Chapter 10: Beneath the Bone Crown

Raizen Valefor stood atop the three-meter wooden wall of the Kazehana fortress, his razor-sharp gaze cutting through the eastern dead forest where a gray-clad Drakovia spy had vanished forty paces out. A cold wind whipped through, stirring ash from Noxvaria into the air, carrying the faint tang of dried blood from the clash with Shadowfang two nights ago—a pile of charred corpses stacked beyond the wall like a silent warning. Pale moonlight bathed the half-meter-thick rampart, crafted from salvaged Shadowfang cannon timber and gray drywood from nearby, bolstered by head-sized, glossy black stones lining its base like rough armor against the sinking ash. His hand tightened on the broken sword, its chipped steel edge flecked with dried blood from last night's beast fight, his eyes flicking to the silver necklace etched with "Kael"—a gift from Kael Iscariot, his once-steadfast friend from Neo Saigon 2050, now a mental anchor in this alien world.

Selene Kazehana stood beside him, her steel sword sheathed at her back, her mismatched eyes—icy blue on the left, blazing red on the right—scanning the deep woods with unwavering vigilance. Her dust-caked leather armor bore scratches from that morning's scout run, marks of old battles etched across her shoulders and chest like badges of survival. The thin scar on her throat gleamed under the moon, stretching from below her ear to her shoulder—a testament to a blade that nearly claimed her. "The Drakovia spy wasn't alone," she said, her voice low and sharp, honed like the sword she'd sharpened on a black stone at noon. "I saw thin smoke rising from the forest—two hundred paces out, near the dry stream. Not Shadowfang—too steady, like a controlled campfire. If Drakovia's setting up camp, the bone-crowned bastard might not be far off."

Raizen's brow furrowed, a mix of suspicion and resolve flashing in his eyes as he peered into the forest depths, where the wind's howl now carried a faint clink—like distant metal brushing metal—blending with the low, earth-shaking growl from last night. He bent down, scooping a handful of ash, crushing it lightly—fine dust slipped through his fingers, leaving a dry, chilling bite. "Drakovia and Solzareth," he muttered, voice as cold as the ash he'd touched, "if they're linked, this fort's not strong enough yet—but I'll make them taste defeat before they can strike." He turned to Selene, his stare hard as the black stones beneath the wall. "Those tracks you saw this morning—anything else near the dry stream?"

Selene's fist clenched, her red eye flaring like a torch as she recalled the noon scout, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "Bones—not animal, not human. White, two meters long, snapped in pieces, scattered around the stream—old but intact, like they were burned a few weeks back. Near the bones, a carving—a red spiral, just like the one on that beast last night. The bone-crowned guy's been there—and he's not alone."

Raizen stiffened, his grip tightening on the "Kael" necklace, a spark of doubt igniting in his eyes as he recalled the crimson spiral blazing on Vesper Atrius's Asvaria machine—the same mark he'd seen in Thiên Long's lab back in Neo Saigon 2050, now etched on beasts and bones in Noxvaria. "Red spiral," he murmured, his deep voice cutting through the stillness, broken only by the crackle of firewood from the central tent behind the wall. "Vesper Atrius—what did you do here?" He stepped to the wall's edge, gazing down at the villagers and Shadowfang captives working under the dim glow of torch bundles—some chopping wood, others stacking black stones, all clutching "N"-marked sticks to trade at Leon Vesper's market. "Take me to the dry stream now—I need to see it before night falls," he ordered, voice firm but measured.

Selene nodded, her red eye blazing like fire in the dark, her hand gripping her sword hilt, ready to draw. "Move fast—if Drakovia's got a camp, we're short on time," she said, her tone decisive, leaping off the wall in a fluid motion and striding toward the central tent to rally her warriors.

Raizen turned, his icy gaze sweeping the Thiên Long crew near the central tent—Ragnar Kiryuu, Seiryu Alvis, Leon Vesper, and Kael Iscariot—the ones hurled into this world with him by the Asvaria machine. He descended the wall, the broken sword trembling faintly as it struck the ash, his deep voice rising over the wind's howl. "Selene leads. Ragnar, bring the portable catapult. Kael, take the upgraded crossbow. Five Kazehana warriors join with spears and repeaters. Leon, Seiryu—stay here, keep the camp and prep the people."

Ragnar Kiryuu, his short hair matted with ash, stood by a wooden cart hauling the portable catapult—a smaller rig than the camp's main one, its two-meter lever arm of doubled gray drywood mounted on an old Shadowfang cannon wheel axle, gray vines coiled tight around stakes on either side. He tested the vine with a tug, feeling the tension ripple through his hands, his eyes sparking with a tech geek's thrill. "This baby's light—forty-pace range, enough to smash a beast from a distance," he said, voice low and brimming with confidence, flashing Raizen a lopsided grin. "I'm in—if we hit something big, it's tasting black stone."

Kael Iscariot stepped up beside him, clutching the five-shot crossbow—its frame of twin gray drywood planks lashed with vines, the bow arm a curved Asvaria shard, five notches holding stone-tipped bolts. He tested the vine string with a light pull, feeling its strength, his calm eyes glinting as he met Raizen's gaze—like seeing the friend he'd trusted above all in Neo Saigon 2050. "Thirty paces with this—if the beast gets close, I'll pin it down for Ragnar's shot," he said, voice steady and sure, stepping closer to Raizen with a faint smile. "Like old times in the lab—you lead, I've got your back."

Raizen met Kael's eyes, a rare warmth softening his stare as he recalled their sleepless nights in the Polytechnic basement, dreaming of a world where tech served humanity. "Good—I need you out there," he replied, voice low but warm, resting a hand on Kael's shoulder briefly—a rare gesture amidst Noxvaria's storm.

Leon Vesper lingered by the market—four two-meter wooden posts framing a square, its three zones now thinned after a day's trade: ten hides down to seven, five steel spears to four, fifteen dry root clumps left for grub. He twirled an "N"-marked stick, his cryptic grin glowing with a schemer's fire as he watched Shadowfang captives and villagers work—two traitors from the last fight now chopping wood double-time, eyes hungry for the spears. "I hate politics—backstabbing in Neo Saigon 2050 fouled everything, cost me my fortune and name," he said, voice low with a mocking edge, his narrow eyes flicking to Raizen. "But trade's different—I spread word 'Shadowfang's coming, food's low'—those traitors are grinding like mad for 'N' marks. The market'll flow before you're back—go, I'll keep this place tight."

Seiryu Alvis stood by the medic tent, cradling a clay pot with half a liter of painkiller brewed from ten bloodroot fruits that noon—dark red sap pooling inside, a sharp whiff rising as she stirred. Her torn, ash-streaked white blouse was her last tie to Neo Saigon 2050. "Enough numbing juice for five—if you drag back wounded, don't overload me; I can't save a crowd," she said, voice cold but firm, glancing at Liora bandaging a Shadowfang captive with gray ashleaf antiseptic. "Liora, pick it up—I need you on antiseptics when I'm tied up."

Liora nodded sharply, her trembling hands steadying on a gray ashleaf sprig, her eyes fierce with resolve. "I'll do it—to save folks like you saved my kid," she said, voice small but unyielding, setting her child down to step closer to the pot, watching Seiryu with a mix of awe and curiosity.

Raizen gave a slight nod, a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes as he watched Liora and the villagers—some now chopping wood near camp, trading it for "N" marks with Leon, their fearful gazes giving way to trust as they eyed the three-meter wall. He turned to the small crew, his voice hard over the wind's howl. "Move—to the dry stream before Drakovia or the bone-crown acts."

The group cut swiftly through the northern dead forest, two hundred paces from camp, faint moonlight piercing the bare trees, glinting off ash laced with old tracks from prior hunts. Selene led, steel sword in hand, her red eye scanning the low bushes where gray vines coiled like natural nets. She halted in a clearing, kneeling to point at a half-inch-deep footprint in the ash—triple a man's size, five claw marks gouged sharp, the surrounding ash packed tight under heavy weight. "Here's the track," she said, voice low, tracing a claw mark to gauge its depth. "Not a normal beast—too big, too precise. Since last night."

Raizen knelt beside her, touching the print, feeling the ash hardened by pressure—not fresh, but not old, likely from dusk when the roar grew near. His brow creased, suspicion flaring as he traced its path toward the dry stream. "Bigger than last night's monster," he muttered, voice deep, crushing ash in his hand—fine dust slipped through, cold and dry. "If the bone-crown controls this, I need its real strength."

Ragnar Kiryuu rolled the cart-mounted portable catapult behind, its old Shadowfang cannon wheel clattering softly over uneven ash, the doubled gray drywood lever quivering, gray vines taut like a coiled spring. He tested the vine with a tug, eyes alight with technical glee as he felt its tension. "Forty-pace shot—if we spot a beast, I'll smash it from range," he said, voice low with a confident edge, glancing at Raizen. "Rough ground, though—needs flatter footing for clean aim."

Kael Iscariot flanked Ragnar, clutching the five-shot crossbow, his calm eyes glinting as he met Raizen's—like seeing the friend he'd always trusted, the one who'd stood with him through Neo Saigon's trials. He checked the five stone-tipped bolts in their notches, testing the vine string's give, voice steady. "Thirty paces—if it closes in, I'll hold it for Ragnar's shot. With you out here, I'm good," he said, a faint smile crossing his lips, eyes brushing the "Kael" necklace—a quiet nod to their bond holding firm.

Raizen met Kael's gaze, a rare warmth softening his stare as he recalled their lab days, Kael's unshakable faith in him. "Same here—with you, I know we're set," he replied, voice low and warm, clapping Kael's shoulder—a fleeting moment in Noxvaria's chaos.

They reached the dry stream—a twenty-meter-long, five-meter-wide shallow trench, its bed strewn with round stones and glossy black ones Selene found that morning, half-buried in thin ash. White bones littered the banks—two-meter lengths, snapped in half, grayish-white like they'd been scorched weeks ago, unrotted and stone-hard, some flecked with black ash. Raizen knelt, lifting a long bone, tapping it against a black stone—a dry clack rang out, no sign of decay. His brow furrowed, suspicion deepening as he eyed the even burn marks. "Big bones—not human, not common beast," he muttered, voice low, turning the piece over. "Burned—but not wild fire, too uniform, like high heat."

Selene stepped to a large, flat stone mid-stream, a meter high, its surface unnaturally smooth among the rough rounds nearby. "The carving's here," she said, voice low, pointing—a red spiral etched deep, half a meter wide, vivid as dried blood, identical to the beast's mark and Asvaria's design. She knelt, tracing the spiral's sharp grooves—not hand-carved, but seared, like something hotter than fire.

Raizen joined her, touching the red spiral, a chilling bite seeping through his fingers, suspicion and anger flaring as he recalled the Asvaria machine's glowing circuits in Thiên Long's lab—the moment they'd swallowed him whole. "Vesper Atrius," he murmured, voice deep amid the wind's rustle through the dry stream. "What did you do here? Where's your prophecy taking me?" He stood, eyes sweeping the scattered bones and massive tracks, piecing together an unfinished puzzle.

Ragnar rolled the cart closer, suspicion flickering as he eyed the red spiral. "Tech—not Shadowfang's work," he said, voice low, checking the catapult vines for readiness. "Our Asvaria metal had this mark—same source, maybe."

Kael stood beside, crossbow raised, his calm eyes tracing the spiral, voice steady. "Back in Neo Saigon 2050, Atrius said Asvaria was a gate—not just a machine. If this is his mark, he might've hit here before us. But I'm with you now—I'll help you figure it out," he said, meeting Raizen's gaze with unwavering trust, a friend who'd always stood by him through Thiên Long's chaos.

Raizen nodded faintly, warmth flickering in his eyes at Kael's loyalty—the one constant he could lean on. "I need you—like old times," he replied, voice low, clapping Kael's shoulder before turning back to the stone. "This mark's no fluke—if Atrius left it, I'll find what he's after."

Before he could say more, a deep roar thundered from the northern forest—not human, not the spiral beast from last night, but something bigger, older, shaking the ash hard enough to send small black stones tumbling into the stream with faint clacks. Selene flinched, her steel sword flashing free with a sharp shing, her red eye locking north. "He's here," she said, voice taut, raising her blade high. "The bone-crowned one."

Raizen spun, icy stare piercing the dark, hand gripping the broken sword like it was his will made steel amid the sky-rending growl. "Set the catapult—ready the crossbow," he ordered, voice hard over the small crew at the stream. "If he wants a fight, he'll see this fort doesn't just defend."

Ragnar yanked the catapult vines with both hands, loading a five-kilo black stone onto the lever, eyes blazing with thrill as he felt the tension. "Locked!" he shouted, cutting the tether—the lever snapped up, the stone streaking through the air with a whistling howl, slamming the beast's left shoulder with a booming crunch. Steel-like fur shattered, black blood oozing as it staggered back, roaring in fury, red eyes flaring like they'd devour them whole.

Kael raised his crossbow, pulling the vine taut with both hands, five bolts flying—three sank deep into the beast's right leg, black blood dripping onto the ash, two ricocheting off its steel fur with sharp pings. He glanced at Raizen, trust gleaming. "Like old times—I pin, you finish!" he said, reloading with the swift precision of a lab vet.

Selene darted from the group, steel sword slashing at the beast's left leg—the blade bounced off with a dry clang, leaving a faint scratch on its iron hide. "Harder than steel!" she yelled, leaping back nimbly onto a stream boulder, baiting it forward, red eye never wavering from the hulking shadow.

From the eastern forest edge, three Drakovia spies stood still, forty paces out, their calm unnerving—like they were waiting. One held a rough scope—wood and crude glass, leagues beyond Shadowfang craft—two gripped short forged-steel spears, gray armor glinting under the moon, moving in trained unison. They paused, eyes on Raizen's crew and the distant fort, muttering in a strange tongue—low, clipped, like orders. One raised a hand, firing a red flare arrow skyward from the east—blazing like blood, it struck the ash twenty paces from the stream with a soft thud.

"Drakovia," Raizen growled, suspicion flaring as he eyed the flare burning in the ash. "Not just scouting—they're calling backup." He turned to Selene, voice low. "What'd you catch from them?"

Selene's brow creased, red eye narrowing as she strained through the wind. "Not clear—but 'fortress' and 'strangers'—might be us," she replied, voice hard, tilting her sword, ready to charge if needed.

Another roar erupted from the northern forest, closer, trembling the ash enough to unsteady the crew—Ragnar braced the cart, Kael gripped his bow, Selene stood firm, sword high. From the dark, a massive shape emerged—five meters tall, clad in black steel-like fur, red eyes glowing like twin bonfires, half-meter claws raking the ash into deep furrows with dry scritches. Atop its head, a crown of white bone—two-meter lengths like those by the stream—fused like an ancient badge of power, pale under the moon. On its back, a red spiral pulsed like living blood, matching the stone's mark.

"The bone-crowned one," Selene whispered, voice low with wariness, raising her sword higher as the giant stepped from the woods, each stride quaking the ash like war drums. "Not human—but controls beasts."

Raizen stood still, icy stare locked on the approaching titan, hand tightening on the broken sword amid its sky-shaking roar. "Ragnar—hit the big one again! Kael—pin the small one! Selene—with me!" he barked, voice ringing over the crew at the stream. He stepped into the dry trench, sword raised, eyes unflinching against the bone-crowned shadow north. "Ebonhold doesn't kneel—I'll prove it now."

Ragnar hauled the catapult vines, loading another five-kilo black stone, eyes alight as the tension sang through the vines. "Fire!" he roared, cutting loose—the lever snapped, the stone streaking with a windy howl, crashing into the beast's shoulder again with a thunderous boom, splintering more fur, black blood trickling as it roared.

Kael yanked the vine taut, five bolts flying—three pierced the smaller beast's leg as it charged from the left, blood pooling, two clanged off its shorter, razor-sharp fur. "Small one's pinned!" he shouted, reloading fast, grinning at Raizen. "Like beating those test bots at Thiên Long—you end it!"

But before they could press, a second shape burst from the north—three meters tall, leaner, faster, its short, dagger-like fur glinting, red eyes sparking like embers. It leaped the stream in a blur, claws slashing ash into long streaks, charging Selene with feral speed.

Villagers atop the distant wall screamed, some near Kaelric Duskwind peering down, eyes fixed on Raizen like a lifeline in the storm of fire and shadow. A grizzled skeptic whispered to Kaelric, voice shaky but hopeful, "He's the curse-breaker Selene spoke of—he'll save us!" Kaelric nodded faintly, awe flickering as he watched Raizen stand firm in the streambed.

Raizen spun, icy stare tracking both beasts, hand clamping the broken sword tighter. "Ragnar—big one again! Kael—hold the small fry! Selene—back me up!" he roared, voice cutting through the deafening growls. He strode to the stream's center, sword high, eyes unyielding against the bone-crowned figure lurking north. "Ebonhold doesn't kneel—and I'll prove it right here."