Yolti’s breath hadn’t steadied.

She stood frozen in the clearing, staring at the place where the masked figure had vanished. The ground was still scorched, the scent of Riftborn decay thick in the air.

“That move,” she whispered. “That technique… I’ve seen it before.”

Kaelen shook his head, backing up. “It’s not possible.”

“But you saw it,” she said. “You know what I’m saying.”

Kaelen didn’t answer. He just ran.

Yolti followed.

They tore through the trees on foot, pulse still rattling from the attack, hearts louder than the wind. The path ahead twisted, veiled in branches and memory—but they didn’t stop.

Until the bikes.

Kaelen skidded to a halt. The two pulse bikes were resting just beyond the trees, untouched.

“…Did we leave them here?” he asked.

Yolti blinked. “I thought you brought them.”

A long silence.

Kaelen stepped closer, hand hovering near the handles. “He left them for us.”

Yolti’s voice dropped. “So it was him.”

Kaelen mounted without a word. “Let’s find him.”

They rode.

Fast.

The forest blurred around them as the bikes roared to life. Birds scattered overhead, and distant Riftborn howls echoed across the canopy—but they didn’t slow down.

Then—a scream.

Not Yolti. Not Kaelen.

Another village. Another attack.

They crested the ridge and looked down.

Flames. Panic. Pulse flares lighting the air.

And Riftborn.

Dozens of them.

Without thinking, Kaelen leapt from his bike, Veilmark flaring just enough to spark.

Yolti followed, drawing light from her glyph, even if it flickered.

They fought. Slashed. Blocked.

But there were too many.

One Riftborn slammed Kaelen back against a wall. Yolti screamed his name—only to be yanked off her feet.

Everything blurred.

Until it didn’t.

Until a hum returned.

And with it—the flame.