"You're a bit calmer than I expected," he said.
That got a faint grin. "I've seen worse mornings."
Lindarion nodded once. "How many did you bring?"
"Thirty-seven. Twenty of them combat-fit. We left another twenty-five guarding the road in case this place turns into a trap."
"Desperate," she said. "We've had three villages go dark since last week. No messengers got out. No scry responses."
Lindarion's brow furrowed. "So the city wasn't the only target."
"No. Just the loudest."
Ashwing's tail curled tighter around his neck as he muttered inside the bond. "This is spreading faster than anyone wants to admit."
Rael folded her arms. "What's the plan?"
"Right now? We hold. Heal. Regroup. Command wants to wait until we know more before sending another force."
Lindarion hesitated. "I'm not waiting."
Rael looked at him closely. "I figured."
He didn't offer more.
No point in telling her about Kaelen's trail or the abandoned camp. Not yet. Too many ears around.
Another line of soldiers marched in behind her group, more scattered, a few limping, but armed. One wore the robes of a fire affinity caster. Another had a wind-forged glaive strapped to his back.
Lindarion watched them pass.
Every face was tired. Every boot caked with mud. These weren't the polished knights from court paintings. These were survivors.
And they'd need more than grit to fight what was coming.
Rael followed his gaze. "You think it'll be enough?"
She nodded. "Didn't think so."
By midmorning, the fallback camp had tripled in size. New tents. More medics. Sentries set in tighter rings, bows strung and enchanted bolts ready.
But the dread in the air didn't lift. If anything, it got heavier.
Lindarion sat on a supply crate near the command fire, sipping hot water because that's all they had left. His stomach turned at the smell of burned rations.
Sylric was passed out against a tree a few paces away, a blanket half-draped over his shoulder. Jaren Vell sat across the fire, sharpening a long dagger with a rhythm that never broke. Silent. Focused.
Lindarion hadn't told them yet.
He wasn't sure if it was trust or guilt holding his tongue.
Ashwing nuzzled his neck, more quiet than usual.
"You're doing the broody prince thing again," the dragon said in a whisper only he could hear.
"You've been staring at that same tree for twenty minutes."
Lindarion didn't reply.
Because maybe Ashwing was right.
Maybe he was sulking.
A part of him wanted to sprint into the dark, tear the nest apart, and drag Luneth out by force. Another part knew that was stupid. That it'd get him and everyone else killed.
But sitting here, waiting… felt worse.
The sky rumbled faintly. Not thunder, just distant pressure. A reminder the world hadn't settled yet.
And caught a familiar shape near the supply lines.
Kaelen, standing by the edge of the trail, cloak pulled up against the wind. His eyes met Lindarion's. He gave a small nod, then turned and walked back into the woods.
He didn't say anything to Jaren or Sylric.
He grabbed his coat, adjusted Ashwing around his shoulder, and followed the trail.
Lindarion followed the trail just far enough for the camp's smoke to vanish behind the treeline.
Kaelen was leaning against a low branch, arms crossed. His expression was unreadable. Not blank, just… muted. Like his face hadn't decided how to feel yet.
"You left without saying anything," Lindarion said, stepping off the path.
Kaelen glanced sideways. "Didn't think it was worth making a speech."
"Could've told someone."
"I did." He shrugged a shoulder. "They just weren't you."
Lindarion didn't bite at that. "So?"
Kaelen pushed off the tree. His boots crunched lightly on frost-damp earth as he walked past a patch of dead leaves. "It's gone."
"The whole place. The valley. The stone hall. Everything. I tracked to the edge of where it was—same slope, same tree line—and it's just… forest now. Like someone folded it up and walked off with it."
Lindarion frowned. "That fast?"
Kaelen didn't stop walking, but his voice dropped. "No burn marks. No signs of transport. Just vanished. The trail stops cold."
Ashwing's voice slipped into Lindarion's thoughts. "That's not magic. That's erasure."
Lindarion matched Kaelen's pace as they headed back toward the thinning woods.
"Did you find anything?" he asked. "Anything left behind?"
Kaelen slowed just enough to fish something from his coat pocket. A broken metal shard, flat, palm-sized, shaped like a bent triangle with a faint rune carved across it.
"Part of the doorway," he said. "It didn't vanish clean. This must've been thrown clear."
Lindarion took it gently. The metal hummed faintly in his fingers. Not mana, not heat. Just… pressure.
"This is from the nest?"
Kaelen nodded. "No question."
Lindarion stared at the shard, then exhaled through his nose. "I hate that they're always a step ahead."
They walked back the rest of the way in silence.
The camp had shifted slightly when they returned, new tents being set, a scout group reorganizing near the southern line. A bonfire burned near the middle, and a few soldiers huddled around it, trying to pretend the warmth helped.
Lindarion and Kaelen passed through the outer ring and headed toward the main tent.
Jaren was already waiting by the supply crates, arms crossed, sword sheathed but still in reach.
"You didn't bring back good news," he said without preamble.
Lindarion handed him the shard.
Jaren held it like it might bite him. "What am I looking at?"
"Leftovers," Lindarion said. "The nest's gone."
Jaren stared at the metal, then handed it off to one of his lieutenants. "Great."
Sylric emerged from behind the tent flap, rubbing sleep out of his face with one hand, holding half a biscuit in the other.
He squinted at them. "Gone how?"
"Just gone," Kaelen said. "Nothing left. Not even scorch marks."
Jaren grunted. "So they've got mobility now."
"They've got something," Lindarion said. "And we're behind."
Sylric sighed and bit into the biscuit. "Do we even know what we're looking for anymore?"
"Something with wings and a taste for high-value targets," Lindarion said. "They didn't take Luneth by accident."