The Rebirth Of The Beast Tamer

The battlefield smells of burnt necrotic ash. Green veins of shattered Veil traps that pulsed faintly, with their light twitching like the last breaths of a dying lantern.

The Crest stood ragged with their breath harsh and shoulders slumped, but it was not the exhaustion of bodies that weighed heaviest, it was the exhaustion of minds.

The visions kept lingering like claws at the edge of their consciousness. Kelvin's eyes drifted, and ran to the memory that had nearly broken him: his parents was reaching for him across fire and rubble.

Even now, with the snare that was destroyed, the echo lingered while whispering guilt in the center of his heartbeat.

He dug his gauntleted fingers into the soil. Xerion's growl rumbled through his chest like a second heartbeat. The beast's mane of burning shadow flared, and its voice struck into Kelvin's mind with a force that cut clean through the lingering doubt.

You do not look back, Xerion snarled. The dead are ash and you burn for the living. Kelvin's lips trembled before it became firm.

He reached up, gripping the beast's muzzle and grounded himself in the heat that seared his palms. "I know," he whispered though his was voice cracking. "I know. And I will never break again.

Lyra stood apart, knees shaking, her bow trembled in her grip. Her sister's death cry still rang in her skull, looping endlessly, a blade that refused to dull.

She could almost hear her sister's voice pleading, shattering and the memory had nearly cost her arrow aim during the fight.

Then a low hum brushed across her skin. The silvered antlers of Sylven, her stag companion, gleamed faintly. The beast pressed its forehead to hers, antlers sparking with soft light.

"You don't understand," Lyra choked with tears streaming despite herself. "I was there and I failed her. She is gone because of me."

Sylven's breath huffed out, gentle but insistent. No failure. No chains. Only the path was forward. The stag's mental voice rang like bells, they were both mournful and resolute. If you break, I fall with you. Anchor to me, as I anchor to you.

Lyra's bow stopped shaking. She exhaled, and for the first time since the visions had clawed at her, her gaze was steadied. "Then we move together and always forward."

Darius clenched his axe so tightly as his knuckles split. Ironholt's flames roared in his mind, with the screams of its walls falling, the endless surge of corpses that he had not been strong enough to stem. His chest ached with remembered failure, the kind that no victory could erase.

At his side, Brutus, the iron-furred direwolf, bared his fangs. The wolf slammed its massive paw against the earth, shaking soil loose and its growl was reverberating like a drumbeat.

Weakness is rot, Brutus mentioned in his thought speech. And rot spreads if fed. Bite it, tear it out and replace it with fury.

Darius let out a ragged laugh, a sound that is more desperate than the amused. "Fury, huh? That I can do." He slammed his axe against his breastplate, the clang kept ringing defiance.

"Ironholt is gone. But I am not and by the gods, I will make them choke on every name I have buried."

The Crest slowly drew together and followed by their beasts' roars, anchored by their bonds that is stronger than any vision that could be twisted.

Salaris flared her shadow-feathers, scattering the last remnants of necrotic vines clinging to the battlefield. Her falcon was familiar, obsidian-plumed that is circled overhead with a shriek that cut across the plains.

Kelvin rose, the fire in his chest matching the fire in Xerion's mane. He looked at his companions, at their beasts still bristling and snarling and alive despite the traps' cruelty.

"They want us fractured," Kelvin said, with his voice steady now. "They want us doubting. But look at us we are still standing and still breathing. That is all that matters."

Lyra lowered her bow with her shoulders finally unclenching. Darius grunted in agreement, Brutus snarled at his side. Salaris flicked her feathers while smirking through the exhaustion.

Together, they stood tall. Not broken, not bent but anchored in so much strength and the might of their abilities and it was in that moment that the snares' remnants began to crack with their shattered runes spilling the faint glow of a relic.

The soil quivered where the last rune-pillar collapsed. Beneath it, it was half buried in ash and bone, a shard pulsed with a sickly but mesmerizing light that was a Veilstone.

Its glow rippled like water while bending the air around it. Tendrils of mist stretched and curled, as though the stone breathed with a rhythm that was all its own.

Kelvin crouched near it, wary. Xerion growled with flames licking the edges of its shadowed mane. "This… feels wrong," Kelvin muttered. "Like it wants to bite us."

Salaris narrowed her eyes, with its feathers bristling as she scanned its etchings. "It is more than just a shard. Look at the cuts, these runes are fresh. Cultist sigils. Vark's zealots left this behind, either as bait or as an anchor."

Lyra stepped closer with her stag's glow pushing against the stone's aura. The Veilstone hissed faintly in response. "It is resonating and feeding into the beasts. Can you feel it?"

She was right. The Crest's weapons and companions all hummed faintly. Kelvin felt Xerion's flames swell sharper, hungrier. Darius's axe vibrated in his grip while Salaris's feathers became darkened further and shadows lengthening like talons.

"This is dangerous," Darius rumbled. "But it is power and if it can strengthen us, we would be fools to leave it for the cult."

Kelvin hesitated, he was torn between caution and the gnawing need for an edge. Xerion's voice slides into his mind like a blade. Take it and if they would use it, we must claim it first. Power denied is power wasted.

Kelvin reached forward. The Veilstone's glow flared, and for a moment it felt as though the Hollow itself was watching. But his grip was closed around it, and instead of searing him, the stone's pulse bled into his veins. His vision flashed with green fire and then became steadied.

He gasped, clutching it tighter. "It is… not consuming. It is binding." Salaris stepped closer, with its eyes narrowing. "Binding to you. Which means it's linked and it means the cult is not far.

They must have set these snares days ago." She gestured to the sigils etched freshly into the fallen runes. "Vark's trail is ahead of us and closer than we thought."

The air was thick and the winds picked up across the plains, and clouds churned as though the Hollow exhaled. The Veilstone hummed, its glow flickered with promise and danger alike.

Kelvin rose, holding the relic high. Around him, the Crest's beasts roared with flame, fang, antler, feather and the sound that rolled across the battlefield like a vow.

"Then we will hunt them," Kelvin said with his voice carrying strength. "No more delays. No more snares. Vark is only days ahead and we will break his zealots apart before he can set the Hollow fully ablaze."

Lightning moved across the sky, thunder following in a roar that seemed to come from the Hollow itself. The storm gathered, heavy and alive. The relic pulsed once more, a heartbeat in his hand.

And the Crest knew that they were not just chasing the cult anymore. The Hollow was stirring, breathing and watching. The hunt had only just begun.

The first crack of thunder split the sky so violently that it rattled the plains. Clouds swirled in a black spiral above the Crest, with their depths lit with flashes of pale-green lightning that looked less like natural storm-fire and more like veins throbbing across a wounded sky.

Kelvin still gripped the Veilstone, with its pulse been quickened in his hand, while synchronizing with the storm's rhythm.

Xerion snarled beside him, mane of shadow-flame was bristling, sensing what Kelvin had yet to admit aloud: the relic was not just humming but it was calling.

Salaris's feathers flared, with shadows trembling as she narrowed her eyes at the horizon. "We have triggered it. Whatever beacon the cult planted, the relic's completed the circuit."

"Meaning?" Darius demanded, his axe was raised though his knuckles were raw. "Meaning the Hollow is listening." Her tone was sharp, almost a hiss. "And it is answering."

The plains themselves began to tremble. The ground split in jagged lines with dirt shattered as blackened stones pushed upward with remnants of forgotten shrines long buried beneath time and ash. One by one, their cracked surfaces flared with the same green glow of the relic.

From those shrines, corpses clawed free. But these were not the shambles, half-rotten undead of earlier snares. Their bodies were carved with rune etchings, bones that were blackened as if they were charred from within.

Shards of Veilstone jutted from their spines and chests, pulsing in unison with the relic Kelvin carried. Lyra staggered back, her stag bristled, silver sparks firing off its antlers. "They are tethered to it! And the relic is pulling them from their graves!"she cried.