The night felt different. Darker. Not with shadows, but with intent hiding in the air. Riku knew that feeling—survival didn't come from fire alone. Tonight, the fire itself had to choose a side.
At the forge, Kael was finishing the final vent plate. Sparks floated upward, drifting like embers into the still air. Sira and Tharn were on patrol, their forms etched in silent motion among the temple stones of their camp. Riku watched them for a moment, the quiet hum of the forge in his ears, before descending into the stone-paved hallway.
They had layered the walls and traps carefully, hidden under ash and guarded by patterns only Draganoids could see. But walls couldn't prevent intent—they could only delay it.
He met Tharn and Sira at the livestock pen—empty again, fenced in by glowing fire-vents. They exchanged no words; their breathing was calm, muscles coiled, ready.
A distant click pierced the silence—metal on metal, faint, deliberate. Instincts sharpened, Riku and Tharn sprinted toward it. They found the cut spike line first: the pressure wire was severed neatly—sheathed but not burn-marked. Someone had studied the trap and took time to dismantle it.
"No animals," Tharn noted quietly.
"No beasts," Riku agreed.
They followed the trail—footprints pressed in ash, foot pads too light for Draganoids, too precise for beasts. Only they didn't match any human pattern either. The trail ended at the final exterior wall. Someone had tried to shear through the vent sponge. Strange scorch marks flickered, but heat swung away like a dancer avoiding flames. No breach. Just a message.
They returned to the forge hall. Kael stood by the vent controls, face pale. "The vent flow's off by three degrees."
"Sabotage," Riku said calmly.
Kael swallowed. "We can fix, but it'll take time."
"Do it. Tonight."
Riku watched him stride to the control slate, fingers dancing purposefully across each slot. Sparks drifted. Vent hush stepped back into place.
"No fault on your part," Riku said. "This was external."
As Kael adjusted the thermic valves, Riku looked at the walls. The fire-barrier glowed dimmer in spots now—patchy, uneven. He pressed his palm to a vent stone and felt the heat drop half a tone. It would hold—but only just.
He moved silently to the map wall, scanning the territory scratches. The rival scout—Highridge—still moved through the fog at boundaries only. Now someone had crossed and tested defenses. Not with weapons. With focus.
He didn't tell the global chat. Nothing of this would reach them except in the fog-limited rumors.
That evening, the camp gathered as usual—the fire-lit mess hall filling with shadowed faces. The elite watched Riku discreetly. Kael cleaned tools. Sira stood at the entrance, posture high. Tharn sharpened spears in silence, losing himself in the echo of metal on stone.
After the meal, Riku stepped forward.
"I don't know who came close tonight," he said. "But they're not beasts. Not sovereigns. Something… different."
He paused, meeting their eyes.
"But they'll come again. Tonight's signs will guide them. So we adapt."
He issued them tasks: reinforce vent stones, retrace perimeter, deepen trap lines. Clothes were shrugged on, gloves pulled on, torches lifted. Each of them moved with quiet devotion—not to him, but to the camp's need.
Later, as the night worn on and the forge glowed steadily, Riku returned to the supply crate. He opened the bolt box—they had thirty iron bolts stockpiled for crossbows. And now there were forty-five.
He froze a heartbeat.
[Ammo Folded – Iron Bolts | Original: 30 | Multiplier: x1.5 | Final: 45]
He closed the box softly, and pressed palms to the stone wall behind it.
There was no illusion.
Only preparation.
He walked to the forge and rested his forehead against the heated metal. The heat pulsed like a drumbeat. It responded.
And he understood it more clearly now: The world was testing him.
What he built, how he responded—the system would match.
It wouldn't stop.
It would challenge.
But he would stand.
Tonight, they'd rebuild anything broken. Tomorrow, they'd test the wall again.
Because on the edge of Blood Moon's night, stones could bend—but they must not break.