The thing with too many joints didn’t move. It just crouched there, its limbs bending the wrong way, like it wasn’t made for standing.

The air between them was thick, not with heat, but with something heavier.

Letha’s hand hovered near her knife. "Ashen…"

He didn’t respond.

"You—did it just call you—"

"Stay quiet," he said, eyes still fixed on the creature. His tone wasn’t sharp, but it was final.

The thing tilted its head at him. "You wear a new skin."

Ashen stepped forward once. The gravel under his boots crunched, louder than it should have.

"And you haven’t changed at all," he said.

It smiled—not with teeth, but with the sound of teeth, a scraping inside the air.

"Do you know what waits for you past the black fields?" it asked.

He didn’t answer.

The thing’s mouth twitched wider. "I do. I remember."

Letha’s breath quickened. "Ashen, what is that—"

"Not now."

She shut her mouth, but the question stayed in her eyes.

The wind picked up. The spiral carved into the ground flickered faintly, like a candle about to go out.

The thing leaned closer, its too-long arms folding in ways bones shouldn’t. "The name you wear will not save you, Rudra. Not here. Not anywhere."

Ashen’s jaw tightened. "Then I’ll stop wearing it."

For a moment, there was no sound except the shifting of stones under the thing’s weight.

Then it crawled backward, slow, vanishing into the dark like it had been swallowed. No footsteps. No trail. Just gone.

Letha exhaled hard. "Okay. I think I deserve—"

"We move," Ashen cut in, already turning away from the spiral.

"But—"

"No time," he said. "It won’t be the only one tonight."

The moon slipped out from behind the clouds, pale and tired.

They walked.

A mile ahead, a lantern flickered in the distance, swinging in a slow, steady rhythm.

Ashen’s eyes narrowed. "That’s not a villager’s light."

Letha groaned softly. "Then whose is it?"

He didn’t answer.

Because he already knew,