Chapter 7: Crimson Earth

The sky had darkened long before it should have. Gray clouds rolled in like thunderous waves, yet the air was dry and static. No birds. No wind. Only the eerie hum of anticipation as the four children approached the edge of the infested valley. This was where the beats had made their nest.

From a distance, the creatures looked like melted shadows crawling across fractured soil. Their shapes were once familiar—wolves, lions, even a stag—but now twisted with extra limbs, misshapen skulls, and flesh that pulsed unnaturally, like it remembered pain.

Kairos stepped off the hilltop first. His white hair glimmered faintly, picking up what little light filtered through the clouds. His eyes narrowed, calculating, as he surveyed the terrain like a painter choosing the angle of a brush stroke.

"We're going in light," he said calmly. "No abilities. We stick to just our weapons. The terrain is fragile."

Zephyrus cracked his knuckles, expression unreadable. " I was really hoping to show of a little bit."

Lysander gave a curt nod, already scanning the flanks. Seraphina, mostly called illumi—remained behind, higher up the hill. Her figure was cloaked in shadow, golden eyes gleaming like twin lanterns.

A brief moment of stillness passed. Then motion.

The first beat lunged forward—a grotesque, oversized panther with tusks protruding from its cheeks. Its roar split the silence like a tear in silk.

Kairos moved first, stepping sideways with surgical precision. His foot barely brushed the grass as he leaned in, palm glowing softly. The tattoo on his forearm pulsed to life, veins of white light threading across his skin until it reached his wrist.

With a soft flash, his weapon materialized—an obsidian-bladed polearm etched with strange white runes. He gripped it like a scalpel.

The panther lunged again.

Kairos sidestepped, pivoted, then slashed in a clean arc—removing the beast's forelimb without resistance. Black ichor spilled across the ground, steaming.

"Don't get surrounded," he warned.

Zephyrus didn't bother answering.

He met a trio of beats head-on—one like a gorilla with crocodile scales, another a winged rat the size of a deer. Without drawing a blade, he sprinted forward, barefoot, loose.

He slid under the first one, planted a hand on its stomach, and with a grunt, threw it into the second. They collided midair with a crunch.

The third beat lunged from behind.

Zephyrus spun, caught it midair by the throat, and slammed it head-first into the dirt. His tattoo had glowed briefly when the battle started, swirling red and silver, but his three sword hilts remained sealed on his back—untouched, unreadied.

"Still won't let me draw you ," he muttered.

Lysander was elegance in motion.

She moved like a line drawn in one stroke—no hesitation. Her weapon formed from her left shoulder down to her palm, bleeding light that formed into a narrow, double-edged rapier.

She ducked beneath a lunging beat—some malformed fox—and skewered it cleanly through the neck. No wasted effort. Not even a sound.

Another beast leapt from the side.

She turned, parried with a flick of her wrist, and the blade sang as it danced through the creature's ribs.

"Four incoming from the northwest," she said aloud. "They're adapting."

Kairos took note. "They always do."

More beats crawled from the woodwork, snarling, foaming, shifting. The ground trembled slightly beneath their erratic steps.

Seraphina's voice rang out from above, calm and clear. "I count at least thirty remaining. Pattern's spreading out. They're herding us into a choke."

Kairos growled. "Not smart. Just desperate. Good thing they're just level three beasts"

"Still a mistake," Zephyrus added, punching one creature so hard it folded like paper.

Beats where numbered by level. From level one to level nine.

Time blurred. Black inky Blood painted the earth. Each movement a story.

Kairos mapped the battlefield in his mind—watching each beat's path, noting how they changed. His strikes were fast and merciless, always at the right time, in the right place.

Zephyrus became the wall—immovable, monstrous, cracking bones with nothing but fists and heel kicks.

Lysander cut through the field like a song, her every breath measured.

They fought like they'd done this before. Because they had many times even though they were just children.

When the last beat collapsed with a gurgling hiss, its deformed body twitching, the silence returned.

Kairos exhaled, lowering his weapon. Their tattoos still shimmered faintly—etched into their skin like sacred scars. The runes had formed when the weapons did, and though the glow would fade, the markings remained. Well, it had always been present just covered.

"Is everyone okay?" Kairos asked.

Zephyrus rolled his shoulders. "Didn't break anything important."

Lysander was already cleaning her blade even though she didn't need to. "Minor scratches here and there but nothing deep."

Seraphina descended from her perch. "Something's wrong."

They all turned towards her and traced her gaze.

She was staring at the far horizon, beyond the blackened trees and toward the southern ridge. There, almost hidden by mist and shadow, was a shape—massive, ominous, unnatural.

A red crimson dome.

It pulsed softly, like a heart. Whatever was inside, it refused to be seen from the outside. Refused to be understood.

Zephyrus stiffened. "That's the forbidden zone."

Lysander's voice was barely a whisper. "We're not supposed to even look at it."

Kairos stared, unmoving.

The wind shifted, bringing with it a smell that didn't belong—wet ash, old bones, and something faintly sweet. Like blood... left to boil.

They waited a little in silence.

Then Kairos said, "We're going."

The others turned to him, uncertain.

He stepped forward, not looking back.

"If something's calling," he said, voice low, "we answer. That's what a king would do."

And so they moved toward the dome.

Toward the unknown. Toward the next truth.