---
The wind screamed across the cliffs of the Spine, tearing through jagged peaks like the wail of something ancient and unseen. The sky had turned a deep, endless gray, thick with mist that curled and stretched over the icy ridges, swallowing the world in shadow.
Jarl Haldrek and his warriors flew in tight formation, their dragons' wings beating against the rising winds. The hunt had taken them beyond the familiar ranges of Frostmere, into the forgotten heights where few dared to tread.
They had no choice.
It had led them here.
Haldrek gripped his axe tighter, his knuckles whitening beneath his gloves. The battle earlier had been an insult. Not a fight—an exhibition. A demonstration of their helplessness.
That beast had not fought them.
It had studied them.
Now, they would prove they were not prey.
The cliffs ahead jutted out like broken teeth, sharp and foreboding. Their dragons flew lower, cutting through the thick mist that clung to the stone, scanning for any sign of movement.
Haldrek exhaled sharply. "Eyes open. If it's here, we—"
A sound.
Not the wind.
Not the crack of ice.
Something else.
The whistle.
Faint. Ghostly.
The warriors tensed.
Then—motion.
A blur of pale scales shot through the mist, vanishing before they could react.
It was here.
And it was waiting.
---
A Test of Hunters
Erik was the first to react, loosing an arrow into the mist. The projectile cut through empty air, striking rock with a hollow thud.
"Hold your fire," Haldrek ordered, scanning the cliffs. "We waste our shots if we don't see our target."
Another shift in the wind.
It was moving again.
Erik cursed under his breath, shifting in his saddle. "It's toying with us."
Haldrek didn't respond. He had already realized something worse.
It wasn't toying with them.
It was testing them.
His grip tightened on his axe. They had followed the beast here, thinking they had forced it into a corner.
But the longer they lingered, the clearer the truth became.
They were not the hunters.
They were the hunted.
Haldrek scanned the jagged cliffs, searching for anything unusual. Snow swirled through the air in slow, deliberate movements, revealing the shifting currents of the wind. He watched carefully—waiting for the air to break unnaturally.
Then, he saw it.
The faintest ripple. A presence, unseen but unmistakable, moving against the natural flow of the storm.
"There!" he roared, pointing.
His warriors turned just in time to see it descend.
Not diving.
Not attacking.
Weaving.
The great beast twisted through the narrow rock formations in ways no dragon should have been able to. It never flapped its wings needlessly, never moved without purpose. The wind was its weapon, its guide, and its shield.
And yet—it was watching them.
Waiting.
Daring them to strike.
Haldrek felt a chill crawl down his spine. This was not instinct.
This was intelligence.
"Loose the nets!" he commanded.
Several warriors sprang into action, releasing weighted traps from their saddles. The iron-webbed nets unfurled in the air, designed to ensnare dragons mid-flight. They fell fast, cutting through the storm.
But it did not flee.
It moved between them.
Haldrek's breath caught as he witnessed the impossible. The beast adjusted its body at the last second, slipping through a gap that should not have existed. The nets tangled in the rocks behind it, useless.
Another failure.
Another test passed.
And then—
The whistle.
The thin, raspy note sent a shiver through the warriors' bones.
Haldrek's stomach twisted.
It was no ordinary sound. It was a signal.
A warning.
A reminder.
They could not catch what was already ahead of them.
---
The First Strike Falls
Then, it moved.
One moment, it was part of the storm.
The next, it was the storm.
Haldrek barely had time to shout a warning before the beast twisted midair, using the powerful currents to slingshot itself toward them.
"Break formation!" he roared.
Too late.
It's movement created a sudden turbulence, sending two of his warriors into a violent spin. Their dragons flailed, struggling against the unexpected shift in the air.
The warriors had no time to react.
One of them collided with the cliffside. The other was ripped from his saddle, his screams lost to the wind.
Haldrek's heart pounded. Not again. Not this time.
He pulled Skorn into a dive, trying to regain control of the hunt. "Focus! Keep it in sight!"
But it was gone.
Not vanished. Not fled.
Just…elsewhere.
Haldrek cursed, scanning the mist. His men were rattled now. Their movements were more erratic. The hunt had turned into a desperate chase.
That was when he saw it.
No longer flying away.
It was circling.
Closing in.
Haldrek's blood ran cold.
It had always been hunting them.
---
The Dance of the Blind Hunter
Another warrior fell.
Then another.
Not by claws. Not by fire.
By the wind.
By errors.
Haldrek watched, unable to deny the truth any longer. Every mistake his warriors made was not random. It was expected. This thing was not reacting—it was anticipating.
Erik barely dodged a sudden burst of turbulence, his dragon spiraling wildly before regaining control. "Jarl!" he shouted. "We can't keep up with it!"
Haldrek's jaw clenched.
This wasn't a battle.
It was a lesson.
It did not need to fight them.
It simply needed them to understand that they had already lost.
---
The Final Warning
Silence fell over the cliffs.
Only five warriors remained.
Haldrek exhaled, steadying himself. His axe felt heavier than before. The air itself seemed to weigh down on them, pressing them into an unbearable stillness.
Then—
The sound.
The whistle.
It was no longer distant.
It was behind them.
Haldrek turned slowly, his breath misting in the frigid air.
There it was, hovering just beyond the mist, barely visible. It did not attack. It did not flee.
It watched.
For a long moment, there was no movement.
Then, the creature tilted its head slightly—just enough for Haldrek to understand the truth.
It was not hunting them for food.
It was hunting them for knowledge.
And now, it knew all it needed to.
Another whistle.
Another gust of wind.
And then—
Nothing.
The sky was empty.
Gone.....for now.
---
End of Chapter 2