A Hunter's Legacy: Rise of the Fallen
Chapter 33: To Follow or Fall

Chapter 33: To Follow or Fall

The sky had long since darkened above Umbra’s End, but the forest floor glowed with a strange luminescence. Webs of old magic pulsed under their boots, humming through the roots and shattered stones. The trio pressed on in silence—Garrik in the lead, Phil just behind, and Bane flanking the rear, axe resting against his shoulder like a sleeping beast.

Their path curved beneath a crooked outcrop of stone, winding lower along a narrow cliffside trail. Garrik moved without hesitation, his hand tracing the same ridges and warped symbols he’d marked during earlier scouting runs.

"The bindings were stronger here last time," he said, eyes fixed on the moss-drenched carvings etched into the walls. "Now they flicker like dying embers."

Phil knelt beside a half-buried rune and brushed away the dirt. The glyph flared weakly at his touch—gold light bleeding into red before vanishing.

"Residual warding. Still echoing the old magic," he muttered. "But barely."

Bane exhaled slowly. "It’s like the forest’s holding its breath."

They moved further down, ducking under low-hanging roots that arched over the path like ribs of a long-dead leviathan. At times the air felt heavy, the scent of iron and scorched bark thick on their tongues. The weight wasn’t physical. It was psychic—like thought itself moved slower here.

As they rounded a bend, a glyph-stone the size of a child’s skull cracked to life beside them, radiating a pulse of blue flame.

Bane flinched. "That supposed to happen?"

"No," Garrik said flatly.

Then it dimmed just as quickly.

They reached a ledge overlooking a deep split in the earth. Beneath them lay the eastern cleft—a ravine where massive roots tangled with stone, spiraling into a shallow cavern. At its heart shimmered a massive glyph carved into obsidian—one of the three known anchor points feeding the seal over the Harbinger’s prison.

But something had changed.

"It’s bleeding," Phil whispered.

The glyph’s core pulsed irregularly—like a heartbeat out of rhythm. Veins of energy that once danced outward in perfect strands now sputtered and collapsed along cracked edges. The light was thinning, consumed rather than fading.

Garrik’s face twisted. "This node’s worse than the last. It’s not just weakening. Something’s... feeding on it."

Phil crouched near the ledge, eyes narrowed. "The Harbinger?"

Bane’s palm itched. He reached for his axe—and stopped.

Heat.

Faint, but unmistakable.

It radiated from the blade, like an ember buried in coal. He knew this warmth now. It had come alive during battle, during fear.

And now, it responded again.

"Phil," he said. "It’s reacting."

Phil’s gaze snapped to the weapon, then to the glyph. "That confirms it. We’re close to the threshold."

Garrik nodded. "This is where it starts breaking. The central glyph is still whole, but it’s only a matter of time before it draws enough power from the nodes to breach the surface."

Phil turned away from the glyph and scanned the cavern.

"There," he said, pointing to the far wall. "A tunnel. It’s old—looks like a collapsed irrigation route. If we post one of us there, we can monitor the glyph from three angles. It might give us time to react if something lashes out."

"No splitting up," Bane said quickly.

Phil gave a tight nod. "Not yet. But soon we’ll have to. If we plan to reinforce or delay the breach, we need to cover ground."

Garrik knelt, unrolling a small parchment of his own design—etched with magnetic ink and spell-thread. It flared as he tapped a crystal against it. A tiny projection emerged: a 3D terrain map of Umbra’s End, and the convergence.

He pointed at three points marked in silver. "These are all that remain of the surviving nodes. Two are fading. One’s stable. If the last one collapses... we won’t have a binding field anymore. Just containment."

Phil’s jaw clenched. "And containment isn’t enough."

"No," Garrik said, grim. "Not for the Harbinger."

The glyph shimmered again, and then the tremor came.

This time, not physical.

A wave.

A pulse of energy surged outward—psychic, ancient, cold. It slithered through their bones like fingers brushing the edge of a dream.

Phil froze mid-step.

Bane’s knees buckled slightly, but he caught himself.

Garrik gasped.

And for a fleeting moment, the world tilted. Not in motion—but in presence.

Something enormous had stirred beneath the glyph. Its awareness had brushed against theirs. Not fully awakened. But testing.

They didn’t speak for a full minute.

When they did, it was barely above whispers.

"It touched us," Garrik said hoarsely.

Phil looked at the glyph again. "It knows we’re here."

"No more delays," Bane muttered. "We reinforce the stable node tomorrow."

"And after that?" Garrik asked.

Phil didn’t answer right away.

"We prepare for a worst-case scenario."

---

The three of them climbed back out into the open, backtracking to the camp Garrik had built into the tree-clearing just beyond the ravine. The fire was already lit. The night air was mercifully quiet.

No whispers.

No watchers.

But none of them could sleep.

Phil spent hours sketching binding sigils into stone, trying to create portable reinforcement wards. Garrik reviewed his notes again and again, frustration mounting. And Bane... sat alone, beside a moss-covered stump.

He stared at the fire in his axe, thinking of things beyond blood and glyphs.

Of people.

Of her.

He reached into the pack Garrik carried and pulled out a small scroll of parchment. His fingers hesitated, then began to write—slow, cautious strokes in near-perfect penmanship.

Brielle,

How’s Will doing? , he should probably be awake or at least conscious by now seeing as how you’re there by his side. We’ve found Garrik.

I want you to send this to Thadeus "we’ve found Garrik, and the harbinger remains sealed for the time being but the binding seals are weak and we intend to attempt strengthening them there isn’t much time either. Have the guild prepare for there is a new special grade beast here in the surroundings of umbra’s end."

Send it to him as soon as you get this.

I’ll be with you and will Soon enough.

He rolled the letter, sealed it with a pressed rune, and tucked it into the inner pocket of his coat.

The firelight flickered.

And he sat there, quietly waiting for dawn.

That same night...

Stunned by what Gondor had said—by the quiet weight of his proposal—silence fell like a curtain over the room. The air itself felt heavier, charged with tension that vibrated between them like a taut string, ready to snap.

Kael’s heart thudded once—loud enough that it echoed in his ears. Not out of fear, but from the swell of uncertainty rising inside him. The burn on his side pulsed faintly, as if reacting to the weight of the moment.

"Giv... Give us a moment," he said, voice not quite steady. There was a flicker of hesitance in his eyes, as though part of him was still trying to process everything at once.

Gondor simply inclined his head with casual indifference. "Time is plenty," he said smoothly, as though he’d known how this would unfold all along. He turned and strode toward the chair at the far end of the room, cloak swaying at his heels. He sat with lazy confidence, resting one arm across the chair’s back, a cunning smile stretching across his lips like it belonged there.

As soon as his back turned, Lyria stepped in close, her voice a whisper that trembled with urgency. "You can’t listen to him. Or agree to his deal." Her tone cracked just slightly—just enough for Kael to hear the fear buried beneath the defiance. "We don’t even know what he really is."

Kael didn’t answer immediately. His eyes stayed on Gondor’s seated form, as if expecting another hidden layer to unfurl before him. Then he turned toward her, meeting her eyes with quiet intensity.

"Hang on, Lyria..." he said gently, "Yes—we can’t trust him. I know that. But this—" He raised his hand, then lowered it again with a sharp exhale. "This thing happening to me... he might be the only lead I’ve got. You feel it too, don’t you? Something’s changing in me. I don’t have time to fumble in the dark."

Lyria’s lips parted, but no words came. Her eyes, so often bold and steady, dropped toward the floorboards between them. There was something pained in the way her shoulders slumped—as though she already knew what he said was true, but hated that truth with every part of her.

Kael stepped closer, voice softening. "Hey..." He reached out, fingertips brushing under her chin. She didn’t resist. He lifted her head gently until their eyes met—green to storm-gray, like two forces always pulled together.

"Besides," he said, a faint, tired smile tugging at his lips, "He’d be a decent guide. We just need to make sure he follows our terms, not his."

Lyria blinked, lashes wet with the beginnings of frustration—or fear. "I don’t like it," she whispered.

"I know."

"But I’ll follow you anyway."

He said nothing to that—only squeezed her hand.

Then, breaking the quiet, Kael raised his voice. "If you even think of betraying us—"

"I won’t," Gondor replied instantly, without rising from his seat. His voice had dropped into something softer—almost solemn. "Because I’ve seen what betrayal brings. And I do not intend to wish it upon either of you."

Kael studied him. There was something unreadable behind Gondor’s words—like a truth shaped in shadow. But it didn’t feel like a lie.

Kael gave a nod. A single, deliberate one.

Lyria, still holding Kael’s gaze, finally spoke. Her voice had steadied, but the ice had not melted entirely. "If you’re joining us... then you follow our lead."

Gondor grinned, a little too easily. "Naturally."

The sun outside had shifted higher, its rays slanting across the wooden floor in golden lines. Dust swirled in those beams, like quiet reminders of how fragile time could be. Kael turned away, moving to collect their few belongings. His pack, his cloak, the sheathed dagger tucked beneath his cot. Each movement felt heavier now.

Because something had changed.

Not just the air. Not just their next destination.

But him.

He felt it coiling just beneath the surface of his skin—this new strength, this... presence. The Fractalis had done something to him. And Gondor’s words, as much as he hated to admit it, confirmed that this transformation wasn’t done yet.

He was no longer just Kael, the hunter, the exile, the friend.

Something else had begun to stir inside him. Something old. And he hadn’t decided yet if that something was a curse—or a calling.

At the door, he paused. Lyria came to stand beside him, close enough for their shoulders to touch.

He looked at her.

Not just a comrade. Not just a childhood companion.

Her presence steadied the storm inside him in a way nothing else did. If he was going to walk this path—this chaotic, unknown road—he needed her. Maybe more than he’d realized until now.

He reached for the door.

But just before his fingers touched the handle, Gondor’s voice came again, quiet... and strange.

"I hope you’re both prepared. The world outside that door is about to change... And it won’t wait for you to be ready."

Kael didn’t respond.

He didn’t have to.

Because deep inside, he already knew.