Alfred's army advanced like it already owned victory.
Laughter carried through the night. Armor clattered carelessly. Torches burned high, their light announcing their presence to anything with eyes.
They hunted loudly.
Confidently.
Blindly.
In the valley ahead, silence waited.
Not peace.
Not calm.
Something colder.
Something prepared.
The coalition camp no longer resembled an army—it resembled an absence.
No fires.
No voices.
Only shapes.
Dark figures stood scattered among stone and shadow, perfectly still, as if carved into the landscape itself. Even the wind seemed to avoid them.
The scent of the place lingered—iron-rich blood, cured leather, and the faint musk of predators that had learned how to hunt without hunger.
Anna knelt before Colin, appearing as if the darkness itself had condensed into her form.
Her voice was low.
Precise.
"My lord. They've taken the trail."
A twig touched the sand table.
"Approximately one thousand. Three banners. Two hundred heavy knights. Three hundred iron-shield infantry. The rest… filler."
A pause.
"They are careless. No proper scouts. No caution."
Another.
"Their commander rides at the front. Fast. Separated."
Her eyes flicked up briefly.
"They are eager."
Colin studied the valley.
Dry Bone Valley.
He knew every curve of it now. Every rock. Every choke point.
A place where movement slowed.
Where formations broke.
Where men lost control.
His lips curved.
"Eager… to die."
He rose.
The air shifted.
Not loudly—but undeniably.
Every commander straightened.
Every breath tightened.
"Anna."
"Here."
"Half an hour."
No explanation needed.
"Turn the entrance into something they'll remember in their last moments."
A faint tilt of his head.
"Noise. Pain. Confusion. I don't need bodies yet."
His eyes hardened.
"I need them afraid."
She was already gone before the last word settled.
"Barton."
The Boar-folk stepped forward, massive, immovable.
"Take your squad. Fifty Bearmen."
Colin pointed—not at the enemy—
But beyond them.
"The exit."
A simple word.
A final one.
"Seal it."
Barton's grip tightened around his axe.
"Nothing leaves."
The ground trembled as he struck the haft down once.
"Nothing leaves."
And then he was gone.
"Hask."
A grin answered.
Sharp.
Hungry.
"Flank."
Colin's finger traced the curve of the valley.
"Wait until they break."
A pause.
"Then cut them in half."
Another.
"Not a battle."
A final one.
"A harvest."
Hask's laughter slipped into the dark like a blade.
Then—
Only one remained.
Boulder.
Colin turned to him.
For a moment, the tone shifted—not softer, but closer.
"This is ours."
Boulder's grin widened, teeth catching the faint starlight.
"At last."
"We meet them head-on."
No tricks.
No shadows.
"Break their pride."
Boulder slammed his fists against his chest.
The sound rolled like distant thunder.
"I'll break more than that."
The machine moved.
Silently.
Perfectly.
Anna's hunters transformed the valley.
Tripwires stretched low and invisible. Pits disguised with care. Stakes hidden beneath loose earth. Stones balanced at the edge of gravity, waiting for the smallest pull.
The ground itself became a weapon.
The path became a lie.
At the far end, Barton's force settled into stillness.
Not hidden—
Buried.
They became part of the terrain, massive shapes pressed into shadow, waiting to rise and close the throat of the valley.
On the slopes, Hask's hunters disappeared.
Flat against stone. Blended with dust.
Above them, Deer-folk warriors crouched like patient spirits, spears angled downward, every line of retreat already measured.
Every escape already denied.
And at the entrance—
Colin waited.
Openly.
Deliberately.
He did not hide.
He wanted to be seen.
Beside him, Boulder rolled his shoulders, each movement heavy with restrained violence.
Behind them, thirteen Wolf Guards sat mounted, crossbows resting steady, unmoving as monuments.
Further back, the Bearmen shifted, low growls vibrating in their chests like distant storms waiting to break.
At Colin's feet, the great white wolf stirred—its breath slow, deep, tasting the air.
Waiting.
Then—
Sound.
Faint at first.
Hooves.
Voices.
Laughter.
Closer.
The enemy announced themselves with noise and fire.
Torches snaked toward the valley entrance, a glowing line cutting through the dark.
To them, this was pursuit.
A chase.
A victory already unfolding.
Colin smiled.
Not wide.
Not loud.
Just enough.
Cold.
Certain.
"They're here."
Boulder lifted his axe onto his shoulder.
The metal caught the dim light—briefly—before vanishing again into shadow.
His grin widened.
Behind the silence—
the trap closed.
And the valley waited—
hungry.