Ashwing snarled.
Not a small, decorative growl. A real one. From deep in the chest, coiled with heat and smoke. He stepped in front of Lindarion again, tail slapping the ground hard enough to crack ice.
Lindarion didn't stop him.
'Fine. Be dramatic. One of us has to be.'
The monsters came.
The sound changed first, wind replaced by dragging. Nails on frost. Bones on rock. Low, scraping pulses that shouldn't echo but somehow did. Like the land remembered too much.
The air stank of magic now.
Old magic. Tainted. Not elemental, not divine, not even cursed. Just… wrong. Sour and warm and clinging to the throat like spoiled incense.
Ren cursed again, low. No bite. Just acknowledgment.
Meren whimpered. Louder this time.
Ardan didn't look at him. He just shifted one step forward and braced his stance like the ground was going to argue with him.
Lira flicked her dagger once. Mist slid off the blade like oil in water. Her expression didn't change.
The monsters poured forward.
