The air of the Shadowed Vale still reeked of decay as Grendolf and Sylvara emerged from the Cave of the Human Centipede, Tiro cradled in Grendolf’s arms. The kit’s tabby fur was matted, his blue ribbon torn but clutched tightly, his small body trembling from the horrors within. Starclaw pulsed faintly in Grendolf’s grip, its azure glow dimmed after the battle with the grotesque, writhing abomination. Sylvara’s Bloodfang cast a crimson flicker, her notched ears twitching for threats. Their hybrid forms—cat ears atop human-like skin—felt heavy under the Blighted Lands’ oppressive weight, but Tiro’s rescue fueled their resolve to press toward the Spire of Decay, where Grendolf’s familia awaited.

As they navigated the Vale’s ashen slopes, a low growl halted them. Grendolf’s spirit-enhanced senses flared, Starclaw humming as a vision flashed—a golden figure, blade gleaming, stepping from the shadows. His ears twitched, pinpointing the sound. Sylvara crouched, Bloodfang ready, her green eyes narrowing. “Not Mutated Ones,” she whispered. “Something else.”

From the haze emerged a towering Cat Warrior, her golden fur shimmering despite the gloom, her cat ears proud and unscarred. Her emerald eyes gleamed with quiet power, and at her side hung a massive double-edged blade, Sunfang, its hilt wrapped in braided leather, glowing with a fierce golden light. The air seemed to hum with her presence, a legend made flesh. The villagers’ tales echoed in Grendolf’s mind: Lioness, the fabled warrior who vanished hunting Mutated Ones.

“Who are you?” Grendolf demanded, shifting Tiro to one arm, Starclaw raised.

The warrior’s tail flicked, her voice low and resonant. “I am Lioness. I saw your fight in the cave. The Human Centipede was no small foe. You wield Starclaw with purpose, Grendolf the Great.”

Sylvara’s tail lashed, her skepticism sharp. “Convenient timing. Why show yourself now?”

Lioness’s eyes flicked to Tiro, softening briefly. “The kit’s cry reached me. I’ve tracked the Order of the Blight to the Spire, where they hold captives—including your familia, Grendolf. Their leader, Gorath, wields a stolen blade, Duskfang. It’s a threat to all Felaria.”

Grendolf’s vision surged—a glimpse of Sunfang clashing with a black-glowing blade, a间隙. His grip on Starclaw tightened. “You know much about Gorath. Why should we trust you?”

Lioness stepped closer, Sunfang’s glow steady. “I seek the same enemy. My kin were taken by the Order. I fight to end their corruption. Join me, and we’ll face Gorath together.”

Tiro whimpered, clinging to Grendolf, the ribbon trembling in his paws. Grendolf’s heart ached, memories of his own sister, Myra, spurring him. His vision showed no deceit in Lioness, only a shared fire against the Blight. “Lead on,” he said, voice firm. “But we watch you closely.”

Lioness nodded, her stride confident as she gestured toward the Spire’s jagged silhouette. “The path is perilous. Stay sharp.”

With Tiro safe but weak, Grendolf and Sylvara followed, Starclaw and Bloodfang ready. Lioness’s legend joined their cause, her golden blade a beacon in the Vale’s darkness. The Spire loomed, promising answers—and danger—for Grendolf’s familia and Felaria’s fate.