The gates slammed shut behind them.

  The sound rang out like the crack of a whip—final, absolute.

  Amara inhaled slowly, adjusting the weight of her Auris Threads against her forearms. The familiar golden filaments rested against her skin, quiet for now, their presence a secret only she and Lorina had maneuvered into the loophole of the trial’s rules. No magical enhancements. For anyone else, the Threads would have been exactly that. But for her?

  They were nothing but an extension of her body—a tool, a weapon, a necessity.

  “Nothing so far,” Orin muttered, his broad frame tense as he scanned the horizon. His axe rested loosely in his grip, but Amara didn’t miss the way his fingers flexed against the handle.

  Too still.

  Too quiet.

  But not in a way that was immediately alarming. There were no blood trails. No scattered remains of a team torn apart. Just an unnatural sort of… pause.

  The trial grounds stretched endlessly before them—a labyrinth of shifting terrain. To their left, a ruined outpost half-sunk into the earth, its stone walls clawed by time. To their right, a dense sprawl of blackwood trees, their skeletal branches reaching skyward like the fingers of the damned. A river split the land further ahead, shimmering under the heavy sun. It should have been a beautiful sight. Should have been invigorating.

  Instead, it felt staged.

  Waiting.

  And that was what made Amara’s stomach churn.

  “Guess the first teams cleared most of the obstacles,” Myles mused, voice light, but his golden eyes flicked restlessly from shadow to shadow. “Or maybe the instructors thought we deserved a damn break.”

  Orin snorted. “They’d rather gut themselves with their own blades before making it easier for us.”

  Amara rolled her shoulders, exhaling through her nose. Breathe. Focus. They had ground to cover. If they started imagining threats where there were none, they’d unravel before the trial even began.

  They moved in formation, advancing cautiously across the landscape. Each step was met with nothing but the steady rhythm of their boots against dirt.

  No hidden traps. No ambushes. No sudden assaults.

  Just silence.

  Amara’s skin prickled with something she couldn’t name. Not outright fear. Not yet.

  But something about this felt wrong.

  She should have been relieved. The lack of immediate opposition meant more time to strategize, to assess their surroundings without pressure. It was a gift, wasn’t it?

  So why did it feel like the calm before the fall?

  Myles’ voice cut through the silence. “Don’t tell me this is the whole trial. What’s next? We set up camp? Have a nice little picnic? Maybe discuss our feelings?”

  Lorina shot him a withering glance. “You talk too much.”

  “And you—”

  A sound.

  Faint. Distant.

  But there.

  The entire group stilled, ears straining.

  A low, guttural noise. Somewhere ahead. Somewhere out of sight.

  Orin’s hand tightened on his axe. Myles’ usual smirk disappeared. Lorina tilted her head slightly, listening.

  “Wind?” Myles murmured.

  No.

  Amara’s pulse slammed against her ribs. That wasn’t the wind.

  It was breathing.

  Something was breathing.

  Something massive.

  And they had just stepped into its domain.

  The breath came again.

  Low. Deep. Too deep.

  A sound that slithered beneath the skin, primal and wrong in a way that the mind refused to fully process.

  Amara didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Her instincts screamed—don’t look—but her body betrayed her, her gaze drifting upward, past the jagged stone formations and gnarled branches of the ancient trees.

  And there it was.

  Perched high above, nestled between the rocks, its grotesque form half-obscured by shadow.

  A head tilted at an unnatural angle, lidless eyes reflecting the faint light. Too many eyes. Watching. Calculating.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Its body was wrong. A thing made of patchwork horrors—limbs that didn’t match, flesh pulled too tight over a twisted frame. Its taloned hands gripped the stone, curling and uncurling as if debating when to strike.

  It wasn’t supposed to be here.

  It wasn’t supposed to exist.

  And yet… it did.

  The moment stretched thin, fragile, like a thread pulled too taut.

  Then, the creature moved.

  A blur. A streak of black against the muted colors of the trial grounds.

  It dropped.

  Amara barely had time to suck in a breath before it was on them.

  A yell—Myles. A curse—Orin.

  The impact sent a shockwave through the ground, dirt and debris kicking into the air as the beast landed in their midst, its grotesque form unfurling in full view.

  A body like a skinned animal, sinew and raw muscle visible beneath patches of something that looked like scales. Its maw split open, far too wide, lined with jagged teeth that dripped with something viscous and black.

  It was laughing.

  Or something close to it. A garbled, choking sound, the wheezing of lungs that should not be able to function.

  And then—

  It struck.

  Orin took the first hit.

  The thing moved like lightning, its malformed limbs snapping out in a motion that blurred at the edges. One swipe—one brutal swipe—and Orin’s body was sent flying, smashing into the stone outcrop with a sickening crunch.

  Amara didn’t have time to check if he was still breathing.

  Lorina ducked low, her daggers flashing as she slashed at the creature’s exposed side, aiming for the soft tissue beneath its ribs. The blade connected—and did nothing.

  The wound sealed almost instantly, flesh knitting together as if it had never been touched.

  “Fuck,” Lorina spat.

  Myles was next, darting behind the beast, his twin blades a flurry of silver. He moved fast—faster than most—but not fast enough.

  The creature’s tail—long, serpentine, barbed at the end—lashed out, catching him mid-motion.

  Myles didn’t yell this time. He just hit the ground hard, blood already seeping through his torn tunic.

  Amara couldn’t breathe.

  Move. Godsdamn it, move.

  Her fingers twitched, the Auris Threads responding to her silent call, unspooling in golden arcs around her wrists. Not magic. Not in the way that counted.

  Her weapon. Her only weapon.

  She lunged.

  The Threads lashed out, slicing toward the creature’s neck—only for the thing to shift, twisting unnaturally, avoiding the strike with something dangerously close to intelligence.

  It knew.

  It knew.

  Amara landed hard, skidding across the dirt as she barely managed to avoid the thing’s retaliatory strike.

  Lorina dragged Myles back, their usual effortless teamwork now a desperate scramble to survive.

  Orin wasn’t moving.

  His body slumped where he had landed, blood trailing from a wound near his temple. If he was breathing, it was too shallow for Amara to see.

  Myles swayed where he stood, his usual arrogance stripped raw by the obvious pain of his broken arm. Lorina had dragged him back, her knives steady in her grip, but even she wasn’t hiding the tension locking her shoulders.

  And Amara—

  Her breath came too fast, too sharp. Every instinct she had screamed at her to run.

  But where?

  The creature was too fast. Too strong.

  And it was watching.

  Waiting.

  Don’t think. Move.

  Amara lunged first, the golden arcs of her Auris Threads lashing toward its throat.

  A distraction. A bait. She didn’t need to kill it—just stall it.

  The creature twitched, evading the first strike with that same impossible fluidity. But she had expected that.

  She used it.

  Amara twisted mid-motion, re-directing the threads at the last second, wrapping them around its nearest limb.

  It shrieked. A sound that crawled beneath the skin, too human and too wrong all at once.

  The moment it reared back, Lorina was there.

  “Legs!” Amara barked, already adjusting her position. “Go for the damn legs!”

  Lorina didn’t need to be told twice.

  She ducked low, her daggers slicing against the sinew of its hind limbs—deep enough to stagger it, but not enough to maim. Not enough to keep it down.

  Because nothing could.

  Lorina’s blades were coated in something dark, something that sizzled as it hit the dirt. Her mouth twisted. “Acidic blood?”

  Myles, still half-crouched behind her, gave a breathless, humorless laugh. “Because of course it has that too.”

  The creature lashed out.

  Lorina barely threw herself back in time. Amara felt the wind of it—felt how close that claw had been to severing her clean in half.

  She stumbled, heart hammering against her ribs. Think, damn it.

  They weren’t winning this.

  Not in a fight. Not with brute force.

  But maybe they didn’t need to.

  Her eyes snapped to Orin’s unmoving body, then back to Myles, who was gritting his teeth, his sword still gripped in his good hand.

  “We need to move,” Amara muttered. “We’re too exposed.”

  Lorina’s blade flicked in irritation. “And go where?”

  Amara’s gaze cut toward the ruined outpost a few meters ahead. Not shelter. Not safety. But cover.

  Myles followed her line of sight, lips pressing into a thin line. “You want to run?”

  “I want to get the hell out of the open,” she snapped.

  The creature exhaled—a slow, rattling wheeze, its twisted mouth curling wider, its clawed limbs twitching.

  It was getting ready.

  Amara’s chest tightened. They had seconds, maybe.

  She made the call.

  “You two—take Myles and go!” she ordered. “Get him behind those ruins.”

  Lorina hesitated. “And you?”

  “I’ll drag Orin.”

  Myles coughed, shifting toward Lorina. “Go on. I’m sure she has a plan. It’s probably a terrible one, but still.”

  Amara scowled. “I can leave you here if you want.”

  The creature moved.

  No more waiting. No more watching.

  It lunged.

  Amara yanked her Threads back, whipping them toward its face in a wide arc—not to wound, but to force it to hesitate.

  It did.

  For half a second.

  Enough time for Lorina to grab Myles, hauling him toward the outpost in a blur of motion.

  Enough time for Amara to drop to her knees and drag Orin’s unconscious body toward cover.

  Not enough time to make it before the thing struck again.

  She felt it behind her, that wrong presence bearing down—

  She yanked Orin harder—

  Too slow.

  It was too damn slow.

  Then—

  A blur of movement.

  Not the creature.

  People.

  A group of students darted out from behind the ruins. Not to help.

  To run.

  Amara barely had time to register their faces—fear-stricken, desperate—before they shot past her, weaving between the rubble, trying to slip past the monster while it was distracted.

  The creature snapped.

  Fast. Too fast.

  One of them screamed—

  A single, sharp cry before it was cut off by a wet, crunching sound.

  Amara’s stomach lurched.

  Don’t look.

  Don’t—

  Another scream. Then another.

  Then nothing.

  Only the sound of tearing.

  Only the sound of feeding.

  Amara’s breath hitched. Her grip tightened on Orin, fingers digging into his tactical vest.

  Move.

  Move.

  She forced herself forward, legs shaking beneath her, dragging him step by agonizing step toward Myles and Lorina.

  She could feel the wet heat of blood in the air, smell it, thick and metallic. The sounds—Gods, the sounds—ripping, snapping, flesh giving way—

  She started to turn.

  “Don’t.”

  Lorina’s voice was sharp, commanding.

  Amara froze.

  Lorina didn’t look at her. She was staring ahead, her expression unreadable. But the tightness around her mouth, the faint tremor in her grip—

  “Don’t look back,” Lorina said again.

  Myles, paler than usual, let out a breathless, bitter laugh. “Trust me. You really don’t want to see that.”

  Amara swallowed hard. Her heartbeat hammered in her ears.

  The images came anyway.

  The torn bodies. The open rib cages. The lifeless eyes.

  She squeezed her own shut.

  Then she ran.