The caravan was making good time. We wound our way through the Banover Mountains, carts creaking, wheels striking stone, voices of men and beasts echoing faintly against the cliffs. Trade with the deep dwarves and dark elves had filled our purses heavier than we hoped, and despite the risks, I counted the venture a success.

  Many warned us never to take such an invitation. They told us the dwellers of the deep could not be trusted, that they were as secretive and shifting as the dark caves they lived in. But my instincts whispered otherwise. I had pressed us forward, and for once, profit proved me right.

  The rough cloth of the carriage rustled as Ari stepped out to join me. She moved slowly, shoulders weary, and she carried the exhaustion of many sleepless nights.

  “Bryn finally fell asleep,” she said. Her words came with a sigh that seemed to carry her whole weight. The bags under her eyes told what her voice left unspoken.

  I offered a smile, hoping to lighten her spirit. “It has been quite the adventure for our lad. How many five-year-olds can say they have met deep dwarves and elves face to face?”

  She leaned against the side of the cart, eyes flicking to the mountains around us. “I am only glad my fears never came true. Bringing him here felt like a gamble. I could not shake the guilt of dragging him into danger.”

  “That is why we make a great pair,” I said, turning the reins in my hands. “You temper my reckless nature, and I—”

  The ground trembled beneath us. Pebbles slid from the wagon bed, and the horses stamped nervously.

  “That has been happening all morning,” Ari murmured.

  “Yes,” I admitted. “The road here was smooth, yet each tremor grows more intense journey home. It is unsettling.”

  “Have you asked the others?” she said. “Some of the guards may have earth-sense. They might know more than we do.”

  I had not. Our caravan stretched in a line of ten merchant wagons. Forty guards surrounded us, blades and bows glinting when the light caught them. They had been supplied by the trading company. I paid for their skill, which was attached to their reputation — so I trusted them.

  Another tremor shook the road. This one was stronger, almost a roll beneath the soil. A wagon up ahead groaned as one wheel splintered apart. The caravan halted in confusion.

  Torvin, the stout merchant ahead of us, leapt down with his son. They bent quickly to the damage.

  “How bad is it?” I called out.

  He turned, face grim. “The wheel is finished. No repair will hold. I will need to replace the whole thing.”

  “Do you need an extra hand?”

  “My eldest and I can manage. Shouldn’t take long.”

  “Very well. Call if you need help.”

  He nodded once in thanks.

  I turned to Ari, but another tremor struck. This time, the earth growled as though something moved beneath it. The horses bucked against their reins. One mare screamed and broke loose, galloping down the path toward the trees.

  “What is happening?” My voice rose without intention. Ari gasped, hand clutching her mouth.

  Two guards broke formation and sprinted after the runaway horse, vanishing into the brush. The rest stood braced, waiting, but for what we weren’t sure.

  The caravan fell silent. A heavy stillness pressed against us, broken only by the stamping of nervous beasts. The air itself seemed to hold its breath. A cold encumbrance formed in my chest, an instinct I trusted as much as the smell of a rotten deal.

  It was not the sense of coin this time. It was the sense of death approaching.

  “Ari, get Bryn and run—”

  The ground tore apart before I finished my words.

  The soil convulsed, then exploded skyward. Rocks and earth sprayed in every direction. Wagons shattered as if struck by thunder. I glimpsed Torvin’s body spinning through the haze, broken in half, before the blast swallowed him from sight.

  Something vast rose from the earth.

  At first, it was only shadow and scale, then the full horror broke free. A wyrm, born of the deep places, forced its way into daylight. Its body coiled like a mountain unrolled, scales glistening with the dust of the underworld.

  Its roar was a quake that rattled bone and thought alike. For a breath, I remembered the stories whispered to frighten children, tales told to keep them from wandering into caves. Then the truth loomed above me, and I knew the stories did not do this monstrosity justice.

  The wyrm struck the wagon in front of us. Timber cracked like dry twigs, and the lives within vanished beneath teeth like spears. Ari screamed, falling backward into our cart, where Bryn had already woken with a wail.

  I seized the reins, whipped and pulled with every bit of strength I had. The mares leapt forward, hauling us from stillness to a wild gallop. The wagon lurched violently, veering off the road.

  Dust filled my mouth and stung my eyes. Ari clung to Bryn, her voice lost in the chaos. The cart tilted onto two wheels, canvas roof tearing as it dragged against branches at the roadside.

  The shriek of timber filled my ears as the wagon toppled. Ari and Bryn burst through the canvas as the momentum threw them free. I tried to hold my grip, but the force hurled me from the seat.

  I landed hard, air torn from my lungs. The world spun.

  Through the daze, I saw it all in fragments. Guards charging, blades flashing, arrows loosed into the wyrm’s hide only to splinter and fall. The beast coiled higher, its bulk blotting out the sun. One swing of its body crushed three wagons at once. Horses screamed and scattered, trampled by their own panic.

  Ari’s cry pierced the roar. Bryn lay still to the side of her. I reached for them, but the shattered remains of our wagon loomed above me, tilting forward.

  I looked once more at the horror before me. The wyrm consumed the caravan with a hunger that seemed endless. Men vanished into its jaws, steel and flesh swallowed without pause.

  The last thing I knew was the crash of our wagon as it came down upon me, wood and iron splintering across my body. Pain flared white and blinding. Then darkness, heavy and complete, pulled me under.

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  —

  “No!” The scream tore from my throat as I watched the shattered remains of our wagon crush Cairn beneath its weight.

  Tears blurred my sight, carving lines through the dust that clung to my cheeks. My body burned with pain, but my right leg screamed the loudest, bent at an angle no limb was meant to endure. The sight made my stomach churn, yet I had no time to weep for myself.

  A few feet away, Bryn lay still. His small frame was smeared with blood where his left arm should have been. His chest rose and fell in shallow rhythm, and that fragile breath was the only thread keeping me awake. He lived. That truth was both agony and hope.

  I had to reach him. I had to do something.

  Before I could move, a sudden flash of light split the dust-laden air. It streaked past me and slammed into the side of the wyrm. The beast reeled, its massive coils twisting violently.

  The roar that followed shattered the world. A vibration pulsed through stone and air, so fierce it ruptured my eardrums. Blood streamed warm down my neck as silence swallowed everything. I cried out, but even my own voice was gone. Only the raw ringing of pain remained.

  Through the haze of dust, I saw them — four figures darting across the wyrm’s enormous frame. They struck with precision, blades and magic cutting deep, yet the creature healed as quickly as it bled. It writhed, flailing its titanic body against the ground, seeming to shake the mountains themselves.

  My heart sank as I realized its new path. The wyrm had turned, and it was bearing down on us. On me. On Bryn.

  “No, please,” I whispered, though no sound reached my ears.

  I clawed my way across the earth, dragging my broken leg behind me. Each movement sent fire searing through my body. Stones tore into my palms, but I forced myself forward until I reached my son.

  With shaking arms, I pulled Bryn to me. His body was limp, his skin pale, yet his chest still fluttered with shallow breath. My teeth ground against the waves of agony that poured from my ruined limb as I forced myself upright on my good leg.

  The wyrm surged closer. Its shadow swallowed the ground.

  I knew then that I could not escape with him in time. The beast was too swift, and I was too broken.

  Gathering what strength love could lend, I lifted Bryn high and hurled him away from me. Every fiber of my body cried out, every muscle tore with effort, but I poured it all into that single throw.

  He flew through the dust, his small form tumbling and rolling across the ground until he came to rest a dozen paces away. Hope flickered in me at the sight. He was farther from death, though still within its reach.

  Then the wyrm was upon me.

  The pain in my body ceased all at once, replaced by a rushing cold. My final breath left my lips in prayer, not for myself but for the child I had cast into the hands of mercy.

  The world ended for me in that instant, swallowed by the shadow and silence.

  —

  Something wet dripped down my neck. I tried to lift my left arm to wipe it away. My arm did not move.

  Confused, I blinked, and the dark around me thinned. My eyes found only emptiness where my arm should have been. For a moment, I thought I was still dreaming. Then panic crashed over me, hot and dizzy, and I wanted to scream.

  My head throbbed like hammers pounding metal. Boom. Boom. Boom. Each strike made the world tilt.

  But the world was quiet. Too quiet. I knew there was noise; I could feel it in my bones. The ground shook like a ship at sea, but my ears gave me nothing.

  Silence.

  “Mom,” I whispered. My lips felt dry, like desert sand. “Mom.”

  I remembered her face, the moment she was thrown from the cart, her scream ripped away in the dust.

  “Mom!” I screamed louder, but I could not even hear my own voice.

  I searched the broken earth, eyes darting, but I did not see Mom or Dad. Just shaking dirt, broken wood, and dust curling like smoke.

  And then I saw it.

  The monster.

  The ground split wider as it moved. Its body was like black rocks grinding together, sparks of light flickering off its scales. Every time it moved the earth trembled so hard my teeth ached in my skull. Its mouth was a circle of knives, shining wet, a pit of hunger. When it roared, the air shoved against me so hard I could not breathe.

  Four figures leapt around it. They carried magic, light, and steel. They cut and cut, but the wounds closed as fast as they opened. The beast only grew angrier. The more they struck, the wilder it became, until it seemed the earth itself would break and the sky would fall with it.

  Its shadow covered everything. It was too big. Too close. Too real. I thought the world was ending.

  Then another came. I had not seen him before. He was simply there, running straight at the monster with white light blazing in his hands.

  The wyrm opened its endless maw. The light from the man's hands shot into its throat.

  Then, white swallowed the world.

  The monster erupted, its body tearing apart like a mountain crumbling. Flesh and stone and dirt shot into the sky. The blast struck me, flinging me back against the earth.

  Rocks cut my skin. Dust scalded my face. My body screamed with greater pain, but no sound left me. My chest heaved, but my breath felt too heavy to hold.

  My eyes blinked, slow and dim.

  Something rolled across the torn earth and stopped beside me. A stone, black as night, smooth as glass, sparkling as though stars had been trapped inside it.

  I did not know why, but my hand reached. My small fingers brushed its surface.

  Darkness closed over me again.

  —

  Cal, I found one!” My voice carried across the broken field.

  I knelt over the small body of a boy, no older than five or six. Dust and blood clung to him, stones scattered across his frame, yet no wound marked him. He looked as though death had passed over him, leaving only its shadow behind.

  Footsteps crunched on stone as Cal came up behind me — our healer.

  He crouched and laid careful hands across the boy. His brows furrowed as he examined him, fingertips pressing gently against ribs, temples, the curve of the neck.

  “Asher, did you find him like this? No open wounds. Yet look — here, here, and here. These are scars from wounds so fresh they should still be bleeding. His body was torn apart, but every injury has closed. Even his ears. The dried blood tells me his eardrums burst, like the others of lower rank caught in the wyrm’s cry. But now… they are whole. As if they were never broken.”

  Cal’s hand drifted to the boy’s arm, turning it carefully in the light. His frown deepened.

  “This, though… this is a foreign sight. Too pale, almost bloodless. See how the color doesn’t match his chest, his face, or even his other limbs? It’s as if the flesh itself were replaced. My best guess is he took a potion — an expensive one, high-tier, something the caravan might have carried for emergencies. That could explain why he lives at all. But the potion would not do this. Scars should flush red before they fade, not blanch white. And a limb that was regrown should show signs of strain, not this strange perfection. Not to speak of the pale pigmentation. It is… unnatural.”

  He let the arm fall gently back to the ground, his expression unsettled.

  I held his words. I had seen men stitched back together by draughts worth more than a village, and I had seen their bodies afterward. The skin never looked like this. Potions mended, but they left a different mark — a tame pink mirroring burnt flesh, and limbs matching the natural skin tone. What I saw now was something else. Whole, yes, but too clean, and the coloring just brought more questions.

  “You’re right,” I murmured. “If this is a potion’s work, it is none that I have ever seen. Whatever spared him, it wasn’t a normal vial from a regular merchant’s chest.”

  My eyes lingered on the boy’s shallow breath. “The only survivors were two guards who chased a runaway horse before the wyrm appeared. This boy is alone and an orphan now.”

  Cal’s lips pressed thin, his thoughts still circling. “We should take him to the capital. The orphanage there will be kinder than leaving him to fend for himself at one on the kingdom’s edge.”

  “Then I’ll carry him back to camp,” I replied. “You can finish the report.”

  I lifted the child into my arms. He was light, far too light, and his head lolled against my shoulder. My chest tightened as I held him. Another orphan, left in the ruins of a life he could never return to. This world often devoured its children.

  We had ridden hard when the oreowls sensed the wyrm, but even at our best speed, we had been too late. The stench of its aether still clung to the air, thick and foul, the kind that lingered only when deep dwarves or dark elves were involved. Their corruption left a taste I would never forget.

  The boy stirred faintly as I neared camp, a fragile twitch that told me life still clung to him. My eyes lingered on his small frame, and in him I caught a glimpse of myself. The look was too familiar…hollow cheeks, restless breaths, a body kept alive by little more than stubbornness.

  Memories I had long buried rose like smoke from an old fire. Harsh voices barking orders. Cold nights that crept into the bones. The dull ache of hunger that never left, gnawing as if it were part of the body itself. I remembered the way we huddled together in the orphanage to keep from freezing, and how silence became safer than speaking.

  I would not let him walk that same road alone. Not if I could help it.

  When I could, I would check in on him. A loaf of bread slipped into waiting hands. A coin or two tucked into his pack. A word of encouragement when the world felt heavier than he could carry. And when he grew older, I would leave him enough gold to stand on his own feet, to begin again with more than I ever had. The guild's long-standing bounty for wyrms would see to that.

  It was the least I could do. And perhaps, in some quiet way, it was a chance to give back what had been denied to me.