The snow was red now. Not just stained — drenched. The once-proud commander of the white bear troop lay slumped against his beast, breath shallow, eyes dimming. The great Sham was gone, but its damage lingered in the stillness.
Shæz was the first to reach him, leaping down from her bear and landing hard, knees in blood-soaked snow.
"Gideon!" she cried, gripping his shoulders, trying to lift him just enough to see his face. His eyes fluttered open, just a crack.
The rest of the troop gathered around in a loose, rattled circle. No one cheered. No one shouted. They knew what this was.
One of Gideon's lieutenants, bloodied but standing, stepped forward and asked with grim resolve, "Commander, do we pursue?"
Gideon coughed, his voice little more than a breath. "No… no need."
He gave a half-laugh that turned into a wince. "That wasn't just a Sham… that was a ghost. A message."
Shæz swallowed hard. "You should have let us bring Zeebal."
Gideon smiled faintly. "Didn't expect anyone to see me like this. Did you?"
"You're not dying," she said firmly, pressing her hands into the wound, not caring about the blood soaking through her gloves. "You're not dying. You don't get to die. Not like this."
"You sound just like him," Gideon whispered.
"Who?"
"My brother," he said. "Dezo… he used to say that. Every time I took a hit. Every time we hunted beyond the wall."
Shæz nodded, holding back tears. "Then live. For him."
Gideon looked up at her, the snow swirling gently around them, and he smiled again, but this time it was heavier — like a man already leaning toward the other side.
"I think I'm done chasing monsters," he said softly. "Maybe now… they'll start chasing me."
"Don't say that," she said, voice cracking.
"You've got fire," he muttered. "Don't lose that. Senedro needs fire."
He looked to his men now, raising his bloodied hand just slightly. "Listen to her… she knows. She sees."
His arm dropped. And for a moment — a full, crushing moment — the world stopped. But then, a pulse. Barely. Faint. Gideon wasn't gone yet.
"Get him on the bear!" Shæz barked. "Now!"
No one hesitated. They lifted him gently, securing him against the beast. Shæz climbed up behind, holding him upright with her arms wrapped tight.
"To Dalab," she shouted. And the bears ran.
The hunt was over. Now, it was a race against death.
High above, the Setrums watched in silence. Their thrones shimmered with spectral light, but there was no peace in their presence — only concern. Senedro was shifting. The once-devout had stopped calling. Fewer prayers reached their ears. Fewer souls looked upward. The world was unraveling at the seams of belief.
"They no longer cry to us for help," murmured Yern, the Seer of Echoes.
"They doubt," added Myra, her pale fingers resting over the pool of vision. "And if belief dies… we fade."
Jessen, the head of the Setrums, stood tall. "Dias. Summon the Night Rider."
Dias nodded and reached out across the void to tug the celestial thread that bound Jim Slevann to Senedro. But nothing came. Again. Still nothing.
Dias looked up, alarmed. "He's blocked. I can't reach him."
The Setrums were stunned.
"No mortal force can block a Setrum call," Myra whispered.
Jessen's gaze hardened. "Unless someone found a way… or something is protecting him. Shielding him."
But they could only watch now — helpless — as chaos spread across Senedro. How could they interfere without someone calling upon them?
Below, white bears thundered over snow-capped plains, Gideon's blood soaking into the fur of his steed. His grip weakened, and his men, loyal to the end, circled around, desperate to save their commander. Shæz held his shoulder as they rode, keeping pressure on the wound, whispering prayers he couldn't hear.
One of the riders leaned toward her, voice tense. "There's no way he'll make it to Dalab in time."
Shæz bit her lip, thinking. Then a young rider said it.
"Deliah."
The men looked at him like he'd cursed.
"Deliah the witch?" one whispered. "The dark woman in the woods?"
"She lives east of the Split Ridge," another added. "You'd have to cross the ghost forest."
"I don't care," Shæz snapped. "If she's the only one who might save him. Do any of you have a better idea?" None did.
"She helped my village once," said a young rider. "Before she was banned. I heard she only takes those she thinks are worth saving."
Shæz looked down at Gideon, pale and slipping.
"Then we better convince her he is." They diverted course.
And high above, the Setrums saw all of it — the choice, the desperation, the turn toward shadow. But they didn't interfere. Couldn't. It was the law of balance. Even when mortals sought dark magic, the divine were bound to silence — unless called upon in faith.
"Myra," Jessen said, softly. "The world turns without us."
"For now," she replied.
As the bears galloped east and daylight thinned behind the Split Ridge, the forest thickened, trees gnarled like clenched fists. In its heart, in a crooked house of bone and bark, Deliah was already awake. She stirred her pot, sniffed the air, and smirked.
"Someone's bringing me a dying man," she said, licking a spoon. "About time."
The air crackled as fate bent. A commander's life now rested in the hands of a banished witch — and Senedro, once sacred and orderly, leaned into chaos.