The first thaw of winter had not yet come, but the outer woods had begun to stir. Frost gave way to slush in the lower ridges, and the scent of movement lingered on the wind. Something wild. Something not born of clan blood.
In the training yard, Li Rong moved in silence, his body as sharp as the spear he carved from cold ashwood. Beside him, Hu Yan mirrored the motions—clumsier, slower, but improving.
"Your stance is too rooted," Li Rong said. "You're not a mountain. You're a wolf."
Hu Yan exhaled, shifting weight onto the balls of his feet. "Like this?"
Li Rong watched, then gave the smallest nod. "Better."
It had become routine—early drills before the clan awoke. No elders, no crowds, no Li Feng. Just them, and the silence.
"Why do you train so early?" Hu Yan asked between breaths.
"Because no one's watching," Li Rong said.
Later that day, word spread through the lodge halls—whispers rippling through kitchen fires and weapon sheds.
"A hunter hasn't returned from the outer woods," said one uncle in passing. "Li Han's boy. Supposed to track winter boars before the next snowfall."
"Probably fell through river ice," someone muttered. "That trail's cursed this time of year."
"Or worse," said another. "They say shadow hounds are prowling again."
Li Rong listened without speaking. His grandfather, Li Shen, had told him once: Information is a blade that cuts before it's drawn.
That evening, he stood before his father, hands folded behind his back.
"You heard about the missing hunter," Li Rong said.
Li Wei nodded slowly, stoking the fire in their hearth. "I did."
"There's no search?"
"There will be, once the elders finish debating whose resources to use."
Li Rong's eyes narrowed. "So, nothing until someone agreeson who gets credit?"
His father didn't answer.
"I'll go," Li Rong said.
Li Wei looked up sharply. "You're not a scout. Not yet."
"No," Li Rong agreed. "But I know the northern path better than most."
"You'd go alone?"
Li Rong's voice was calm. "No. I'll bring someone who owes me."
The next morning, Li Rong and Hu Yan slipped through the misted pines just past dawn, wrapped in hunter's cloaks and carrying only short spears and dried rations. No one stopped them. No one had been told.
"This is insane," Hu Yan whispered as they crossed the frozen ravine. "You sure we're not going to be eaten by something... worse than wolves?"
"Yes."
"That wasn't convincing."
They moved deeper into the wild.
Duskwind Hollow vanished behind them.
Hours passed. Snow gave way to moss, then to black stone ridges. The forest here was older—untouched by the clan's lumber axes. Everything was quieter, thicker. Even the wind was cautious.
Hu Yan walked carefully. "What exactly are we looking for?"
"Blood," Li Rong said. "Scattered gear. Signs of a struggle. Movement patterns."
"Right. Because I totally know how to read footprints in the dark."
"You're not here to see," Li Rong replied. "You're here to listen."
Hu Yan blinked. "To what?"
"To everything."
Near dusk, they found the first sign.
A torn strip of leather hung from a broken thorn bush, stained with frozen blood. Li Rong crouched beside it, brushing the earth with his fingers. He stared at the markings—deep claw tracks, irregular spacing.
"Not a wolf," he murmured.
Hu Yan leaned in. "Then what?"
"Something that walks on two legs… but runs like four."
Hu Yan paled. "You mean—"
Li Rong stood, eyes narrowing as he scanned the trees. "We're being watched."
A shape moved—just beyond vision. Then another. Low to the ground. Silent.
"Back-to-back," Li Rong said, already pulling his spear free. "Now."
Hu Yan obeyed instantly, heart hammering.
Then they came.
Three creatures, hunched and gaunt, leapt from the undergrowth—furred like wolves, but with twisted limbs and hollow eyes glowing blue-white. Their jaws split open with clicking sounds, more insect than beast.
"Spirit abominations," Li Rong muttered. "Too close to the Hollow…"
The first lunged.
Li Rong sidestepped, jabbing forward. The spear sank through one eye, dropping the creature without a cry. Hu Yan screamed as another tackled him—but managed to roll, smashing the butt of his weapon into its ribs.
"Hold position!" Li Rong barked.
He spun, catching the last one mid-charge. His spirit surged.
The Duskwither Moonfang Wolf flashed behind him, silver eyes blazing in the cold dusk.
The creature froze—staggered by the presence of the wolf spirit. That hesitation cost it.
Li Rong's spear found its throat.
They stood panting afterward, blood steaming on the snow. Hu Yan wiped his mouth with a shaking hand.
"What the hell were those?"
"Spirit remnants. Twisted beasts that feed off abandoned energy," Li Rong said coldly. "They usually stay far north. Something's driven them closer."
Hu Yan sat hard on a rock. "This… this wasn't a training trip, was it?"
"No."
"You knew?"
"I suspected."
Hu Yan stared at him. "You used me."
Li Rong didn't answer at first. Then he said, "No. I trusted you."
That gave Hu Yan pause.
"Why?"
"Because you didn't run last time."
They found the hunter's body not far from the attack site. Torn, frozen, mostly buried beneath pine needles and frost. But his satchel remained, untouched.
Inside was a torn scroll.
Li Rong studied it in silence. The glyphs weren't of their clan. Not even from neighboring tribes.
Something old. Something buried.
He folded it away.
"This wasn't random," he said.
Hu Yan looked over. "What do you mean?"
"Something's changing."
He looked out into the dark woods.
"And we're the only ones who've seen it."