Chapter 103: Seeded Shadows
The ride northeast was quiet. No words, only wind and hooves. Trees passed in a blur—tall, skeletal things that rustled without leaves, their branches scratching the sky like claws.
Leon led the way, Mira and Tomas close behind. The ground sloped downward into a valley half-shrouded in mist, and the stench reached them before the ruins did.
Burned wood. Old blood. Something fouler.
They dismounted at the crest of a ridge. Below, the remains of the refugee camp lay strewn in disarray. Tents shredded. Carts overturned. Fires long dead. No birds, no buzz of flies—only stillness.
Mira drew her dagger. Tomas nocked an arrow. Leon signaled them forward.
They moved in tight formation, every step cautious. The moment they entered the camp proper, the air changed. Heavier. Warped.
"Magic was worked here," Mira whispered. "Not just blood. Something ritualistic."
Leon knelt beside one of the ruined tents. Symbols had been carved into the dirt—spirals inside triangles, intersected with claw-like strokes. Not from any known school of sorcery.
Tomas crouched beside a broken wagon. "Bodies are missing. Too clean. Dragged, maybe. Or taken."
Leon straightened. His eyes scanned the camp.
The markings weren’t random.