The following morning, golden rays of sunlight slipped across Marozel Village, unimpeded by fog, bathing the thatched roofs and quiet paths in a clear, radiant glow. Yet that brightness did little to mask the simmering anger etched into the face of the rustic man as he handed over the loaded cart to Echo Shadow. His scowl said more than words ever could. Echo Shadow returned the gesture with a cold, detached smile and turned his sharp gaze to the two horses harnessed to the wagon. These were no overworked village nags—they bore the look of trained warhorses: lean, powerful, and tense, their muscles coiled like drawn wires beneath glossy coats.

As the wheels rolled forward, the village slowly shrank behind him, swallowed by the rising sun and the hum of insects. By midday, he approached a place known to many as the Convergence Path—a treacherous passage where the western and eastern forests met in an uneasy embrace. The route stretched for nearly a kilometer through a narrow corridor choked with towering trees, their interwoven branches forming a living tunnel that shut out most of the sky. It was a natural trap, a place that made even the most hardened travelers quicken their pace.

Echo Shadow pulled his horse to a halt just before the entrance. Silence reigned. He dismounted with a smooth, practiced motion and tied the wagon's horses to his own steed. Then he climbed onto it again and leaned close, whispering into its ear as his fingers moved gently across its neck:

"We must cross quickly, Bee. The forest is no place for a slow cart."

This mission was supposed to be simple—escort the cart, fend off any wandering Kheis beasts, and reach the next outpost by nightfall. But simplicity was a lie the forest never respected. The trees here were old and deep-rooted, and their shadows bred creatures far worse than the wild Kheis. In lands like these, it wasn't a question of if danger would come—it was when. One misstep, one unlucky minute, and a forgotten monster might rise from the underbrush.

With a flick of the reins, he moved forward—not recklessly, but with cold precision. He drove the horses harder, pushing them as fast as the narrow trail allowed. His eyes roamed left and right, scanning every twitch of the undergrowth, every shift in the leaves above. His right hand never left the hilt of his sword; his grip around it tightened with each passing second. His entire body was a coiled spring—balanced, waiting, sensing.

Sunlight pierced the canopy in scattered beams, but even that light could not chase away the weight in the air. Something was watching him. The feeling pressed into his back like a blade—not imagined, but real. Hidden eyes followed his every move.

Then came the sound.

"Hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo!"

It tore through the silence like claws raking across bark. Sharp, loud, deliberate.

The moment he heard it, Echo Shadow's blood froze. That call—he had been warned. The merchant was right. 

The wagon horses reared in terror, breaking into opposite directions. The tension in their muscles snapped like cords, and Bee was nearly pulled off the trail, dragged toward a thicket of trees. The wagon rocked violently, one wheel lifting, threatening to flip.

In one fluid motion, Echo Shadow shifted forward, calming Bee with a firm touch before launching himself backward through the air. He landed between the two panicked horses, seized both sets of reins in his gloved hands, and yanked hard, his body channeling every ounce of trained will.

The beasts bucked and strained, but he held them firm. Slowly, their chaos dwindled, and the wagon settled back onto the path.

As they cleared the pass and the light widened around them, Echo Shadow narrowed his eyes, calculating.

"Thirteen?" he muttered. "Why are there so many here?"