The fifth morning came with no ceremony. Just another burst of hissing steam from the cracks in the valley wall and the dull throb of distant tectonic pressure somewhere underfoot. No sunrise. Just light through haze. The sky here never changed much—just swirled between deep red and burnt gold like rust in water.
Riku stood near the wall they were building—though "wall" was generous. It was more a stack of flat, blackstone slabs, waist-high and unsealed, curving only along the front of the forge hall. Still, it was something. It gave a shape to the camp.
Behind him, Kael was dragging loose vines to reinforce the support beams on the tower base. Sira was sharpening spearheads on stone. Tharn was yelling again.
This time, the yelling had purpose.
"We are not eating firefruit three times a day!" Tharn bellowed. "I am not a rabbit!"
"It's a root, not fruit," Kael called without turning. "And we don't have rabbits."
"We need meat," Tharn snapped. "Real meat."
Riku turned. He'd been waiting for this.
"Then go get it," he said calmly.
The Draganoid narrowed his eyes. "You're sending us outside?"
"You just volunteered."
Tharn didn't argue. He was too proud. Or too angry. Maybe both. He clicked his tongue and pointed at two others—older warriors named Varr and Drok—and nodded toward the far end of the dome where the barrier shimmered faintly in the light.
"We'll bring something back."
"Don't chase it too far," Riku warned. "And stay visible."
Tharn snorted and marched off without another word.
Riku watched them go. The others grew quiet after that. Kael eyed the dome's edge. Sira paused her sharpening. Even the fire cracked less loudly.
Outside the protection zone, the world changed. The temperature spiked. The air grew heavier, slower. Every step out there was a gamble.
Riku waited on edge for two hours.
Then three.
They came back near dusk.
Only two returned.
Varr was dragging something massive behind him—a scaled carcass with claws like sickles and gills that still hissed steam. Drok wasn't with them. Tharn's armor was torn, one side scorched black. His blade was missing. His tail dragged.
He dropped to one knee at the edge of camp without speaking.
"What happened?" Riku asked.
"Steam hound," Tharn rasped. "Two of them. Drok cut one. The other—"
He didn't finish.
The body they'd brought back was at least two meters long. Grey-red scales. Rows of glowing vents across its spine. Its flesh steamed even in death.
"It burns when you cut it," Varr muttered. "Like it doesn't want to stay dead."
Kael approached cautiously. "Can we eat it?"
"Not raw," Riku said. "And not until we figure out what's inside."
They hauled the corpse to the forge and sealed it in a stone pit. Kael etched warning runes into the lid using burnt ash. The others stood in a loose ring, quiet, not mourning—just absorbing.
Drok had been the oldest. The strongest.
No one said his name again that night.
Riku sat by the edge of camp, the edge of the barrier, and watched the last smear of red light fade into black. The hounds had come from the north. That path would have to be trapped.
He stayed up late.
Alone, he sorted through the salvaged parts of their trap supplies—slotted spike teeth, sharpened fireglass, stone clamps, vine-wrapped pressure plates. All barely functional. Enough to maybe slow something down, if it wasn't too big.
He assembled two full traps before dawn, hands blistered and dry. He left them by the crate, covered.
The next morning, he returned and stopped cold.
There were six.
Same design. Same spacing. Same slightly crooked clamp on the second hinge. Identical.
He crouched slowly and ran a hand across the frame of the nearest one.
It was real.
Another flicker sparked across his vision.
[Trap Folded – Spike Trap | Original: 2 | Multiplier: x3 | Final: 6]
He loaded all six spike traps into a cart and hauled them to the ridge himself. Didn't call for help. Didn't let Kael or Tharn see. He laid them by hand into the northern path—three in a row across the steep pass, two along the stone choke point, one buried near a heat vent, disguised with burned ash and broken bark.
When he returned to camp, Tharn raised an eyebrow.
"Got soft on us. That was builder work."
"I needed the thinking," Riku said.
He didn't smile. He didn't explain.
Later that evening, when Kael brought him the updated ration log and offered to review next week's expansion plans, Riku looked at him carefully.
"Did you tell anyone about the slab in the forge?" he asked.
Kael shook his head. "Didn't want to cause superstition."
Riku nodded, then changed the subject without warning.
"Start drawing a second map," he said. "One that only I see."
Kael blinked. "For what?"
"Locations we'll take after the barrier drops."
Kael was quiet for a long moment. Then he pulled a blank scroll from his satchel and got to work.
As the wind rose again and the moonless sky bathed Blackridge in eerie glow, Riku sat beside the forge, the flames dancing in his eyes.
He had six traps.
When the Blood Moon came, it wouldn't be a test.
It would be a demonstration.