Find her," the High Lord ordered, his voice smooth, controlled.
A pause. Then, as one, the hunters rose and vanished into the night.
The High Lord turned to borth, his expression calm.
"Let the game begin."