The rain was falling harder now. Heavy, icy drops crashed against the broken stones. The square where Gaël and Brann had been training for days now resembled a silent battlefield, the ground turned into dark mud etched with blade marks, shattered rock, and scattered rubble.
Gaël, panting, leaned on the guard of his sword, which was buried in the soaked earth. His muscles still trembled from the strain. His arms, his legs, his entire body protested. Yet his eyes remained locked on Brann, standing a few meters away, perfectly still, his cloak billowing in rhythm with the wind.
Something... had changed. It wasn't the teacher standing there anymore. It was the swordbrother. The beast-slayer. The man the rumors called the Umbra Drinker.
"Stay sharp," Brann murmured, eyes fixed on the surrounding shadows.
Gaël frowned. His breath slowed, but his heart... his heart began to race once more. There was nothing now but the rain. The wind. And that silence. Too deep. Too unnatural.
Then he felt it.
No sound. No movement. But a pressure. Something… pressed on the air. As if the very atmosphere thickened. The instinct he had only just begun to understand, the sense of intent, burst through his mind like a blaring bell.
'Something's coming. Something that wants to feed…'
Brann drew his sword. No speech. No warning. The sound of steel leaving its sheath rang out, clear, pure... and terrifyingly final.
The first shapes emerged from the fog. Hunched silhouettes. Twisted limbs. Bodies stretched far beyond their natural proportions. Their eyes, narrow slits of sickly light, pierced the darkness. The Infested. But not like the ones before. These were taller. Faster. Hungrier. Their claws scraped across the stone, the screeching sound distorted by the ruins around them.
Not Infested, Gaël realized. Altered.
A shiver of panic crawled up his spine. 'How many? Five... no, six… no... more.' The shadows kept multiplying. Dozens.
Brann clicked his tongue, looking more annoyed than alarmed.
"Tch... Bad timing."
"What the..." Gaël started.
"Run." Brann's voice cracked like thunder. "Move your damn legs or die here."
Gaël didn't wait for a second order. He yanked his sword free from the earth, dragging it behind him as he sprinted away.
'Why are we running? If it's just Altered, he would've fought. Brann can cut through them like wheat. So why...?'
His boots splashed through the mud. Behind him, the creatures let out guttural cries, half-roars, half-hisses, that clawed at his brain like nails. Heavy footsteps slammed against the stone behind him. Too close. Too fast.
A shape burst out on his left.
Instinctively, Gaël spun, swinging his blade. A clumsy strike, but enough to rip a screech from the creature as it crashed against a wall. He didn't pause to savor the moment.
'Move. Move. Move!'
Brann was running beside him, his strides long and effortless. His sword sliced the air at regular intervals, each sweep cleaving through any creature that dared try to close in. Chunks of blackened flesh flew and disintegrated before even hitting the ground.
"This way!" Brann shouted.
They veered right, diving into a narrow alley where the walls oozed with dampness. Rubble blocked their path, but Brann vaulted over it, grabbing onto a collapsed beam. Gaël followed just in time, slipping, nearly losing his footing. Behind them, the Infested charged into the alley. Too many. Too fast.
A deeper howl rose. Louder. Heavier.
Gaël glanced back, and saw it.
A massive figure tore through the mist. Towering as tall as ten men, its arms were curved like blades, its body sheathed in bone-plated armor. And its eyes, by the gods. Two burning pits, pure, seething hatred.
Brann growled."Greater Hollowborn... Of course it had to be one of those!"
Gaël's stomach twisted. 'A greater Hollowborn?!' His grip tightened on his weapon. He wanted to turn. To fight. But Brann grabbed him by the collar and shoved him forward.
"Not now! Move, you idiot!"
They burst into a secondary square. Brann suddenly veered left and stopped in front of a crumbled section of wall, partially buried under debris. He swept his hand across the surface, revealing a circle etched into the stone, ancient symbols, worn but still legible.
"Cover me."
Gaël, gasping for breath, positioned himself in front of Brann, raising his trembling blade. He saw the creatures rounding the corner. Only a handful of seconds left.
'I have to hold them off.'
The first one leapt. Gaël swung. A shriek. A stumble back. But more were coming. His arms screamed. His vision blurred. 'Hold...'
Then... CLACK.
The stone groaned and split. A section of the wall slid open, revealing a dark, yawning passage.
"In!" barked Brann.
Gaël dove through. Brann followed last, sweeping the creatures away in a wide arc before slipping inside. With a sharp tug, he yanked on a hidden chain. The stone slid shut just as claws scraped against the edge, sealing the passage with a grinding thud. Fists pounded from the other side, followed by howls of fury.
Gaël then saw it, a pulse of shadow enveloped Brann, twisting his features into a terrifying snarl. A wave of darkness rippled out from him, bursting like a bubble and coating the stone where the door had just closed in a veil of shifting black.
And then... silence.
Gaël collapsed to the floor, chest heaving, back pressed to the cold wall. His heart hammered, ready to explode. Sweat and rain trickled down his skin, indistinguishable now.
"With that, they won't smell us anymore," Brann rasped.
Gaël nodded, still catching his breath.
He looked up.
They were in a cave, an underground chamber carved into stone, dimly lit by faintly glowing crystals embedded in the walls. Shelves sagged under the weight of old scrolls, dusty vials, and weapons arranged with obsessive care. A stone table stood at the center, cluttered with maps, scribbled notes, and strange objects Gaël couldn't even begin to identify.
Brann stepped toward the table, resting his hands on its edge.
"Welcome to one of my stashes." He turned to Gaël, his gaze hard, with a glimmer of madness, something black and creeping deep behind his eyes. He gave a quick shake of his head, as if to drive out some inner demon, then continued:
"When you spend enough time on the road, you learn to dig holes to hide in."
Gaël let out a nervous chuckle, still winded.
Brann stepped aside, grabbed a flask from the table, and tossed it his way.
"Drink. Won't kill the fear, but it'll warm your guts."
Gaël caught the flask mid-air. His hands were still trembling. But as he looked up at the warrior, he saw something else. Behind the shadow. Behind the mask.
Not a teacher. Not just a warrior.
A man. Tired. But still walking.
He took a sip. Then another.
A satisfied burp escaped him, earning a grunt of approval from Brann. Seeing the questions dancing in Gaël's eyes, Brann spoke:
"You're allowed to talk now."
"But I haven't earned it yet," Gaël replied.
"Screw the rules, they're made to be broken! You've earned it now."
"The… greater Hollowborn, won't it find us?"
"Contrary to popular belief, this one is blind. Tracks by scent alone. I cloaked us in an Umbra veil. Its minions are dumb. Once they realize they can't break in, they'll go find something else to play with."
"You sound like you know it."
"I use it as a guard dog for this stash. Blind as it is, it's damn strong for an Hollowborn."
"As a guard."
"Doesn't ask for pay, either."
"…"
"Anyway, I thought it'd be patrolling farther out. Didn't expect it to show up this soon."
"We'll hit the road again tomorrow."
Gaël let out a long sigh, but he was relieved. No more stone-cutting for the day.
He dropped onto a cot that felt, in that moment, like a gift from the gods. There were several others in the room, as if Brann had always planned for possible company.
Before he even realized it, Gaël drifted off, asleep almost instantly, wiped out by the last few days of relentless training.