The old stone path ended abruptly at the cliff's edge. Below, nothing but wind and distant, jagged peaks. Mika stretched her arms overhead, her feline ears twitching against the breeze. Her tail flicked lazily as she surveyed the valley. "Still quiet," she murmured. The words vanished into the vastness.

Zeri, her adoptive sister, marched up beside her, fox ears perking forward. Her russet fur caught the late afternoon light. "Yeah. Too quiet," she corrected, nose wrinkling. A faint scent hung beneath the wind—woodsmoke? Unlikely this high up. Their isolated perch offered safety but few surprises.

Mika crouched, nails scraping granite as she peered down the sheer drop, her tail coiling tight against her thigh. "Remember when that trader caravan got lost in the pass last winter? Sounded just like this." Silence wasn't always peaceful here. The mountain peaks swallowed sounds whole, hiding threats until they were upon the unobservant.

Zeri's nostrils flared again. "Not woodsmoke," she hissed, ears swiveling northeast. "Burning fur. And a metallic smell—" Her hand tightened on the hunting knife at her belt. The scent threads were thin but unmistakable—acrid, urgent, wrong for these isolated places. Below them, the shadows between peaks deepened into bruised purple.

Mika rose slowly, every muscle coiled, her nails clicking against her wrist. The wind shifted, carrying a new sound—a distant, rhythmic clanging, like hammers striking rock. Too fast for miners. Too irregular for traders. Her tail lashed once, sharp as a whipcrack. "Armor," she breathed. Soldiers didn't climb the Clawspire without a reason. Their peace fractured like thin ice.

"We need to warn the settlement," Zeri said, already turning back toward the narrow trail that wound through the rocks. Her fox tail bristled, the russet fur standing on end. "If they're coming up the eastern approach—"

"They'll reach the lower terraces by nightfall." Mika's voice was flat, calculating. Her yellow eyes narrowed as she traced the invisible path the intruders would take. The Var'kin settlement of Highpeak clung to the mountainside like a barnacle to ship hull—stubborn, weathered, and nearly impossible to dislodge. Nearly. "Unless they know the shortcuts."

"How would they know the shortcuts?" Zeri's question hung in the air, but her expression already held the answer. Someone could have talked. Someone always talked when enough coin changed hands, or when enough pain was applied. This group of Var'kin had lived in these mountains for generations, but their isolation had never been absolute. Traders came and went. Hunters ventured down to the lowland markets. And with every journey, the risk of exposure grew.

Mika's ears flattened against her skull. "Doesn't matter now. Move."

They ran.

The path back to Highpeak was treacherous even in daylight, a serpentine thread of packed earth and loose stone that clung to the cliff face like a scar. Mika led, her feline grace allowing her to navigate the narrow ledges with barely a glance downward. Behind her, Zeri's lighter frame made her nearly as swift, though her fox heritage gave her a different style—quick, darting movements rather than Mika's fluid prowl.

The settlement came into view as they rounded a jutting outcrop of granite. Highpeak was less a village and more a collection of stone dwellings carved directly into the mountain, their facades decorated with the intricate geometric patterns that marked Var'kin craftsmanship. Smoke rose from a dozen chimneys, carrying the scent of evening meals being prepared. Children's laughter echoed from somewhere below, where the younger ones played in the communal courtyard.

Normal. Peaceful. Unaware.

"Elder Torven first," Mika said, not slowing her pace. "Then we sound the alarm."

They found the elder in his workshop, a cave-like space that smelled of wood shavings and oil. Torven was ancient by Var'kin standards, his wolf-like features grayed with age, his once-powerful frame now stooped. But his amber eyes remained sharp, and they sharpened further as Mika and Zeri burst through the entrance.

"Slavers," Mika said without preamble. "Coming up the eastern approach. Maybe a turn of the clock out, maybe less."

Torven's ears went flat. He set down the piece of wood he'd been carving—a toy horse for one of the children—and his hand trembled slightly. Not from fear, Mika knew, but from rage. "You're certain?"

"Armor. Burning fur. Blood. They're not trying to hide it anymore." Zeri's voice was tight. "They know we're here, and they're coming anyway."

The elder moved to the entrance of his workshop, gazing out at the settlement. Forty-three Var'kin called Highpeak home. Forty-three souls who had fled persecution, slavery, and worse in the lowlands. Forty-three people who had believed these mountains would keep them safe.

"How many?" Torven asked.

"Couldn't see them," Mika admitted. "But the sound... at least a dozen. Maybe more."

Torven's jaw tightened. A dozen armed slavers against a settlement of mostly craftspeople, elders, and children. The math was brutal. "We evacuate. The deep caves."

"They'll track us," Zeri protested. "If they have a Var'kin guide—"

"Then we make sure they can't follow." Torven turned back to them, and in that moment, Mika saw the warrior he must have been in his youth. "Gather everyone. Take only what you can carry. Food, water, warm clothes. We leave in a moment."

"And if they catch us on the trail?" Mika's question was quiet but necessary.

"Then we fight." Torven's hand moved to his belt, where an old but well-maintained blade hung. "But we don't let them take us alive. Not again."

The next few moments were controlled chaos. Mika and Zeri split up, racing through the settlement to spread the word. Doors opened, faces appeared—confusion giving way to fear, fear hardening into determination. The Var'kin of Highpeak had all fled something to get here. They knew what capture meant.

Mika found herself at the home of Sera, a rabbit Var'kin with soft gray fur and enormous ears that drooped when she was worried. They were drooping now as she clutched her two children close, a boy of seven and a girl barely four.

"How long do we have?" Sera asked, already moving to gather supplies.

"Not long enough." Mika helped her stuff dried meat and hard bread into a pack. "Stay close to me when we move. I'll keep you safe."

Sera's eyes met hers, and Mika saw the question there: Can you really promise that? But the rabbit woman only nodded, hoisting her daughter onto her hip while her son clutched her skirt.

Across the settlement, similar scenes played out. Families gathering their most precious possessions—not gold or jewels, but letters from lost loved ones, small tokens of their heritage, children's toys. These Var'kin traveled light by necessity, but even in flight, they carried their memories.

Zeri appeared at Mika's elbow, slightly out of breath. "Everyone's accounted for except old Kess. He's refusing to leave."

Mika cursed under her breath. Kess was a bear Var'kin, massive and stubborn, who had lived in this settlement longer than anyone. "I'll talk to him. Get everyone else to the north trail."

She found Kess sitting outside his dwelling, a pipe clenched between his teeth, his small dark eyes fixed on the eastern approach. He didn't look up as Mika approached.

"Not going," he said simply.

"Kess—"

"I'm too old to run, girl. Too slow. I'd just hold you all back." He took a long draw from his pipe, the ember glowing in the gathering dusk. "Besides, someone needs to slow them down."

Mika's throat tightened. "You can't fight them all."

"Don't need to fight them all. Just need to make them think twice about following." Kess finally looked at her, and his expression was gentle. "I've lived a good life, Mika. Longer than most of our kind get. If I can buy you all a few more turns of the clock, a few more centots... that's a good death."

"Kess—"

"Go." His voice was firm now, brooking no argument. "Protect the young ones. That's what matters."

Mika wanted to argue, wanted to drag him bodily to the evacuation point if necessary. But she saw the set of his jaw, the peace in his eyes, and she knew it would be pointless. Instead, she placed a hand on his massive shoulder, squeezed once, and turned away before he could see the tears in her eyes.

The evacuation was already underway when she reached the north trail. Torven had organized them into a column, the strongest at the front and rear, the vulnerable in the middle. Mika took her place near the front with Zeri, while Torven brought up the rear with three other adults who could fight if necessary.

The north trail was even more treacherous than the eastern approach, a barely-visible path that wound through a series of narrow defiles and across exposed rock faces. It was also their only hope. The trail led to a network of caves that honeycombed the mountain's interior—caves that these Var'kin had carefully mapped and provisioned over the years, preparing for exactly this scenario.

They moved in near-silence, the only sounds the scuff of feet on stone and the occasional whimper from a frightened child, quickly hushed. The sun was setting now, painting the peaks in shades of orange and red that would have been beautiful under other circumstances. Now, the fading light only meant that darkness was coming, and with it, greater danger.

They had been walking for perhaps half of a turn of a clock when they heard it: a distant roar of rage and pain, followed by the clash of metal on metal. Kess had made his stand.

Sera's children started to cry, and Mika felt her own chest tighten. But she kept moving, kept the column moving, because that was what Kess had bought them with his life—time. They couldn't waste it.

The sounds of fighting faded behind them, swallowed by distance and stone. Mika tried not to think about what was happening back at the settlement, tried not to imagine Kess's final moments. Instead, she focused on the path ahead, on the placement of each foot, on keeping the column together.

They were crossing a particularly exposed section of trail, a narrow ledge with a sheer drop on one side and a vertical rock face on the other, when Zeri's ears suddenly swiveled forward.

"Stop," she hissed.

The column froze. Mika's hand went to the knife at her belt as she strained to hear what Zeri had detected. For a long moment, there was nothing but the wind and the hammering of her own heart.

Then she heard it: voices, coming from ahead of them on the trail.

"They flanked us," Zeri breathed, her face pale beneath her russet fur. "They knew about the north trail."

Mika's mind raced. Behind them, the slavers from the settlement. Ahead, an unknown number of enemies. To their right, a sheer cliff face. To their left, a drop that would kill anyone who fell. They were trapped.

"Back," Torven's voice came from the rear of the column. "Slowly. We'll find another way."

But even as they began to reverse course, Mika knew it was hopeless. The trail was too narrow to turn around quickly, and the slavers behind them would be moving fast now, emboldened by Kess's defeat. They had a moment at best.

Unless.

Mika's eyes fixed on a dark shadow in the cliff face, barely visible in the fading light. A crack, perhaps, or a small cave. It was about fifteen feet up the rock face—a difficult climb, but not impossible for a Var'kin.

"There," she said, pointing. "Zeri, can you make that climb?"

Zeri's eyes followed her gesture, and understanding dawned. "Yes. But the others—"

"The strong ones can climb. The rest..." Mika's mind worked furiously. "We'll use rope. Make a harness. Pull them up."

It was desperate, and it would take time they didn't have. But it was the only option that didn't end in capture or death.

Torven had made his way forward, moving along the column with the careful steps of someone who had spent a lifetime in these mountains. He assessed the situation in a heartbeat. "Do it. Mika, Zeri, you climb first. Secure the ropes. The rest of us will hold the trail as long as we can."

The next moment was a blur of frantic activity. Mika and Zeri scaled the rock face with the speed born of desperation, their claws finding purchase in cracks and crevices that would have been invisible to human eyes. The opening Mika had spotted was indeed a cave—narrow, but deep enough to hide them all if they could just get everyone inside.

They secured the ropes they'd brought—thin but strong, meant for emergency situations exactly like this—and lowered them down. The first to come up were the children, light enough to be hauled up quickly. Sera's daughter came up crying but silent, her face buried in Mika's shoulder as she was pulled to safety. Her brother followed, then other children, one by one.

The voices from ahead were getting closer. Mika could make out words now: "...should be just around this bend..." "...careful, they might be armed..."

Below, on the trail, Torven and the other adults had formed a defensive line, weapons drawn. They couldn't hold for long, but they didn't need to. Just long enough.

The adults came up next, one at a time, hauled up by Mika and Zeri working in tandem. Sera came up immediately rushing toward her children, her eyes wide with terror as she embraced them. An elderly fawn Var'kin named Pella, who moved with agonizing slowness. A young couple, barely more than teenagers, who had only joined the settlement a month ago.

"Torven!" Mika called down. "You're next!"

But the elder shook his head. He and two others—a wolf Var'kin named Garren and a lynx Var'kin named Tessa—remained on the trail. "Get the others up first," he called back.

There were three more waiting. Mika wanted to argue, wanted to demand that Torven come up now, but there was no time. She and Zeri pulled up the last individuals, their arms burning with effort, their palms scraped raw from the rope.

The last person, a tiny mouse Var'kin teenager, had just reached the cave entrance when the slavers rounded the bend.

There were eight of them, all Aundairian, all armed with nets and clubs designed to subdue rather than kill. Their leader, a scarred man with cold eyes, took in the situation instantly.

"Well, well," he said, his voice carrying easily in the mountain air. "Looks like the rats found a hole."

On the trail below, Torven, Garren, and Tessa stood their ground. Three against eight. The math was even worse than before.

"Let us pass," Torven said, his voice steady despite the odds. "We have nothing you want."

The scarred man laughed. "Nothing we want? Old timer, you and your friends are worth a year's wages each. The exotic collectors in the capital pay premium prices for Var'kin. Especially the rare ones." His eyes traveled over them appraisingly. "Pisc'kin and Aoir'kin... possibly even a Serus'kin up there. Don't get many of those in this part of the realms. I bet we could get even more if we bring you in alive and healthy."

"Then you'll have to take us," Garren growled, his hackles rising.