King Ironhide stopped pacing and turned as Hartcrest entered.


    "Elder, you have returned. These two are...?" His deep voice carried cautious weight.


    His gaze swept over Jared and Luther, lingering on the stranger''s calm eyes.


    Thick brows knitted into a wary line.


    Hartcrest ryed the tale in quick, low words the passage through the death range, the ughter of the Five Venerables.


    The bear king listened without a breath wasted.


    When the ount ended, King Ironhide''s eyes widened, ck pupils sharpening.


    "Did you truly kill all five?" he demanded, voice rough as gravel.


    Jared answered with a single steady nod.


    The bear king threw back his head and let out a roar ofughter that shook tent poles.


    Buried inside the soundy both ancient grief and fierce delight.


    "Well done!" he bellowed.


    "Those mangy elders crippled my father; their debt is paid. From this night, Jared, you are brother to King Ironhide. Wherever you need me, fire or flood, I will follow." Around them, beast soldiers thumped chests and growled approval; the beast race never hid gratitude or hatred.


    In that uproar, trust settled over Jared like a warm cloak; the king''s pledge sealed it for every ear inside the tent.


    Jared raised a hand for silence.


    "King Ironhide, tell me the current state of the siege. Is there a path to break it?"


    The bear king''s smile faded; his shoulders sagged beneath unwee reality. "Dire," he admitted. "We have been trapped three months. Stores of grain and pills are nearly gone, wounds fester, and morale sinks by the day."


    He pointed to the rough sand table in the tent''s center.


    "Outside lies the Heavenbound Beastlock Array," he said. "We cannot break out, and the celestials wait, wearing us thin before their final strike."


    King Ironhide clenched his massive fists. Thick ck fur bristled across his shoulders, and for a breath he only ground his fangs.


    "And besides..." The words jammed in his throat, half-snarl, half-sorrow, as though the next truth might shatter what remained of hisposure.


    A tremor rippled along his wounded nk before he forced the rest out.


    "They drag our captured kin to the front lines every single day," he rasped.


    "They y, burn, and break them where we can see, hoping to grind every shred of resolve we have left."


    Jared''s gaze turned to iron. The torchlight edged his eyes, making the gray colder. "Where is the Beast-Quelling Venerable, and where are the Five Beast Kings?"


    Elder Hartcrest replied first, voice low but steady. "The Beast-Quelling Venerable remains at Beast-Quelling Hall Headquarters, three thousand miles from here, holding the core of their formation."


    King Ironhide drew a rough circle on the sand table.


    "Each of the Five Beast Kingsmands an army encircling Skyfiend Gorge," he said. "King Redstinger and King Nightbat are the strongest-both High Immortal Realm Level Seven."


    "The other three stand at the peak of Level Six."


    He tapped five carved tokens into ce. "Redstinger in the east, Nightbat in the west. The remaining three tighten the from the south, the north, and the southeast."


    Jared studied theyout in silence, fingertips hovering above the line that marked the gorge.


    After a breath his hand ttened into a de, a glint of frost in his eyes. "If they''ve split their strength, we strike one segment at a time."


    Elder Hartcrest blinked. "One at a time?" The disbelief slid out before he could restrain it.


    King Ironhide let out a humorlessugh and rubbed the fresh blood seeping through his bandages. "Brother Jared, fewer than twenty thousand of us can still and, and most carry wounds."


    King Ironhide shoved arger marker beside each enemy token.


    "Any single army under those kings numbers over thirty-thousand, fully supplied and


    rested. Breaking out is suicide-much less destroying them one by one."


    Jared let the concern flow past him like wind over stone. A faint curve lifted one corner of his mouth.


    "No legion is necessary. I alone can handle it."


    An uneasy hush spread through the tent. Canvas walls creaked in the night breeze, but no one spoke or even breathed too loudly.


    Elder Hartcrest''s antlered head turned first, eyes wide. King Ironhide followed, the raw question in in both faces.


    King Ironhide''s voice dropped, as if polite doubt might offend a power he didn''t understand. "Brother Jared... that isn''t jest, is it?"


    He forced a chuckle that never reached his eyes. "You caught the Five Venerables by surprise, or separated, perhaps. These kings are surrounded by soldiers. How-"


    Jared raised a palm, slicing the worry clean in two.


    "Just tell me which of those five deserves death most-who has spilled the most of our people''s blood."


    Jared cut him off, voice calm yet edged with unquestionable certainty.


    Ironhide''s ws dug trenches into the wooden edge of the table. "He even devised the Scorpionheart Rending Torment, a horror meant for captured warriors. I would tear his flesh myself if I could."


    King Ironhide''s nostrils red.


    "Redstinger," he growled. "A traitor to the beast race. To curry favor with the celestials, he ughtered three tribes that refused to kneel—children and elders alike."


    "Good. We''ll start with him." Jared nodded, then turned to Luther.


    "Luther, stay here and help King Ironhide hold the defenses. I''ll be back soon."


    "No."


    He waved the protest aside. "Numbers invite notice. Trust me I know the limits." Calm settled over the tent the instant he finished speaking.


    With a final nod to the two beast elders, his figure blurred into a ribbon of gray light. Canvas barely fluttered as he slipped through the entrance and vanished into the moonless gorge.


    Wind rustled what remained of the silence. Elder Hartcrest and King Ironhide met each other''s eyes, unsure whether to hope or fear.


    Ironhide''s voice fell to a whisper not meant for the shadows. "Elder, can he truly aplish this?"


    The old stag weighed the air itself before answering. "Did you feel that force in him? Something ancient, beyond naming. My instincts recoiled, the way prey shudders


    before a stormy shuge


    Perhaps a miracle is finally within reach."


    Ironhide stared at the narrow path Chance had taken, the faintest glimmer of belief flickering in his bear-dark gaze. "For our people''s sake... let it be so."


    Silent ellipsis filled the gorge, stretching long enough for distant torches to fade behind cloud and rock.


    Far from Skyfiend Gorge, Chance skimmed eastward, every heartbeat carrying him leagues away. The high ridges swallowed his silhouette as if he belonged to the night itself.


    He folded every ripple of aura deep inside the core of his being. Chaotic force blurred outline and presence alike; a celestial patrol passed beneath his drifting shadow and never once lifted a spear.


    Three thousand miles melted under that silent glide. A final bound brought him to a wind-sheltered canyon where torches painted the cliff walls crimson and gold.


    Below, the encampment spread like a hive. Tents packed shoulder to shoulder housed at least forty thousand troops-two parts beast auxiliaries, one part celestial guards, all des gleaming in firelight.


    At the heart of th


    the camp rose a


    pavilion too ornate to belong on a battlefield Scar-red scorpion banners pped above it, and


    ringed the entrance. From within came a woman''s muffled sob and a man''s coarseughter.


    dozens of Redstinger Royal et


    Chance released a thread of perception. The moment his awareness touched that


    pavilion it locked on, unerring and cold.


    Inside, a middle-aged man lounged


    in scarlet war armor. A blood-dark


    scorpion tail trailed behind the throne-like chair, twitching in time with his enjoyment. Wine sloshed across the floor where he toasted himself.


    Two fox-tribe girls huddled against him, clothing torn, cheeks wet with tears they


    tried to hide.


    The man was King Redstinger, newly ascended to High Immortal Realm Level Seven and drunk on cruelty.


    The coy plea drifted across the close, stuffy tent. "Great King, have another cup....."


    The young vixen forced the corners of her mouth upward, an expression that quivered under themplight.


    She leaned in, both hands lifting a shallow bronze goblet toward the scorpion king''s


    chest.


    King Redstinger''s lips curled into a greasy grin as he snatched the cup.


    Wine sshed down his throat in one swallow, then he caught the vixen''s chin between thumb and forefinger.


    "Pretty thing, once I wipe out those fools in Skyfiend Gorge, I''ll make you my concubine. You''ll drown in riches."


    Disgust flickered across her pupils before she buried it behind loweredshes.


    She forced a meek nod, afraid even the tent''s torches might betray her true feeling.


    At that instant, an unhurried voice floated through the hot canvas air of the tent.


    "You won''t live long enough to try."


    King Redstinger''s expression went rigid. He shoved the girl aside, sprang upright,


    and raised his scarlet tail; the barbed stinger gleamed like frosted steel.


    "Who?!"


    A gray silhouette stood at the p, arrival unseen, presence undeniable-Jared.


    Hands sped behind his back, he studied King Redstinger with bored detachment,


    as if the scorpion were already a corpse.


    "Guards! Guards!" King Redstinger bellowed, voice cracking the hush. Nothing answered. Beyond the hide walls, the nighty as mute as a graveyard.