The forest was quiet now, save for the slow, deliberate thudding of Stonegrip's footsteps. His clawed paws left deep impressions in the damp soil. Beside him, Ashwing hovered, her wings barely making a sound, her breath steaming in the cold morning air. Barkhide, the thick-plated forest boar, snorted as he trudged alongside Jumong, keeping his snout low to the ground, sniffing out danger or food.
Jumong adjusted the leather strap around his chest, tightening the quiver snug against his back. His bow, worn but polished, rested easily in his hand. His fingers were calloused, stained with oil and sap from maintenance and fletching. It had been three days since the battle against the Graveback Warden, and though his wounds had closed, they ached with a dull sting, especially in the cold.
He scanned the woodland path ahead. The Embertrail. A name whispered among adventurers as a proving ground. It led deeper into the Verdant Reaches and passed through ancient ruins long lost to the Empire. The trail was known for its strange natural fires—pockets of everburning flame fueled by something deeper in the stone. It was also said to be a place where spirits lingered.
"We're heading into haunted ground," Jumong muttered.
Stonegrip let out a low, rumbling growl—not of fear, but recognition.
Ashwing flicked her wings, then landed briefly on Jumong's shoulder. Her gaze drifted ahead.
"Class Index said Embertrail has Tier C+ to B-class threats," Jumong whispered, mostly to himself. "That means we can't drop our guard."
Barkhide grunted and kicked aside a fallen log. Underneath, something clicked.
"Trap!" Jumong shouted, diving backward.
The mechanism snapped shut, missing Barkhide by inches. The boar snarled.
"Someone's laying traps," Jumong muttered, kneeling to examine the mechanism. Old iron. Dwarven make. Not Goblin work.
Suddenly, from the trees, a voice called out.
"You there. Not many venture Embertrail this season."
Jumong stood slowly, eyes sharp.
A lone figure emerged, a tall woman in black and gray leathers, with a rust-colored scarf around her neck. A bow was slung over her shoulder, and a long hunting knife hung at her hip.
"I mean no harm," she said. "Name's Kaelrin. I'm a Watcher of the Embertrail."
Jumong relaxed, but only slightly.
"I don't know that title."
"Most don't. We keep the trail passable. Clear traps, fend off worst of the wildlife, watch for the old things that still burn."
Kaelrin's gaze passed over Jumong's beasts, eyes narrowing at Stonegrip.
"You tamed that ? And the other two?"
Jumong nodded.
"You're a solo Hunter?" she asked.
"For now."
She chuckled. "You're either reckless or skilled. Let's find out. Come."
She turned and walked off the path.
Jumong looked at his beasts. Ashwing took flight to scout. Stonegrip lumbered forward protectively. Barkhide snorted and followed.
They trailed Kaelrin into a shallow ravine lit by strange blue embers scattered along the stone.
"This is a Spirit Patch," she explained. "They say this is where one of the Flamebearer relics exploded, centuries ago. The rock remembers."
Jumong knelt, touching one of the blue flames. It didn't burn, but it pulsed, and for a brief second he saw an image—a knight in scorched armor, standing against a horde.
He pulled back.
"This trail... It's more than just monsters, isn't it?"
Kaelrin nodded. "It shows you. It changes you. You survive Embertrail, you come out stronger—or you don't come out at all."
Jumong felt the weight of that.
As night approached, they made camp near a ridge. Kaelrin shared smoked meat and a map etched with paths, ruins, and danger zones. She pointed to a marked cavern.
"There's a B-class den here. Emberfang Drakes. Territorial. Fire-blooded. You and your team might be able to handle one or two."
Jumong studied the map. "Then that's where we go."
Kaelrin looked at him long. "You've got death in your eyes, Hunter. Just make sure it doesn't catch you first."
The morning fog clung to the charred treeline, dense and cold, muffling the sounds of the Embertrail beyond. Jumong crouched beside a scorched boulder, his fingers trailing the cracked surface. The land was still warm here, a faint thrum of residual energy pulsing beneath the soil.
Stonegrip sniffed the air, his thick gray hide twitching. Beside him, Barkhide stamped his hooves with impatience, his tusks chipping the blackened rocks. Ashwing circled overhead, releasing a series of sharp, shrill cries that echoed faintly over the ruined forest. The wilds were quiet, and that made Jumong uneasy.
"No fresh tracks," Jumong muttered, rising. "But the heat lingers. Something passed through here not long ago."
Stonegrip huffed, his jaw twitching as he rumbled low in his throat—a deep, gravelly sound like rolling boulders. Barkhide grunted in agreement, his breath misting from his snout.
Jumong patted Stonegrip's flank and turned toward the narrow canyon ahead. The cleft in the scorched hillside loomed like a gaping wound, lined with soot-stained stone and flickering veins of old emberglass. The trail into the Drake's Maw—a deep cavern system once known to house fire-blooded beasts—was unmarked and treacherous.
"We'll take it slow," he whispered, mostly to himself.
As they descended, the light faded quickly. Emberglass veins on the cavern walls pulsed faintly, giving the tunnel an eerie red hue. Jumong held a flint-lit torch in one hand, his bow strapped across his back, while his beasts flanked him, alert.
Hunter's Beastiary and Class Index
Drakekind (Lesser): Class B
Cavern Leech: Class C-
Ash Serpent: Class B-
Embermaw Wyrmling: Class A- (if encountered, flee unless support arrives)
A high-pitched screech broke the silence. Ashwing's wings flared. Jumong ducked, barely dodging a blur of motion—a Cavern Leech, flinging itself from a rocky shelf above.
"Stonegrip, block!"
The great beast moved like a landslide, his massive body shielding Jumong as the leech bounced off his armored hide. Barkhide gored another with his tusks, slamming it against the wall. Ashwing dove in a blur of silver feathers, tearing at the writhing creatures.
Jumong loosed an arrow. It sang true, skewering a leech mid-lunge.
They pressed deeper.
The air shimmered with heat. Pools of molten stone glowed in craters along the cavern floor. Stonegrip slowed, pawing the ground nervously.
From a distant pit came a tremor—a low, guttural exhale. Jumong's stomach tightened.
"Something's there," he whispered. "And it's big."
Before they could advance, Barkhide froze. His ears twitched. Then a voice rang out—not words, but a deep, primal growl layered with meaning.
"Rr'haka vor'duun..."
Ashwing landed beside Jumong, feathers puffed. She replied in a sharp series of clicks.
"You understood that?" Jumong asked.
She nodded once.
Translation was unclear, but one word stood out:
Intruders.