Gideon, Shæz, and the hunting troop were deep in the frostlands, riding their majestic white bears — beasts bred for strength and obedience. The sky was a steel gray above them, clouds hanging low, the cold biting through even the thickest armor. But this was what Gideon lived for — the thrill of the hunt, the rhythm of the chase, the rush of knowing the unknown might strike at any moment.
Shæz, on the other hand, didn't share the bloodlust. She was adjusting to the adventure, yes — the wind in her face, the way her bear growled softly under her — but hunting wasn't what made her heart race. She preferred knowledge to conquest, strategy to savagery. Still, she rode beside Gideon, watching, learning.
The sensor crystals mounted on their harnesses suddenly flared green — not the usual blue for common threats or red for known Shams. Green meant one thing: unknown. Something new. The light pulsed fast and bright.
"That's not from Senedro," Gideon muttered, eyes narrowing.
"Prepare the Bala!" he barked, and immediately his men dismounted, setting up the net-like trap across the snowy clearing — an ancient device, powered by pulleys, pressure, and precise timing. As they worked quickly, Gideon turned to Shæz, flashing a wry grin.
"Now, watch closely," he said. "This is how we catch Shams."
Shæz adjusted her scarf against the wind, but curiosity danced in her eyes. "May I ask?" she said and Gideon gave a curt nod.
"Why do you hunt?" she asked.
He looked forward for a long moment, his jaw tight, then answered, "Because I was born for this. My brother Dezo and I — we've hunted since we could walk. This land raised us in its teeth. We learned to bite back."
Before she could respond, it came.
Bursting from the frost-covered trees with a scream that could crack bone — the Sham charged. But this was no ordinary one. It was female. They'd never seen a female Sham before. It moved with grace and savagery, a terrifying mix of features — Ozelean musculature, Denefremim scales down its arms, and a single miteon wing dragging like a blade behind it.
"This… is not a defense," Gideon whispered. "It's attacking."
The creature roared and pounced, knocking over one of the white bears like it was a doll, then spun, slashing through armor and flesh with sickening ease. Gideon's warriors tried to rally, swinging swords and launching spears, but it was too fast, too wild. This was not a beast running for its life — this was a creature delivering a message.
"Anchors — FIRE!" Gideon roared.
From higher ground, two riders on bears launched heavy anchor spears attached to energy cords, aiming to tangle the creature. But the Sham was faster. It leapt sideways, somersaulting through the air, dodging the anchors as though it knew what they were before they flew.
"Pull back!" Gideon yelled. "This is survival now!"
He turned to one of his lieutenants. "Get Shæz out of here! Ride! Take her beyond the ridge and don't stop!"
The soldier nodded and swung Shæz up behind him on his bear. As the beast bounded through the snow, Shæz looked back once — the female Sham turning its glowing eyes toward her as if it already knew her name.
Gideon stood his ground, sword drawn, knowing this day wouldn't be written in victory — only survival.
Gideon knew exactly how he wanted to die. Not in bed. Not from disease. But here — on the ice, atop his roaring white bear, heart pounding with the rhythm of a thousand hunts. To die hunting was a kind of pleasure. But watching his men fall around him? That was a pain worse than any wound. This — this was no longer sport. This was sacrifice.
The troop was scattered. Some rode for their lives, the sound of panicked bear roars and clanging metal echoing into the valley. Others, fewer now, stood with him. Shoulder to shoulder. Hunters to the end.
The Sham came fast. A blur of fury, muscle, and ancient rage. Gideon didn't flinch. He rode directly into it, the wind screaming past his ears, sword raised high. The white bear charged like a comet through snow. They clashed.
For a split second, there was silence — and then, agony.
The Sham slashed its jagged nail across Gideon's stomach, slicing deep through armor and flesh. At the same moment, Gideon's blade struck true, cutting into the creature's side — a deep, vicious gash.
The impact flung him from his mount. He hit the ground hard, snow erupting around him. The pain was like fire in his gut. He clutched at his stomach, trying to hold everything in — blood, life, dignity. It was slipping fast.
The Sham staggered but didn't fall. Blood dripped from its side, yet it turned with a chilling calmness, locking eyes on Gideon. No panic. No pain. Just purpose.
From her distant perch, Shæz watched, breath frozen in her lungs. The scene burned itself into her memory: the scattered bodies, the wounded commander, the creature standing victorious. This wasn't war. It was a message. And it was being delivered loud and clear.
The Sham stepped toward Gideon, slowly, deliberately. No rush. No mercy.
Gideon forced himself upright on one elbow, blood soaking the snow beneath him. He met the Sham's eyes, jaw clenched in defiance. If it was going to take him, he'd face it like a hunter.
And then, it spoke. Yes — it spoke.
The voice was rough, layered — like a thousand whispers packed into one.
"You hunt us... like beasts. But you forget... we were the first."
Gideon's eyes widened slightly. Not from fear, but recognition.
"You think the cycle ends with you," it continued. "But you are just the opening wound."
The creature knelt beside him, its breath misting in the cold air.
"Tell your queen," it whispered, "the blood she spills... is calling others."
And with that, it stood — and turned away. Leaving Gideon gasping in the snow, alive, but only just. From the ridge, Shæz's bear stopped. She stared in awe and horror. The Sham didn't chase them. It didn't need to. It had already won.