Evanna touched the pendant at her neck, her brow furrowing. "I don't know. It's like… something's calling to me."
Kael's golden eyes narrowed, a flicker of concern passing through them. "Then we'll find out together."
The Wildlands seemed to hum in agreement, its shadows twisting as if to welcome them home.
"Power without control is nothing more than chaos. But chaos, in the right hands, can be a weapon."
///
The sun hung low over the jagged cliffs near the Wildlands, casting fiery streaks of orange across the rugged terrain. Atop a flat rock, a lone figure sat, tearing into a massive tomahawk steak. The meat was charred perfectly on the outside, bleeding red on the inside—a feast fit for a king, though this man was no king.
"Delicious," Malrik muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His voice was calm, almost pleasant, but the sharpness in his eyes betrayed a storm brewing within.
At his feet lay a beast unlike any other—a massive, jet-black wolf with gleaming crimson eyes. It sat obediently, its gaze fixed on Malrik, who tossed a scrap of meat down. The beast snapped it out of the air with a single, calculated movement.
"Good boy, Revenant," Malrik murmured, leaning back as he took another bite of his steak. "Tell me, what do you think of our little mission?"
The dragon growled softly, its hackles raising slightly as if sensing something unseen.
"Yes, I know," Malrik said with a chuckle. "The Beastlord. Kael, they call him now. How predictable. He fancies himself the ruler of the Wildlands, yet he abandons his throne for what? A village? A girl?" He shook his head, a faint smirk curling his lips. "The late queen would weep if she saw what her kingdom has become."
Revenant whined, lowering its head.
"Oh, don't worry," Malrik said, his voice soft but laced with malice. "We'll set things right. But first, a little practice."
He rose to his feet, brushing crumbs off his black tunic. A faint wind ruffled his dark hair as he extended a hand toward a nearby cow grazing lazily at the edge of the cliffs. The beast was unsuspecting, its dull eyes reflecting the dying light of the sun.
Malrik's left hand glowed faintly, and he closed his eyes, murmuring an incantation. The cow stiffened, its body trembling violently. Its eyes widened, and then a guttural roar tore from its throat—a sound no ordinary cow should have been able to make.
"Rise," Malrik commanded.
The cow's body began to shift grotesquely. Horns twisted into jagged, menacing points, and its muscles bulged unnaturally. Its fur darkened, taking on an oily sheen, and its eyes turned blood-red.
Malrik opened his eyes and smiled. "Perfect."
The cow turned toward him, now a hulking, monstrous version of itself. It snorted, pawing the ground aggressively.
"Sit," Malrik ordered.
The beast obeyed instantly, collapsing into a kneeling position. Revenant growled approvingly.
"Good," Malrik said, walking forward and placing a hand on the mutated cow's head. "You'll do nicely. But this is just the beginning. The Beastlord's little village will tremble before me."
He turned to Revenant. "Come. Let's pay our respects to his subjects."
Malrik arrived at Briarmoor by nightfall, his hulking cow-beast following obediently, its shadow stretching long and menacing in the moonlight. The villagers, who had been settling in for the night, froze at the sight of him.
A lone child dropped their basket of apples, the fruit rolling across the dirt road. "M-Mama…" the child stammered, pointing at the monstrous cow.
The adults rushed forward, shielding the child and glaring at Malrik with suspicion.
"Who are you?" one of the men demanded, stepping forward with a pitchfork in hand. His voice trembled, but his grip was firm.
Malrik raised his hands in mock surrender, his tone disarmingly polite. "Peace, good people. I mean no harm."
The villagers exchanged uneasy glances.
"I'm merely a traveler," Malrik continued smoothly. "Seeking information about your… Beastlord."
The mention of the Beastlord immediately sent a ripple of murmurs through the crowd.
"What do you want with him?" the man with the pitchfork asked, narrowing his eyes.
Malrik smiled faintly. "Oh, nothing sinister, I assure you. I've traveled far to meet the great Beastlord Kael. I've heard so many stories of his strength, his power. I simply wish to pay my respects."
"You're lying," an elderly woman called out, stepping forward with surprising boldness. "You don't come here with a creature like that and expect us to believe you mean no harm!"
She pointed at the monstrous cow, which let out a low, guttural growl.
Malrik sighed, shaking his head. "I had hoped we could avoid unpleasantness."
He gestured toward Revenant, who stepped forward, baring its fangs. The villagers recoiled, fear flashing in their eyes.
"I'm not here to fight," Malrik said, his voice soft but carrying an undeniable weight of authority. "But I will get the answers I seek. Tell me, where is the Beastlord?"
The silence stretched unbearably.
Finally, the man with the pitchfork spoke. "He left. Went to the Wildlands with his bride."
Malrik tilted his head, his interest piqued. "Bride, you say?"
The villagers remained silent, their expressions tight with defiance.
"How charming," Malrik murmured, a smirk playing on his lips. "Perhaps she's the key to unraveling this little kingdom."
He took a step closer, and the villagers instinctively backed away.
"One last question," Malrik said, his tone casual. "Did the Beastlord ever mention me? Malrik, the late queen's humble advisor?"
The villagers exchanged confused glances, shaking their heads.
"No?" Malrik's smile widened. "How disappointing."
He turned to leave but paused. Reaching up, he touched the eyepatch over his left eye.
"You've been most helpful," he said, his voice suddenly icy.
Before anyone could react, Malrik …