Chapter 6 - The Firstborn
The temperature in the ruined temple dropped so precipitously that their breath crystallized instantly in mid-air.
Sophie gasped, stumbling backward against Evelyn’s shoulder as the shadows near the altar detached themselves from the stone. It wasn't a wolf. It was a beast of nightmare proportions—taller than a warhorse, its body covered not in fur, but in scales of obsidian black that seemed to absorb the ambient light around it, casting an aura of absolute twilight. Its head was leonine, crowned with jagged horns of dark crystal, and its eyes burned with the cold, ancient intelligence of a dying star.
A Firstborn. One of the primordial guardians of the northern peaks, long thought to be extinct myths invented to frighten unruly pups.
Nathaniel instinctively unslung his bow, nocking a silver-tipped shaft with lightning speed, stepping protectively in front of Evelyn and Sophie. "Get back!" he shouted, drawing the bowstring to his cheek. "Don't shoot it in the flank—aim for the throat—"
"No!" Evelyn’s voice cracked like a whip.
She stepped past Nathaniel, her hand outstretched. As she moved, the pendant at her chest flared into blinding brilliance, casting a pure white beam of light directly toward the towering obsidian beast.
The Firstborn stopped. Its massive, terrifying jaw parted, not in a snarl, but in a low, resonant purr that shook dust from the ancient masonry. It lowered its horned head—not in submission, but in recognition.
You have kept the vigil long, Child of the Moon, a voice echoed directly inside Evelyn’s mind, ancient as the tectonic plates beneath their feet. The northern bloodlines have forgotten their oath. They trade in greed and iron.
"I know," Evelyn replied mentally, her voice steady and clear, echoing against the stone walls. "They have forgotten what the light was meant to protect."
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The beast turned its massive head toward the temple entrance, its black eyes fixing on the lower trail. Then remind them.
From the base of the stone stairs leading up to the sanctuary, the sound of heavy boots and snarling breath rose through the mountain air. Donovan’s scouts had arrived. And behind them, a larger force was surging up the narrow switchbacks.
