The cavern loomed like a gash in the cliffs, its darkness swallowing the frail light of the storm beyond, a jagged maw carved into the small island's rocky hide. Captain Hanna Calico stood at the threshold, her torch spitting sparks into the damp air, her tawny cat fur slick with sea spray, whiskers twitching against the wind's bite. She clutched her tricorn hat, its brim flapping, her green eyes burning with focus on the wall ahead-or what remained of it after the cannon's work. A thunderous boom still rang in her ears, dust and rubble settling around her boots, the scent of gunpowder sharp in her nose. Weeks of chasing whispers across Athena's wild seas had led here-a temple from before the Chaotic Times, a relic of the Before Time-and she wasn't leaving empty-handed.

  Beside her, Gunnie stood steady, the capybara's broad frame dusted with grit, his pipe clenched between his teeth. He puffed once, a low grunt rumbling from his chest as he squinted at the breached wall, then nodded-a silent approval of his own handiwork.

  Hanna smirked, brushing debris from her hat, her claws tapping his thick hide, "Well, Gunnie, you're a damn poet with powder, ain't ya? Blew it wide open. Next time, I'll let you blast the whole mountain to Chaos and save me the trek."

  He grunted again, a faint twitch at his snout-closest he came to a laugh-his dark eyes glinting as he puffed another cloud of smoke, the sweet tang cutting the salt air.

  The crew milled behind them, restless and eager, their voices a low murmur over the storm's howl. Titus Claw loomed near, his grizzly bulk casting a shadow, barking at Gunnie's powder monkeys-a trio of scrappy vermin youths, their rat-like tails flicking as they stowed gear, "Move yer sorry hides, ye little bilge rats-stow it proper or I'll tan ya!"

  Sslsistar slinked along the edges, her reptile scales shimmering as she coiled her whip, her tongue flicking as she eyed the cavern, "Smells like trouble in there," She said, "my kinda stink. Let's crack it open, Captain."

  Maggie Peco bounced on her toes nearby, her squirrel tail bushy with excitement, her chirpy voice cutting through, "Ooh, it's so dark and spooky! Bet it's full of shiny stuff!"

  Hanna's tail lashed, her ears flicking as she raised her torch higher, "Torches up, ye lot," she ordered, "let's see what we've clawed outta this rock."

  The flames hissed, casting jagged shadows as the crew fanned into the cavern-cats, grizzlies, reptiles, a few vermin-all pawing the damp stone. The air thickened, sharp with salt and a strange, metallic tang-not the rot of vermin warrens or the musk of cat halls, but something older, colder, pricking Hanna's whiskers. Step by cautious step, the blackness peeled back, revealing a chamber vast enough to dwarf The Silver Girl. Walls soared, smooth and unnaturally precise, etched with patterns that shimmered faintly-not carvings, but forged, beyond the craft of cat or reptile hands. Pillars twisted upward, rusted metal instead of stone, pitted with age and secrets. Hanna's gut tightened, her voice low, "This ain't no temple I know," She said, "too damn wrong."

  Titus lumbered up, his grizzly paws clutching a torch, his snout wrinkling as he sniffed the air.

  "Sweet bloody hells, Captain, He said, "this ain't no shrine to Order. Looks like Strength took a swing and missed, then left it to rust instead."

  Sslsistar hissed, her scales rippling to match the walls' dull sheen, her whip swaying, "Buried deep, more like," she said, "smells like secrets waitin' to bite. Reckon we've poked somethin' big?"

  Cornell Plume strutted forward, his parakeet feathers pristine despite the dust, spectacles glinting as he adjusted them with a flourish, tucking a scroll under one of his arms.

  "Fascinating, truly fascinating," he mused, his high-class drawl cutting through the damp like a scholar's quill scratching parchment. "These markings... they predate the God War, possibly the Before Time itself," he gawked, "a marvel of lost craft, beyond what cats or dogs could dream, let alone those thieving vermin or us learned birds."

  Hanna claws tapping her cutlass hilt, but she nodded at a slab of wall scratched with sharp, angular runes, "Cut the poetry, Cornell," she said, "read it, ye fancy beak. Tell me what we've cracked open, and make it quick."

  He stepped closer, torchlight dancing off his beak as he traced the text with a claw, his scaly legs shifting as he muttered to himself. The crew pressed in, breaths shallow-Maggie humming softly, Titus growling low, Sslsistar's tongue flicking, Gunnie puffing smoke in silence. Even the vermin stilled, their thief's instincts piqued.

  Cornell's eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to a hushed reverence, "It's a prophecy, Captain, "he said, "old as the bones of Chaos himself. 'In the twilight of the 3rd Age, when war devours the races and the gods falter, a stranger shall breach the veil. Through the storm of light, they shall herald the new age-or its unmaking.'"

  Hanna's spine chilled, her tail stiffening, "Stranger?" her voice a low hiss, "Sounds like a headache with claws-don't need no cryptic trouble."

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Titus rumbled, flashing teeth that gleamed in the torchlight, "Or a hoard with teeth," he growled, "might be worth the fight. Keep goin', bird."

  Cornell sniffed, feathers ruffling as if offended, but pressed on, his claw tracing further.

  "'The pulse of the ancients shall awaken, and the world shall quake.' That's where it ends-the rest is worn to dust, lost to time's gnawing."

  Sslsistar snorted, crossing her arms with a hiss, "Pulse of the ancients? What's that, some dead priest's drivel-or a trap waitin' to snap?"

  Maggie piped up, her squirrel eyes wide, bouncing on her heel, "Ooh, maybe it's a treasure hum! Somethin' big and shiny-bet it's right over here!"

  She scampered ahead, torch bobbing, and stopped by a hulking shape in the chamber's core-a mass of metal and glass, taller than The Silver Girl's mast, studded with dull, winking lights. One pulsed red, slow and steady, like a heartbeat in the dark. She tilted her head, her voice chirpy, "It's so shiny!' she said excitedly, "Wonder what it does-maybe it sings when ya touch it?"

  Hanna's ears flattened, her claws flexing as she stepped forward, "Maggie, don't you dare-"

  Too late-the squirrel's paw pressed the light, her Castor instincts humming. A deep rumble shuddered through the stone, the machine roaring awake, gears screeching, metal whining as the floor trembled beneath their boots.

  "Oopsie!" Maggie yelped, leaping back, her tail puffing like a startled brush, her voice a squeak. "I didn't mean it, she cried out, "it just looked so pretty and tingly!"

  The crew staggered, torches flickering-Titus roared, grabbing her scruff as she flailed.

  "What in Chaos's name did ya do, ye daft nut?!"

  "It was an accident!" she wailed, her cheer drowning in panic. "I thought it'd be fun!"

  Hanna barked, clawing forward against the rising wind, "Shut it down-now!"

  But there was no stopping it-the machine, a massive ring of steel and crystal, edges jagged with age, spun faster, blurring into a cyclone. Wind shrieked through the chamber, ripping at Hanna's hat, snuffing half the flames, shadows writhing like spirits. Sslsistar hissed,"Damn squirrel's gonna kill us all!"

  A light flared in the blur-not fire, but raw, alive, glowing just above the floor. It pulsed once, twice, then detonated-a bubble of energy blasted outward, slamming the crew off their feet. Hanna crashed onto her back, torch skittering across stone as the air punched from her lungs, her cutlass clattering free. The bubble shimmered, iridescent and impossible, then snapped inward with a bone-rattling crack.

  When the dust settled, a heap of wreckage lay where the light had been-a splintered desk leaking ink, a chair with a broken leg, a battered case with strings poking out, a tangle of papers and glass vials strewn like a storm's leavings. In the center sprawled a creature, unconscious, blood matting its dark hair, its bare, pinkish hide streaked with grime-no fur, no scales, no claws.

  The crew gaped, torches trembling. Hanna scrambled up, claws bared, voice a hiss, "What in the hells is that thing?"

  Maggie, dangling from Titus's paw, gasped, her squirrel voice trembling, "Oh no, oh no," she cried, "I'm so sorry, Captain! I didn't mean to summon a-a whatever-that-is! It just happened!"

  Sslsistar snapped, hauling herself up, scales flashing emerald, "Summon? You turned on a damned wind-trap, ya daft nut-not a spell!"

  Gunnie lumbered over, pipe smoldering, and prodded the creature with a boot, grunting low, "Breathin'. Out cold."

  Cornell adjusted his spectacles, stepping closer, his parakeet voice laced with scholarly awe.

  "Extraordinary," he said, "truly extraordinary. No claws, no beak, no fur or scales... could this be the 'stranger' from the prophecy, Captain?"

  Hanna whirled on him, her tail stiff, "Stow that rot, Plume," she ordered, "it's a freak, not a fairy tale. Look at it-no tail, no muzzle, just that smooth, alien hide. Ain't no cat, dog, grizzly, reptile, bird, or vermin I've ever seen-beyond Athena, beyond sense."

  Titus sniffed it, snout wrinkling, his grizzly growl low, "Smells weird," he said, "soft, too. Like it ain't built for a scrap. What's it doin' here?"

  Sslsistar coiled her whip, sneering, "Great," she mumbled, "a useless lump. What're we s'posed to do with it, Captain? Bait?"

  The ground shuddered again, a deep groan rolling through, cracks splitting the walls, dust raining like ash. Hanna's ears pinned back, her voice cutting through, "Move, ye lot! Grab what ya can-relics, scraps, that thing. We're not waitin' to see what else this pit spits out!"

  The crew sprang into action, spurred by the trembling stone and Maggie's wide-eyed panic. Titus slung the creature over his shoulder, grunting, "Heavy for a softie."

  Maggie darted around, snatching the broken chair and glass bits, her apologies a frantic stream, "Sorry, sorry, so sorry!"

  Sslsistar hauled the desk, its contents spilling-papers, a cracked mug, strange metal tools-hissing, "Damn squirrel's muckin' us all!"

  Gunnie grabbed the stringed case and a bag of bottles, his monkeys-vermin thieves-scooping quills, bandages, and odd gear, their paws quick and sly. Cornell tucked his scroll, muttering, "Astonishing-must document this!"

  Hanna lingered, staring at the wreckage. The machine had stilled, its light dead, but the air thrummed-a weight, a tether tightening around her freedom. She'd clawed her way out of chains once; this felt like new ones snapping shut. She spat into the dust, snarling, "Let's go-now!"

  They burst from the cavern as the ceiling gave way, stone and steel crashing in a deafening roar that swallowed the mountain's peak. The island's shore held, cliffs defiant against the storm, but the temple was buried, a smoking grave. The Silver Girl, a good-sized frigate that ran the colors of black with a silver cat skull with a red rose and a sword crossed behind it, bobbed ahead, a silver streak in the chaos. Hanna yelled, "To the ship, ye laggards!"

  Far below, miles from that doomed mountain, the ocean churned. A shadow breached the murky depths-a ship, hull rotted to splinters, black sails tattered and dripping. At the helm stood a Draco-Lich, its dragon like skeletal form cloaked in decay, eyeless sockets aglow with cold fire. Undead Athenians shuffled around it-cats with fleshless grins, grizzlies with cracked skulls, birds with broken wings-their bones rattling as the vessel rose. The Lich turned its skull toward The Silver Girl, cutting through the storm, a silent will pulsing through its rotting ranks.

  The hunt was on.