---
The storm had passed, but its scars remained.
The warriors of Frostmere were broken.
Haldrek stood at the edge of the cliff, staring into the pale morning light. The jagged peaks of the Spine stretched before him, dusted in fresh snow.
Somewhere in those cliffs, the Phantom still lurked.
Watching.
Waiting.
The hunt had become something else.
It was no longer about slaying a beast.
It was about understanding the enemy.
Haldrek had fought dragons all his life, but this—this—was something beyond reason.
Something unnatural.
His grip tightened on his axe.
And for the first time in years, he felt the weight of doubt.
---
A Lost Cause
The warriors gathered around their dwindling fire.
No one spoke.
The storm had taken too much from them—half their numbers gone, their dragons wounded, their spirits crushed.
Erik knelt by the flames, rubbing his hands together for warmth. "We should turn back."
A murmur of agreement spread through the group.
Haldrek remained silent.
Bjorn, his second-in-command, spat into the snow. "The Jarl is no coward. We don't turn back."
"And what will we do?" Erik snapped. "Charge blindly into the Spine and hope the thing lets us live?"
Bjorn glared at him. "It's a dragon. Just a dragon. We'll find a way to kill it."
Erik shook his head. "No. That wasn't just a dragon."
Silence.
Because they all knew he was right.
Haldrek's jaw tightened.
He looked at his men—warriors hardened by years of battle, but now shaken like frightened children.
The Phantom had not just beaten them.
It had broken them.
"We need answers," Haldrek finally said.
And there was only one place they might find them.
If it was still where it was supposed to be...
---
The Old-Sighted
The village of Hollow Rest lay deep within the Spine—a forgotten settlement nestled in the mountains, home to those who had chosen exile over war.
Among them was a man called Brynjar the Old-Sighted.
A hunter, long past his prime.
A man who had lived through battles with beasts that others had only heard of in stories.
And, as the legend went, the only man who had ever encountered the Phantom of the Skies and lived to tell the tale.
Haldrek and his warriors arrived at the village under heavy skies, their arrival watched by wary eyes.
Brynjar's home was a simple hut, its walls lined with old pelts, its roof sagging under the weight of years.
Inside, the old man sat by the fire, his face a map of deep scars. His hair was white, his hands gnarled from time.
But his eyes—sharp and grey—held the weight of someone who had seen.
"You came for the Phantom," Brynjar said, his voice like rusted iron as it seems like he had expected them.
Haldrek stepped forward. "You know it."
Brynjar chuckled. "Aye. And you've met it, I see."
Haldrek did not answer.
Brynjar studied him. "How many did you lose?"
"Too many," Haldrek admitted.
The old hunter nodded, as if he had expected that. "It lets you think you're the hunter. But you never were."
Haldrek clenched his fists. "What is it?"
Brynjar sighed.
And then, he began to speak.
---
The Dragon That Was
"Many years ago," Brynjar murmured, "before it was a ghost, before it was a legend, it was just a dragon."
A long pause.
"A young Light Fury. Fearless. Playful. It soared through the skies with no fear of man or beast. It danced with the wind, free and untouchable."
Haldrek frowned. "That… doesn't sound like the creature we faced."
Brynjar nodded. "Because that dragon died a long time ago."
The fire crackled.
And the old hunter's voice grew heavier.
"It was hunted by another dragon, barely managed to survive. Those who claim to witness that event, spoke of seeing only a red streak."
Haldrek's grip on his axe tightened.
"It was burnt, blinded by the one who hunted it. The fire took its sight, stole its innocence. But it did not break. No… it adapted."
Brynjar exhaled. "I saw it, once. Before it became a myth. Before it became this."
He rubbed his temple. "Back then, I was foolish enough to think it was just another hunt. We tracked it for weeks—thought we had it cornered. And then, one night… it came for us."
His hands trembled slightly.
"We weren't hunting it."
His eyes flickered up to meet Haldrek's.
"It was hunting us."
---
The Transformation
Haldrek listened in silence.
The old man's words were too similar to his own experiences.
Too real.
"What changed?" Haldrek asked. "Why does it fight like this?"
Brynjar was quiet for a long time.
Then, he said, "It doesn't fight for survival."
His gaze was distant, as if staring at something long lost.
"It fights for control."
Haldrek frowned. "Control?"
Brynjar's voice dropped.
"You think it's just a beast, don't you? Just another dragon—wounded, angry, desperate."
Haldrek said nothing.
Brynjar shook his head. "You're wrong."
He leaned forward.
"It isn't desperate. It isn't scared."
A pause.
"It knows."
Haldrek narrowed his eyes. "Knows what?"
Brynjar's lips curled into something like a smile.
"That it is better than us."
---
A Being Beyond Fear
"The Phantom does not panic. It does not strike in anger. Every move is calculated. Every attack is precise.
"It is not a dragon lashing out.
"It is a tactician.
"You saw it yourself, didn't you? It could have killed you. Could have killed all of you.
"But it didn't."
Haldrek swallowed.
Because he had seen it.
The Phantom had stood before him. Had let him live.
It had chosen not to end them.
And that terrified him more than anything else.
"It isn't a mindless beast," Brynjar murmured. "It is something more."
The fire crackled in the silence.
Haldrek let out a slow breath.
He had come for answers.
But the truth was worse than he had imagined.
Because Brynjar was right.
They had not been fighting a dragon.
They had been fighting something beyond that.
Something that had outgrown fear.
Outgrown anger.
Outgrown weakness.
And it had been watching them all along.
---
What Now?
Haldrek rose from his seat.
His warriors were silent, absorbing the weight of Brynjar's words.
For the first time, they understood.
This was not a simple hunt.
It never had been.
Haldrek exhaled.
He had led his men here to slay a beast.
Now, he wasn't sure if that was even possible.
But one thing was certain.
The Phantom was still out there.
And it was waiting.
Haldrek clenched his fists.
The hunt was not over.
But neither was the lesson.
They had underestimated their enemy.
That would not happen again.
He turned to his men.
"We move at first light."
Because if the Phantom of the Skies wanted control—
Then Haldrek would take it back.
---
End of Chapter 5