Chapter Thirty-One — Stormward

The air still carried the taste of blood and smoke as Kael stood at the edge of the water, his reflection distorted by the restless current. The storm above gathered in silence, heavy clouds curling inward like a wound refusing to close.

Nyeredzi was gone. The Circle was incomplete. But they couldn't afford to break.

Liora stepped beside him, her presence a quiet anchor. "We move now, before the Chidawo can bury her too deep."

Kael's fingers curled into a fist. "Do we even know where they took her?"

Dendera shifted his shield to his back, his movements slower than usual, pain dulling the edges. "They'll take her through the Cursed Curves. It's the only path they can use without tearing a hole wide enough for the Bvuri to slip through."

Tafara's laugh was short, bitter. "That's comforting. The only thing between us and the end of the world is some ancient rockslide and bad geography."

"We've faced worse," Ranga muttered, though even his usual bravado felt muted. The Hyena Totem's spirit flickered dimly behind his eyes, unsettled.

Kael turned, the weight in his chest no lighter, but more familiar now — like an old scar aching before rain. "We need to be faster than them. Stronger. We need to move like we are the land."

Liora's spirals brightened, faint glyphs flickering beneath her skin. "Then we have to trust the bond."

"The bond's broken," Kael said, harsher than he meant. "We can't amplify without her."

"We can't amplify like before," Liora corrected gently. "But the network is still here — just bent, not severed."

Dendera knelt, pressing his hand to the earth. "The land remembers us. If we move in sync, if we stop thinking of ourselves as five people and start moving as one chain, we might be able to track them."

Tafara rolled his shoulder, wincing. "Spirit-tracking? That's ancient, even for the Chidawo."

"We're rewriting rules," Liora said softly. "Why stop now?"

Kael looked at each of them — the bruises, the exhaustion, the fear half-buried behind forced grins and stubborn resolve. They were holding together with nothing but faith and fury, and somehow, it was enough.

He closed his eyes and reached.

Not with his senses — but with something deeper. The tether that had been forming since the first time they stood back-to-back, fighting to survive. The pulse that linked his Lion to Dendera's Elephant, Tafara's Baboon to Ranga's Hyena, Liora's Manjuzu to Nyeredzi's Owl.

The bond flickered — stretched thin, frayed — but it held.

One chain.

The earth beneath his feet thrummed, faint footsteps echoing across unseen paths.

"I see them," Kael said quietly. "Three leagues ahead. The Curves already in sight."

Ranga's grin sharpened. "Well, what are we waiting for?"

"Formation," Kael said, the word coming from instinct, not thought. "We move as one."

Dendera stepped left, his stance rooting into the earth. Tafara took the opposite side, hands loose, ready to flow. Ranga slipped between them, his movements unpredictable, energy crackling in his bones. Liora took the rear, the river itself rising to follow her.

Kael stood at the front.

Not a leader.

A center.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Born ready," Tafara said, already shifting into a half-run.

"Let's bring her home," Liora whispered.

Kael took the first step — and the land answered.

Grass bent beneath his feet, the wind curling around his shoulders, every breath synced to the pulse of the storm overhead. The others fell into place, their spirits overlapping like threads of the same tapestry.

The Cursed Curves waited, sharp and unforgiving, a maze of broken earth where spirits bled into the living world. The Chidawo thought they knew the path.

But they had never faced a chain reforging itself with every step.

Kael ran, the weight of the Crown no lighter — but no longer his alone.

And the storm ran with them.