Natalia of the Crescent Moon didn’t look worried.

  She rarely did.

  Orion’s outpost sat half-hidden in the Forest of Log—fires hooded, lanterns dim, voices kept low. Men moved with discipline that didn’t need shouting. They didn’t laugh loudly here. They didn’t argue loudly here. They didn’t even walk loudly unless they wanted to be corrected.

  It wasn’t because the forest was special.

  It was because Orion was.

  And because Natalia was present.

  Around the clearing, twelve-point stakes were driven into the soil at measured intervals—simple markers for patrol routes and fallback lines. A handful of scouts sat under canvas, sharpening blades that were already sharp, eyes flicking up every time the fog shifted like it might become a person.

  Natalia stood at the edge of the outpost like she owned the dark.

  Cloak draped over her shoulders in a curve that earned her title. Her sword hung easy at her hip, the kind of easy that only existed when you were strong enough to treat steel as an afterthought.

  One of the knights approached her from the side, helm tucked under one arm. He didn’t swagger. He didn’t posture. He walked like he’d learned early that the Twelve crowned ranks were not impressed by confidence.

  “Lady Natalia,” he said carefully. “Is something wrong?”

  Natalia’s gaze didn’t leave the trees.

  Fog drifted between trunks in the dark. Leaves trembled without wind.

  “I just feel…” she murmured, as if the words were mildly inconvenient. “…like I’m being watched.”

  The knight frowned. “Who’s watching us?”

  Natalia’s mouth twitched faintly.

  “Not Log Town,” she said. “Whoever it is— they aren’t from Log Town.”

  The knight’s brow tightened. “Scouts?”

  “Maybe,” Natalia said. “Maybe something sharper.”

  She stepped forward one pace, boots barely sinking into damp ground. Her eyes narrowed like she was listening to something only she could hear.

  Natalia inhaled once.

  Then let her Vyse breathe.

  Not a flare.

  A ripple.

  A quiet pulse that slid outward like a ring on still water—subtle enough that most soldiers would only feel it as a prickling behind the ears.

  The air tightened.

  The fog shifted.

  And the faint feeling she’d had—

  turned into waves.

  The knight’s eyes widened. He swallowed hard, trying to pretend he hadn’t just felt a Crown-ranked presence stretch across the trees like a hand.

  Natalia tilted her head slightly.

  “Oh,” she said, almost amused. “So it’s real.”

  Her smile sharpened.

  “To the perimeter,” she told the knight. “No torches. No shouting. If they’re smart, they’ll run. If they’re stupid, they’ll show me where they are.”

  “Yes, Lady Natalia,” the knight said quickly, and moved.

  Natalia didn’t follow him with her eyes.

  Her attention stayed in the dark, where something had just pulled away too cleanly.

  Far above the clearing, near the ridge line, Hannah’s body went rigid.

  Not surprise.

  Instinct.

  The pressure that had been faint before—like something brushing the edge of awareness—just became undeniable. Not crushing. Not loud. Just present in a way that made every hair on the back of her neck remember it had a job.

  Hannah’s eyes narrowed. Her breathing slowed.

  She looked at the team.

  Greyson’s shoulders had tightened. Julien’s bow hand hovered closer to the string. Eliot’s grin had vanished, replaced by a hard stare. Amanda was watching Hannah’s fingers like her life depended on them.

  It did.

  Garn’s face hardened—anger trying to rise first, like it always did when he felt cornered.

  Hannah didn’t give him room to speak.

  Two fingers up.

  A sharp sweep back.

  Full retreat. Now.

  No debate.

  No delay.

  No pride.

  They moved.

  Running in the Forest of Log was not like running on a road.

  The ground grabbed. Roots reached up like hooks. Branches snapped across faces. Mud pulled at boots. The dark didn’t open into space—it crowded around you and punished anyone who thought speed alone would save them.

  Hannah ran first.

  Fast, controlled, silent.

  She didn’t shove through brush. She threaded between it, using the thicker shadows instead of open lanes.

  Greyson kept pace on her left, shield angled, body ready to become a wall if a blade came out of the fog.

  Julien moved behind them, bow tucked close so it wouldn’t catch on anything. His eyes kept flicking back, measuring distance like distance was something you could bargain with.

  Eliot ran like a shadow with teeth, knives tight at his sides. He kept wanting to look back—wanting proof the fear was real—because proof would justify him.

  Amanda ran with her axe strapped short and her breath trying to stay quiet. She wasn’t the fastest, but she wasn’t lagging either. Not yet.

  Garn ran last, anger burning hot in his chest because this felt like retreat.

  Because it felt like losing.

  Because his pride was hurt.

  He hated that Hannah’s order had been correct. He hated that his body had obeyed anyway.

  Hannah didn’t look back. She didn’t need to.

  She could hear Garn’s breathing rise whenever his temper did.

  “Quiet,” she hissed without turning. “Quiet, Garn—”

  He bit his tongue and forced his breath down. Inhale through the nose. Slow. Smaller. Like Damien had drilled. Like Titus had demanded.

  Akash stayed folded tight behind his eyes—silent as a held breath.

  No flare.

  No help.

  Only the reminder that if he got loud, he’d get everyone killed.

  They cut downhill through brush, crossed a shallow ravine where stones were slick and dark, climbed wet rock, then angled hard to the east to break any straight line. Hannah changed direction twice without explanation—because explanation was time, and time was death.

  A branch snagged Amanda’s shoulder and tugged her backward.

  She stumbled.

  Greyson’s hand shot out and caught her strap without a word, yanking her back into line. No comfort. No scolding. Just correction.

  Hannah signaled again, fast.

  No talking. No stopping. Follow my feet.

  They ran until their lungs burned. Until sweat turned cold on their backs. Until the ache in their thighs started to whisper that mistakes were coming.

  Then the world went quiet.

  Not normal quiet.

  Not night quiet.

  The kind of quiet that makes your ears strain because something is wrong.

  Hannah’s hand snapped up.

  Stop.

  They stopped mid-step, bodies crouched, mouths shut. Even Garn obeyed without thinking, like his muscles had accepted Hannah’s signals as law.

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  Garn’s heartbeat slammed in his ribs.

  He tried to taste mana.

  He tried to feel Akash.

  Nothing.

  Only emptiness.

  He hated the emptiness. It felt like losing a tool you hadn’t realized you depended on.

  Hannah pointed.

  Down.

  Ahead of them, a natural wreck of old trees lay piled—trunks collapsed over each other, branches tangled, gaps between bark wide enough to hide a body if you didn’t breathe too loud. Rot and wreckage, stacked like the remains of a storm.

  Hide.

  Now.

  They moved without sound.

  Greyson slid in first, shield angled to cover.

  Julien disappeared into shadow like he’d been born there, bow horizontal, eyes wide.

  Eliot sank low behind a split trunk, jaw clenched hard.

  Amanda crawled into a tight pocket between two fallen trees, breathing too fast. Hannah’s hand clamped over her mouth for a heartbeat—firm, not cruel—until Amanda’s breath slowed.

  Then Hannah caught Garn by the collar and yanked him down hard enough to bruise.

  “Don’t move,” she mouthed.

  Garn didn’t argue.

  For once.

  He pressed into the dirt and listened with everything he had left.

  Natalia landed where they had been standing seconds ago.

  No crash.

  No stomp.

  Just… arrival.

  A Crown-ranked presence stepping into a place like it belonged there.

  Fog shifted around her boots. Leaves settled. The air tightened, as if it wanted to behave.

  She looked around slowly.

  She saw nothing.

  Of course she saw nothing.

  But her smile formed anyway.

  “It seems they ran,” she said softly.

  She lowered her gaze to the ground.

  Scuffed dirt. Broken twigs. Faint impressions where boots had pushed off.

  Natalia’s smile widened a fraction.

  “You’re fast,” she murmured. “That’s cute.”

  Her head tilted, listening—not with ears, but with that strange sense of presence that came from being high enough in Vyse that the world couldn’t fully hide from you.

  Then she raised her sword.

  She focused her Vyse into the blade.

  Not a show.

  A compression.

  The air around the edge thinned, like space itself was being told to separate.

  For a heartbeat, the blade looked pale—not glowing, not burning—just sharp enough to look like it carried moonlight inside the steel.

  Natalia swung.

  A horizontal slash.

  Clean.

  Casual.

  And the forest broke.

  Hundreds of trees split at once.

  Not crushed.

  Cut.

  Trunks sheared clean like paper. Branches snapped. The canopy sagged and collapsed. Wood came down in waves, heavy and violent, smashing into the ground with wet, cracking impacts.

  The ground shook.

  Dust and leaves exploded into the air.

  The fallen-tree pocket became chaos—new trunks crashing down, old trunks shifting, gaps collapsing.

  Hannah clamped a hand over her mouth to keep her breath silent.

  Julien went perfectly still.

  Greyson braced, shield up, teeth clenched as a tree slammed down close enough to spray bark and splinters.

  Garn didn’t move.

  He didn’t blink.

  Because if he blinked, panic might slip in.

  Then—

  a scream.

  Amanda.

  One sharp sound that ripped through everything.

  Hannah’s eyes widened.

  Garn’s stomach dropped.

  Natalia’s head turned.

  Slowly.

  Pleasureful.

  “Ah,” she said softly. “There you are.”

  Amanda lay half-pinned beneath a fallen trunk, eyes wide and wet. One arm was trapped. The other clawed at bark.

  Her leg—

  gone.

  Not crushed.

  Not mangled.

  Cut clean where the slash had passed.

  Blood soaked the dirt fast, dark and steaming in the cold.

  Amanda’s mouth opened again, trying to stop screaming and failing.

  Hannah’s whole body tensed.

  Greyson’s shoulders shook once.

  Julien’s bow arm trembled.

  Eliot’s jaw clenched like rage could sew a body back together.

  Garn’s hands trembled with the urge to move.

  Akash stayed silent.

  Natalia walked toward Amanda through fallen wood like it wasn’t an obstacle.

  She reached Amanda and crouched.

  Then picked her up by the neck with one hand.

  Amanda’s good leg kicked weakly in the air.

  Natalia studied her face like it was a question.

  “Is it just you?” Natalia asked.

  Amanda tried to speak.

  She couldn’t.

  Tears ran down her cheeks anyway.

  Natalia smiled.

  “No talking,” Natalia said. “Fine.”

  She tilted her head slightly, as if listening again for other breaths hiding behind bark.

  “I guess there was only one,” she murmured. “Unfortunate.”

  Amanda didn’t beg.

  She couldn’t.

  But her eyes did what her mouth couldn’t.

  Natalia’s smile didn’t change.

  “What a shame,” she said.

  Then—

  crack.

  A clean sound.

  Amanda’s body went limp instantly.

  Natalia let go.

  Amanda hit the ground like she was nothing.

  Lifeless.

  Natalia didn’t even wipe her hand. She simply turned slightly, scanning the wreckage.

  Hannah, Julien, Greyson, and Garn stayed hidden in true fear.

  Not because they were cowards.

  Because they understood the gap.

  That wasn’t a fight.

  That was a result.

  Natalia turned her back as if it was done.

  And then Eliot broke.

  He exploded out from behind a fallen trunk like grief had grabbed his spine.

  “YOU BITCH!” he screamed.

  The sound was too loud.

  Too human.

  Too late.

  Eliot charged with a knife raised, eyes wild, rage drowning intelligence.

  For a heartbeat he believed anger was enough.

  Natalia didn’t flinch.

  She didn’t even look surprised.

  Eliot’s eyes locked on her face as he closed the distance—

  and he saw it.

  She was smiling.

  Waiting.

  Eliot’s stomach dropped.

  He tried to stop.

  He tried to turn.

  Natalia swung around instantly.

  One small motion.

  One simple cut.

  And Eliot’s legs separated from his body.

  Clean.

  Both halves fell past Natalia like they didn’t belong to him anymore.

  Eliot hit the ground hard.

  His scream broke into a wet gasp.

  Hands scrabbling at dirt that didn’t care.

  Blood poured out fast.

  Natalia looked down at him like he was litter.

  Then she lifted her gaze to the fallen trees.

  To the fog.

  To the pockets of shadow where the others hid.

  Her smile thinned.

  “Dang it,” she muttered. “I should’ve took one alive.”

  She paused, as if considering the idea seriously for half a heartbeat.

  Then shrugged like it was irrelevant.

  “Why not,” Natalia said lightly. “Like it matters.”

  She waited three breaths.

  Then turned away from the bodies and walked back toward her outpost.

  Not hurried.

  Not concerned.

  Just leaving, because she’d gotten what she wanted.

  Natalia disappeared into fog.

  And only then did the air feel like it belonged to the world again.

  For three breaths, nobody moved.

  Hannah listened.

  For footsteps.

  For the return of pressure.

  For the wrongness that meant Natalia had doubled back.

  Nothing.

  Only wind.

  Only the faint creak of settling wood.

  Greyson’s eyes flicked to Amanda’s body—one twitch like he wanted to move.

  Hannah’s gaze cut him in half.

  No.

  Greyson swallowed it down.

  Hannah crawled out first.

  Spear low.

  Face tight.

  She didn’t look at Amanda.

  She didn’t look at Eliot.

  If she looked, she might break.

  And breaking was not allowed.

  She found Greyson’s eyes.

  Then Julien’s.

  Then Garn’s.

  A silent headcount.

  Four.

  Her mouth tightened.

  She lifted two fingers and sliced them backward.

  Go.

  Now.

  No sound.

  No stopping.

  They moved.

  They didn’t run like before.

  Before had been fear.

  Now it was survival with teeth.

  They cut through thicker brush, kept off clear lanes, avoided open gaps where fog thinned and moonlight might catch them.

  Greyson stayed close enough to shield Hannah if it came to that.

  Julien kept rear again, eyes constantly back.

  Garn kept pace now—no drifting, no boredom, no pride.

  His senses strained into the quiet, trying to catch anything before it caught him.

  They moved hard for hours, changing direction twice, forcing short rests only when Hannah allowed it. Once, Julien whispered a name—barely air.

  “Amanda…”

  Hannah didn’t answer. She just lifted two fingers again.

  Move.

  When the sky began to pale—gray dawn bleeding between branches—Hannah finally stopped them, not because they were safe, but because their bodies were about to fail.

  She lifted a fist.

  Freeze.

  They froze.

  She listened again.

  No pressure.

  No pursuit.

  Only distance.

  Hannah exhaled once—small and controlled.

  “We lost two,” she said quietly.

  Greyson’s throat bobbed.

  Julien closed his eyes for a single heartbeat.

  Garn stared at the ground, jaw tight, rage trapped inside silence.

  Hannah looked at Garn.

  Her eyes were still serious.

  Still flat.

  But there was weight there now.

  “You listened,” she said.

  Garn’s mouth twitched.

  He wanted to say something sharp.

  Something bitter.

  He couldn’t.

  Because if he hadn’t listened, there would be three bodies.

  Or four.

  So he nodded once—angry, stiff.

  “Yes,” he rasped.

  Hannah nodded like that was all she needed.

  “Good,” she said. “Now we report.”

  And they moved again—quiet, broken, alive.

  Behind them, the bodies stayed where they fell.

  And somewhere deeper in the forest, Natalia returned to her outpost with blood on her blade and a smile that never really left.

  Because prey that ran…

  always came back.