Though Isara Ashvane stood among the wandering ascendants—her mastery vast enough to cross seas between dawn and dusk—she tempered her speed for the sake of her weaker companions. Selene Voss, Mira Stonwell, and Kael Ashvane could not endure the full force of her flight. Thus she slowed their passage, and it was not until the afternoon sun had begun its descent that they reached the outer reaches of the Dread Mire, hundreds of miles from their point of departure.
Below them lay a town of considerable size. A river curled along its northern edge, while vast fields stretched southeast in orderly grids of cultivation.
"What place is this?" Isara asked.
Auryn Gale, who had traveled these lands before, answered, "That's Mirwatch. One of the largest settlements along the Mire's edge. Most caravans heading in from the south stop here before venturing deeper."
Isara guided Dreamgate downward, landing several miles outside the town in a quiet stretch of countryside. She dismissed the blade and cast her gaze toward a roadside tavern down the slope.
"We begin our inquiries here," she said. "The Mire is sparse beyond this point. We'll eat, then stock provisions."
They entered the tavern and ordered food and tea. They had barely begun eating when a clamor rose outside—boots, voices, the clatter of weapons. The staff hurried to greet what was clearly a large group.
More than twenty men flooded in, all armed. Heavy weapons—warhammers, axes—hung at their sides or across their backs. Every one of them was male. The moment they saw the women, their reactions split—some averted their gaze in shame, others stared openly, crude and unrestrained.
Isara, Auryn, and Sylva Dreyn continued eating as though nothing had happened. Lyra Farrow remained entirely unbothered, detached from the world around her. Mira flushed faintly. Zaeli bit her lip, half-annoyed. Selene's brows knit, irritation flickering in her eyes.
Kael's own gaze sharpened, anger rising.
Isara glanced at him. "What are you doing?"
He froze. He remembered the promise he'd made before leaving the mountain.
"Out here," Isara said calmly, "it's not the quiet of the Chapter. You will all behave yourselves. Anyone who causes trouble will answer for it."
Kael lowered his head and returned to his meal.
The newcomers barked at the staff, "Don't bother asking—bring the best you've got!" They spread across five or six tables, crowding the tavern to bursting.
A burly man in fine, tight-fitting clothes—thick beard, heavy presence—sat at a table nearby. He seemed to be their leader. He leaned back, legs wide, staring at Lyra with blatant hunger.
Kael caught it from the corner of his eye. His jaw tightened.
Keep staring, he thought. I'll rearrange those pig-eyes into something worth looking at.
Several of the man's companions noticed his fixation and began raising cups.
"Second Captain," one laughed, "the Young Lord's raised the bounty again. Eight silver for every skull now! If we bring in another haul like last time, we'll be drowning in coin. Women won't be a problem then—hah!"
Laughter broke out, loud and filthy.
The bearded man didn't respond. He just kept staring at Lyra, practically drooling.
"Even the top courtesan of the White Jade House…" he muttered, shaking his head. "Not even a fraction of this."
Lyra seemed to hear him. She pressed her lips together in a faint smile, then turned—slowly—casting him a glance over her shoulder.
It wasn't merely beautiful. It was devastating.
Her gaze carried warmth, mockery, invitation, and something darker beneath. A storm wrapped in silk.
The men froze.
For a heartbeat, their bodies slackened, souls drifting loose from flesh.
Kael himself stared, mouth open, caught in the same snare.
Isara's voice cut through the moment like a blade.
"Anyone who harms others without cause," she said coldly, "will not be coming with me to Aureheim."
The killing intent that had flickered in Lyra's eyes vanished instantly. She turned back, grinning as though nothing had happened.
"Oh, nothing serious," she said lightly. "I just found them amusing."
The men eventually shook themselves free of the spell.
"Right," one of them said, "I heard something yesterday. Someone brought in a few redbone skeletons—took them to Mirekeep. Fifty silver each."
Kael's ears sharpened at that.
Auryn and Sylva exchanged a glance.
"Fifty?" the bearded man frowned. "You sure?"
"Dead sure. Heard it from a friend who just got back from Mirekeep. Known him since we were kids. He wouldn't lie."
"I heard it too," another added. "Someone's buying those red skeletons in bulk."
"Where were they found?" the leader asked.
"Near Gravecut. The Ancient War Camp. Second Captain, we should go deeper this time. If we get lucky—thirty, fifty of those things—we'll be rich. Straight to Mirekeep's pleasure halls, eh? Any kind of beauty you want."
"Done!" The man slammed his palm on the table. "We load up and head for the War Camp."
They raised their cups, grinning.
One man hesitated. "But… those red skeletons. Are they dangerous? Do we have enough men?"
Another snorted. "Scared? Then go home and hold your child. Stick with the Second Captain and you're worried about bones? Pathetic."
The first man flushed red. "I'm just being cautious! Ask a question and you get your panties in a knot? Say that again and I'll split you in half!"
They began shouting at each other.
The bearded leader didn't intervene. He drank, his gaze drifting again—this time not just at Lyra, but also at Sylva and Selene.
Kael's grip tightened around his chopsticks.
Filthy bastard… staring at Selene like that…
He inhaled sharply, forcing himself to stay seated.
When they finished eating, Isara instructed Sylva to take Mira and Kael to purchase provisions. Soon after, they left the tavern.
"There's corruption here," Isara said quietly.
"Not a small amount," Auryn added. "Enough to attract large-scale hunts."
"And blood-skeletons have already appeared," Sylva said, frowning.
"Blood-skeletons?" Kael asked. "Those redbone things they mentioned?"
Sylva nodded. "Likely the same. Their bones are valuable spellcraft materials."
Lyra spoke, her tone thoughtful. "Blood-skeletons don't form naturally. Someone's working behind the scenes. That explains the anomalies."
Isara considered for a moment. "We go to the Ancient War Camp. Kael, find out where Gravecut lies."
He returned shortly with directions. They avoided the main roads and moved swiftly using the Ground-Sprint Art.
The land grew harsher. Villages thinned, then vanished entirely.
Auryn, leading the group, suddenly halted atop a rocky outcrop.
Kael looked ahead—and saw them.
Broken skeletons scattered across the ground. Dozens of them. All headless.
"Twenty, thirty at least," he said. "Someone's been taking trophies."
"Experienced hunters," Auryn said. "These lesser skeletons had no chance."
"How can you tell?" Kael asked.
Sylva answered, "The fastest way to deal with skeletons is to break the spine. Look closely."
He did—and saw it. Every skeleton had a shattered or snapped backbone.
They continued on. Within a dozen miles, they encountered more of the same—headless skeletons, increasing in number.
"So many hunters," Sylva murmured.
Kael clicked his tongue. "Looks like we won't find anything left alive."
Mira laughed softly. "Alive skeletons?"
"If it moves, it's alive," Kael insisted.
Selene's voice drifted back, cold and cutting. "I've heard of corpses climbing out of coffins just to argue. If the dead can live, why not skeletons?"
Mira smiled. "Fair point."
Kael wisely kept quiet, though a strange warmth stirred in his chest.
They pressed on.
Soon, Auryn stopped again. Her expression had hardened.
A foul stench filled the air—thick, metallic, nauseating.
Lyra moved ahead, stopping before several trees choked with vines.
"There's something here," she said.
Kael approached. "What is it?"
"Clear it."
He flicked his arm. The Eight-Claw Flamescourge lashed out, shredding the vines in seconds.
The stench exploded outward, nearly physical in its density. Kael staggered, bile rising.
Behind him, Selene gasped.
Between the trees lay a circular pit—constructed entirely of human heads. Thousands of them.
Inside, a pool of dark, coagulating blood. Organs floated within—hearts, livers, coils of intestine.
Mira trembled. "What… is this?"
"A corrupted field," Lyra said, eyes narrowing.
"The Grief-Binding Array?" Sylva ventured.
Lyra smiled faintly. "Sharp as ever."
They moved on, and seven miles later, found another.
Identical.
"What is this formation?" Isara asked.
Lyra answered, "A forbidden construct of the Root Doctrine. It uses corpses to generate corruptive force. It hasn't been seen for centuries—since Lord Ossian was destroyed in the Primordian Reach."
Isara's gaze darkened. "Someone is exploiting this battlefield."
"They're using fresh heads," Mira whispered, pale. "These aren't skeletons…"
"Less than three months dead," Lyra confirmed. "Someone is harvesting the living."
Auryn's eyes burned. "There's no doubt. This is deliberate slaughter."
Lyra continued, "Each blood pool draws from a central source. It corrupts all remains within range."
"How many pools?" Isara asked.
"Depends on the caster. Could be dozens. Could be thousands."
Sylva inhaled sharply. "If the entire Mire is affected…"
"Then this becomes a catastrophe," Kael said grimly. "We destroy them."
Lyra shook her head, amused.
Selene spoke instead, irritation cutting through her fear. "If there are hundreds, you'll be here forever. Destroy the source instead."
Isara nodded. "Find the main pool."
Lyra smiled. "Follow me."
They soon reached a lake—clear, still, unnaturally pristine.
At its center stood an island. On it, a crumbling green tower.
A bridge stretched from the island to the forest's edge.
They approached—and heard battle.
Dozens of armored soldiers fought over a hundred skeletons near the bridgehead. The clash was fierce, brutal.
The soldiers moved in formation—disciplined, relentless. Axes rose and fell, shattering spines with precision.
"Imperial troops," Auryn said. "Shield-bearers."
"Someone trained them well," Sylva added.
Kael watched, unimpressed. "It's a slaughter."
A young noble stood behind the line, guarded. Calm. Commanding.
The battle turned quickly.
Then more skeletons surged from the forest—over a hundred.
The formation faltered.
"Master," Kael said, eyes lighting up, "let me help."
Isara hesitated—then nodded.
Kael burst forward, laughing, the Flamescourge roaring to life.
Bones shattered. Fire spread. Skeletons fell like wheat.
Soon, the nobleman joined him—leaping into battle with a black staff.
"Two to zero!" he shouted.
Kael blinked—then grinned.
A contest.
They fought side by side, counting kills, each trying to outpace the other.
"Nine to six!" Kael called.
The noble surged harder.
Kael smirked—and cheated.
He snatched targets from under the man's strikes, dragging skeletons away mid-kill.
"Thirty-nine to twenty-six!"
The soldiers shouted angrily.
"Forty-seven to forty-six," the noble said at last, raising a talisman.
He flicked it.
Shadows burst forth—phantom soldiers riding through the battlefield in silence.
In a blink—
Every skeleton froze.
Then shattered.
The noble turned, smiling.
"Forty-seven to forty-six," he said. "You lose."
Kael stared.
Then scowled.