Chapter 291: Abrupt Return

Althea did not bother to respond. She looked at the steam rising from her tea and realized that there was no point in arguing with someone whose outlook on reality about Ossuarists was so firmly set. Instead, she picked up her tea and took a slow sip. The silence she left behind was its own answer.

Malakor watched her with a small smile on his lips, as if he also knew, or at least had some inkling of the true might of Preceptors.

“The Preceptor’s position remains unchanged,” Althea said, setting the cup down. “The fortress is not up for negotiation. Either you give up on your attempts to claim it, saving the lives of many of your forces in the process. Or you get wiped out… entirely.”

Riley let out a sharp, barking laugh in response, opening his mouth to deliver what would have certainly been another polished insult…

But he never got the words out.

​The black, feline-avian beast beside Lord Malakor suddenly stood up. Its ears twitched, and its long, feathered tail went rigid. A low, vibrating growl started in its throat, a sound that carried a primal fear that Althea felt in her own marrow. Lord Malakor himself went silent mid-breath. He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the heavy fabric of the far wall of the tent.

Conversation died table by table as the Feraxians closest to the beast registered its posture. Within seconds the whole interior had gone still, every man in the circle watching the creature or watching Malakor.

Riley had shut his mouth.

Althea kept her breathing steady and focused, extending her senses outward as far as she could reach — past the tent walls, past the ambient camp noise still filtering in from outside… But she felt nothing at all. Whatever the beast and Lord Malakor had reacted to was not within the range of her perception.

Her senses were still strained when, suddenly, a muffled roar of explosions rolled in from the distance, one after another. Riley snapped his head toward the sound, his face hardening. He was halfway to his feet when a Feraxian scout burst inside, his chest heaving and his expression hurried. He didn’t wait for permission to speak.

“Lord Malakor! The Aethelosian perimeter!” he gasped raggedly. “Something has hit them from the far edge of the forest!”

Malakor was already on his feet.

The beast moved with him, a fluid shift from stillness to motion that covered the length of the tent in four strides. The Feraxian warriors rose from the circle without being told, some of them immediately whistling sharply, some snapping their fingers, all making sounds for their tamed beasts to come from wherever they were.

Riley was upright too. Whatever grudge he’d been nursing across the table from Althea had folded away completely. His eyes were alert, jaw set, all the performative ease gone.

Althea also sprung into motion.

They charged outside right after Lord Malakor, whose gaze was set on the distant horizon, trying to understand what was happening.

Around them, the camp had burst into a flurry of movements. Beasts and their tamers were running about, trying to find each other and get ready for battle without needing to be told.

“What is happening?” Riley yelled over the flurry. “Is this some kind of Ossuarist trick? Did your Preceptor launch an attack?”

Althea ignored him. She looked towards the Aethelosian camp and felt a bit of unease begin to rise up from her. She couldn’t feel mana herself, but she didn’t even need to. The fluctuations of mana were so powerful, they lit up the sky above the far edge of the Aethelosian camps.

Beside Althea, Lord Malakor suddenly gave a low, sharp whistle, and immediately, the avian-feline beast beside him shivered in response.

Its shoulder blades shifted with the sound of grinding stone, and an expanse of powerful, leathery wings spread from its back, knocking over a nearby equipment rack. Malakor vaulted onto its back in one smooth motion, his hands gripping the beast’s mane.

“Get into the air!” Malakor shouted to his men. “I want eyes on that perimeter now!”

​He didn’t wait for a response. The beast pumped its wings, kicking up a cloud of dust and grit that blinded the people nearby, and soared into the sky.

Althea didn’t hesitate either. She called out her Echo Strider Owl soul mass immediately, its form morphing out of her shadow. She leapt onto its back in one clean motion and took off into the air after Malakor.

Riley was left on the ground, his face twisted in a mask of fury and desperation. He looked at his own mount, a regal, six-legged ground beast that was currently pawing the earth in terror. It was a beautiful animal, worth a fortune in Aethelos, but it was useless for what was happening now.

“You! You with the Skystrider!” Riley shouted, pointing his new, stiff arm at a Feraxian who was about to take off on a smaller, winged lizard. “I am the heir of Amadeus! You will take me up now or your house will answer for it!”

The Feraxian warrior looked affronted, like he wanted to argue, but the look in Riley’s eyes was wild and dangerous enough for him to swallow it down. He gestured to the space behind him, and Riley scrambled onto the back of the lizard, followed closely by two of his attendants who had been waiting outside the tent.

Meanwhile, Althea had climbed much higher at this point. And at this height, the scale of the disaster became even more clear.

The edge of the Aethelosian camp was a mess of fire and smoke. It looked as though a giant hand had reached down and dragged its fingers through the neat rows of tents. Great plumes of gold and white fire were erupting into the air, the signature of Aethelosian elemental arcanists trying to beat back an unseen foe.

She leveled her Owl and brought it close to Lord Malakor, who was hovering not too far from her. Other Feraxian lords were joining him, their flying beasts forming a loose circle in the sky. Their faces were grim, their eyes fixed on the destruction happening in the far distance.

“Did the Ossuary truly attack?” One of the Lords yelled over the wind. A grey haired man with rippling muscles and tattoos like clothing all over his bronze skin. The others also seemed to share the same opinion as they watched the fires in the distance erupting into the air in streaks.

But Lord Malakor shook his head, frowning deeply as he observed the commotion. “No. This is not the work of the Ossuary… The Preceptor will not make such a move.”

“How are you so sure, Malakor?” another Lord spoke, this one much younger. “What else could cause this much damage to the Aethelosians?”

“It’s not the Ossuary…” Lord Malakor’s tone lowered deeper in seriousness. “But it is something powerful enough to draw out the Aethelosian Masters… Not just any grade either… but Grade 2!”

His words made the other lords frown and reassess the fluctuations again.

Their faces soured as they seemed to come to the same conclusion too.

“Another Arcansist faction, perhaps?” One of them offered. But no one responded. It was incredulous enough that they didn’t need to. What faction could force a camp where the Amadeus family’s forces were this plentiful, to react this strongly and desperately?

The silence was deafening as they hovered in the air and watched. Althea stared at the spot where the streaks of energy were most dense. Her heart was hammering against her ribs. It seemed her fears were true.

The Husk creatures… It was them. Without a doubt.

She thought of the leader, the creature that had looked at her with eyes that contained no soul. She thought of Finn, and her escape.

She thought she was safe this far from that prehistoric forest. She thought she’d be able to get the information about the Husks to higher authorities. Ossuarists with greater power than hers. The council of Preceptors in the Soul Sanctum…

But the Husks had actually left that forest…

They had somehow followed her all the way here?

“We have to go down there,” Riley’s voice came from below her. He had reached their altitude, his face flushed with the cold and the adrenaline. “That is my family’s camp! My brothers and cousins are in those tents! Lord Malakor, order your men to strike!”

Malakor turned his beast slowly, looking at Riley with a pitying expression that was more insulting than any shout.

“Look at the ground, boy,” Malakor said, pointing to the distance.

“You are a Grade 3 Master,” the Lord said, his voice level and direct. “A new Grade 3. What you are feeling from that camp is above you. What exactly do you think you will do when you get there?”

Riley’s mouth tightened. “They are my people.”

“They were your people,” Malakor said, and turned back to face east. “Hold your position.”

The words hit Riley like a physical blow. He went rigid on his borrowed mount, hands tight on the creature’s harness. He didn’t move, but the effort of not moving was visible in every line of his posture.

Althea looked back at the Aethelosian camp.

The flaring light had changed. It had stopped its erratic pulsing and settled into something steadier, brighter, and more focused, the concentrated output of a single overwhelming force rather than the chaotic back and forth of an active exchange.

One side had stopped fighting back.

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