Page 143 of The First Scar
The wind howled through the overhang, cold and indifferent.
Then Kaelen moved.
"Dump everything that isn't a weapon or water." His voice snapped through the camp. "Bedrolls. Cookware. Anything that slows us down. We move fast and light or we don't move at all."
Brannick was already on his feet, unbuckling a saddlebag. Maxx didn't argue—just started stripping his pack.
Kaelen's eyes found mine in the dark.
"The Hounds don't need rest. We can't outfight them—we outrun them. From here on, we don't stop until we reach the Rupture or they put us in the ground."
Chapter 32
OATH-STONE: ONE DAY LEFT
AMARIA
We didn't stop because we were tired. We stopped because the canyon was the only thing that could hide us.
My thighs gave out on the descent. Loose scree, bad footing—I slid the last twenty feet into the gorge on momentum alone. The moment the ground leveled, my legs locked. Pack straps had worn chafed channels into both shoulders, and the skin beneath had gone.
Kaelen had driven us into the Shatter-Canyon—a jagged gorge of obsidian glass born of an ancient Veil-lash. He claimed the chaotic magic bleeding from the cliffs would scramble our soul-scent, blinding the Hounds for a few precious hours.
It was a reprieve, but it felt like a trap.
Moonlight turned the cliffs into mirrors, reflecting every flicker of our torches, every spark of restless magic in kaleidoscopic, fractured light.
I collapsed against a wall of black glass. The burning in my spine was a constant thrum, a reminder that while we were hiding, the Veil was still breaking.
"Up."
Dreadscale loomed over me.
"I can't," I wheezed. "Kaelen said rest—"
"Kaelen said hide. I say prepare."
He didn't wait. Never did. He grabbed my arm and hauled me onto a narrow obsidian ledge that overhung bottomless dark. His dragon tattoos glowed ember-orange, its scales rippling with restless heat.
"You fused thirty heartbeats at the Flame Gate," he rasped. "Tomorrow we need fifty, or people die."
I laughed. It came out broken—more breath than sound.
"You know, most mentors offer encouragement before the impossible task. 'You can do this.' 'I believe in you.' That sort of thing."
Dreadscale's expression didn't change. "Do you need me to believe in you?"
I thought about it. Longer than I should have.
"No," I said finally. Though it would've been nice.
He studied me for a moment. Whatever he saw made him nod.
"Good. Then stop talking." He gestured to the field of broken shards. "Mend it."
I blinked. "What?"
"The shards. Pull them together. Fuse them while you hold the count." His dark eyes held mine. "Give yourself something to focus on besides the pain. Make the pieces one."
