It was quiet in the tent. Not calm — quiet. The kind of silence where you could hear the torch crackle, the canvas walls breathing, the cold seeping in.

  Lenar and Yahim sat on one side of the table — straight, collected, hands near their belts but not on their weapons. Ravon and Kesh sat opposite, leaning slightly back, as if an invisible boundary stood between them and the table.

  Rianes stood aside. He did not sit on principle. In this conversation, he was not a party — he was the boundary.

  The discussion did not move. Not by accident. Ravon and Kesh did not want to speak in front of Lenar and Yahim. Lenar and Yahim did not want to listen to Ravon and Kesh. Everyone understood. No one wanted to admit it first.

  “All right,” Rianes finally said, voice calm, almost indifferent. “We’ll wait for Velm. Then the conversation will start.”

  Outside, the wind died down. The cold intensified.

  Ravon and Kesh already regretted coming. They exchanged short, cautious glances, avoiding the men opposite. Lenar and Yahim behaved the same way. No one trusted anyone. And everyone knew — for good reason.

  The tent flap shifted. Velm stepped inside.

  “Did I miss anything?” he asked, looking around.

  “Just a friendly atmosphere,” Rianes replied dryly.

  Velm stopped by the table, not sitting. “Will you introduce the guests?”

  “Yes,” Rianes nodded. “Two very secretive people. They came with information about the engineer. But when they saw Lenar and Yahim, they reconsidered.” He shifted his gaze. “Lenar and Yahim, in turn, were also not pleased. And almost simultaneously reached for their weapons.”

  Velm studied Ravon and Kesh longer than necessary.

  “Lenar,” he said without looking away, “perhaps you can explain who we’re sitting with?”

  Lenar did not hesitate. “This is Ravon. The city’s main smuggler. And this is Kesh — his protégé. Among other things, they trade stolen Glass from the mines.” He tilted his head slightly. “And Kesh very unexpectedly turned up near the mine at night. On horseback. During the attack.”

  Velm nodded slowly. “Oh. So we have here… a conflict of interest.”

  Rianes understood instantly: this was the witness he had never met at the tavern. He and Kesh exchanged a glance. Rianes chose to ignore it. The tavern was better left unmentioned.

  “I see,” Velm said. “We have a shortage of trust. Let me fix that.” He turned to Ravon and Kesh. “You don’t want to reveal your secrets in front of others. What if I reveal theirs instead?”

  Lenar and Yahim tensed, both starting to speak, but Velm raised a hand. “Quiet.”

  He looked at everyone. “I’ll remind you: anyone who takes information out of this tent or uses it for personal purposes will regret it.”

  A pause.

  “Lenar and Yahim came to warn us: Olaf wants revenge on Rianes for taking it upon himself to raise his son.”

  Yahim clenched his jaw. Lenar did not look away.

  “Olaf is already acting,” Velm continued. “So far, he has decided to make our stay here… very uncomfortable.” He smiled faintly. “That’s why we will pretend we know nothing about it.”

  The silence thickened.

  “That’s it. Now — your turn.”

  All eyes turned to Ravon and Kesh.

  “Speak,” Rianes added calmly. “You came for a serious reason. If not, your problems won’t be solved here.”

  Ravon slowly turned to Kesh. “Talk.”

  Kesh swallowed. “Well… the thing is…” He stalled; the words came with difficulty.

  “We’ve been working with the mine for a long time. We have regular partners. Over the years, they changed, but a few have been there from the beginning.”

  He looked up.

  “There are some special ones. The kind who never caused trouble. Always bought the same thing. Paid on time. Asked no questions.”

  A pause.

  “But a week before the attack… they placed a strange order.”

  The tent seemed colder.

  “They said they wanted to save one person. An old drunk.”

  “On the appointed evening, we went to him. He was drunk, as always. We led him out of the city. Everyone thought we were just going out drinking.”

  “We handed him over to the partners. And that was it.”

  Kesh fell silent.

  “A week later, the Scavengers attacked the mine. Three days after that, you started searching for him across the city. And that’s when we understood… he wasn’t just a drunk. They knew something.”

  Lenar cut in, unable to hide his relief.

  “That’s excellent news. The engineer may be alive. And we have a lead.” He leaned forward. “Tell us where they live. Either Velm or we will speak with them, bring the engineer back, and sort everything out.”

  Velm did not rush. “Something tells me,” he said quietly, “this isn’t the whole story.”

  “Well… yes,” Kesh admitted without lifting his eyes. “You can’t just walk up to the partners.”

  Velm’s posture didn’t change. His voice remained calm. “Where are they?”

  “In the forest. Near the mine.”

  Rianes stepped closer to the table — not abruptly, but step by step. Silence fell. Only Velm and Kesh spoke now.

  “Which forest?” Velm asked. “The black one, to the south?”

  Kesh shook his head. “No. A different one. West of the mine.”

  Velm nodded as if it were ordinary news. “Ah. That’s the important part.”

  Rianes gave a crooked smile. “I already pictured the two of us searching for each other in the wild forest.”

  “One forest was enough for me for a lifetime,” Velm replied dryly.

  “Not just for you,” Rianes added.

  A brief exchange of smiles. For a second, tension loosened.

  “Wait,” Yahim cut in sharply. “That’s worse.”

  Kesh stared at the floor.

  “The black forest is chaos,” Yahim continued. “Anything could be there. Or nothing at all. You might get lucky.” He raised his gaze. “But the forest to the west… someone is there. And they control it. No one has gone in there for a long time.”

  “No one,” Lenar added quietly, “except those ‘partners.’”

  Velm slowly turned his head toward Kesh. “Seems you’re the only one in this tent who knows who lives there. Isn’t that right?”

  The silence thickened.

  “Tell us,” Velm said, “who these partners are.”

  Kesh swallowed.

  “Well… generally speaking… they’re the Pale.”

  The word fell into the tent like a stone. Someone straightened sharply. Someone else shifted slightly away from the table. Velm and Rianes tensed. Ravon closed his eyes — not from fear, but from shame.

  The Pale were the closest creatures to the Scavengers, but not the same.

  A Scavenger had once been human. They broke, crossed the limits of Lugu use, and became dependent on blood saturated with it. Weak. Hungry. Unable to hunt the strong.

  They attacked only the wounded, the old, the dead. Livestock. Those who could no longer defend themselves. That was why they were called Scavengers — carrion-eaters.

  But the Pale were different.

  They sought fresh blood. Especially the blood of high-stage Suggestors.

  They did not develop resistance to Suggestion. They only drank. Because of that, they were completely defenseless against it — and so they learned never to give it a chance.

  They attacked at night. In fog. In darkness.

  Over the years, their skin grew pale, almost white — not from illness, but from their way of life.

  Generation after generation, they lived in caves, in deep forests. They took those who had already accepted Lugu and killed them in their camps while the blood was still warm.

  Without torture. Without ritual. Quickly.

  Not out of cruelty. Out of dependency.

  Over time, there were fewer of them — but they became more organized. They stopped attacking indiscriminately and began hunting selectively: Suggestors, seekers of knowledge, those who went too far in their pilgrimages.

  Velm exhaled slowly. “Now,” he said quietly, “that sounds like the whole story.” He looked at Rianes. “And like very bad news.”

  “The Pale?!” Lenar slammed his palm on the table. “Are you completely insane?!”

  “Sick degenerates,” Yahim snapped. “Do you understand that every kingdom is hunting them?”

  “They’re suspected in a hundred abductions,” Lenar continued, furious. “Victims from upper cities. From families no one touches lightly.”

  The accusations piled up.

  Kesh flinched but didn’t retreat. “But they’re better than many people! They never failed us. Always paid. Everything went according to plan. They didn’t attack anyone!”

  Lenar smiled bitterly. “Of course. You were bringing them the Glass. You’re a civilian.” He leaned forward. “Or are you second stage? Why would your blood interest them?”

  Kesh had no answer.

  Then Ravon spoke calmly. “I met with them, too. When Kesh couldn’t.”

  All eyes turned to him.

  “They didn’t touch me. And yes… I’m second stage. Have been for a long time.”

  The words didn’t explode. They sank. The hysteria stopped instantly.

  Kesh slowly turned his head, as if seeing Ravon for the first time. The second stage was no small thing. At that level, people became chief Suggestors of settlements. A few years of experience meant a council seat. Influence. Protection. A different life entirely.

  Silence returned — heavier now. More dangerous.

  “That changes nothing,” Lenar said harshly. “They needed you. That’s why you’re alive.” He leaned back as if concluding the matter.

  Velm and Rianes had stayed silent throughout. When the shouting faded, Velm spoke, almost curious.

  “What goods did they order over the years?”

  Kesh answered quickly. “Glass. Supplies. Fresh meat. Livestock. Almost always the same. Similar quantities.”

  Velm nodded. “So their numbers are stable. Supplies regular. They don’t migrate.”

  A pause. “But why the engineer? Did they say anything?”

  “No. But they needed him specifically. They knew he was old and sick.” Kesh lifted his eyes. “I understood they didn’t need his blood. The only thing they said was this: it was more profitable for them if he stayed alive.”

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  Velm turned to Rianes. “Thinking anything?”

  Rianes watched the torch flame as if counting shadows. “No. None.”

  Another pause.

  “Then we’ll go to them,” Rianes said. “The day after tomorrow. No time to drag this out.”

  “Go?” Yahim snapped. “Straight into their forest?” There was no humor in his voice. “Now I understand why the king values you.”

  “I’ll gather a unit,” Lenar offered. “We’ll escort you to the mine.”

  “No,” Rianes cut in calmly. “Secure the city. Clear the field and ditch. Set observation posts with our people. Watch the mine and the Scavengers.”

  Lenar nodded. “Understood. But how will you find the forest?”

  “Kesh and Yahim will help us.”

  They both looked at him at once.

  Yahim said nothing, but his body betrayed him — cold fingers, tight throat. Lugu ran in his blood. He was young. Valuable. Going into the Pale forest felt like a death sentence.

  Kesh looked calmer. He had been there before. “After the attack, they stopped coming to our meeting place.”

  “Then we’ll go deeper,” Rianes replied. “And find them.”

  Now Kesh grew nervous, too.

  Ravon cut in. “They won’t be pleased. They’ll kill everyone. And Kesh first. For betrayal.”

  Rianes looked at each of them. No one liked the plan.

  “Calm down,” he said evenly. “Everything will be under control.” He leaned slightly forward. “Skeld will be with us. Two good fighters. And one more trump card.”

  He didn’t explain.

  Velm smiled faintly. He understood. “Listen to Rianes. Everything will be fine. Just do exactly what he says.” A pause. “And dress modestly. No bright colors.”

  “We leave during the day,” Rianes added. “We’ll be in the forest by evening. Light armor. Three days.”

  He straightened. “Tomorrow at noon, I expect you here.” His gaze shifted to Ravon and Lenar. “Velm stays in charge. All contacts go through him.”

  A brief pause.

  “And now… go home.”

  No one objected. They dispersed in silence, in pairs, without farewell words.

  Only Rianes and Velm remained in the tent. The torch crackled. Ahead lay what was never spoken aloud.

  Rianes watched the others leave — not to say goodbye, but waiting for Velm to follow.

  Velm did not move. The torch shifted; shadows slid along the canvas walls.

  When Rianes realized the conversation was not over, he spoke before even turning.

  “Ravon took a wrong turn somewhere, didn’t he?”

  Velm didn’t answer immediately. “Don’t jump ahead. Don’t even think about it.”

  Then he raised his eyes with a faint smile. “You’re hoping to meet them, aren’t you?”

  “Oh, come on,” Rianes snorted. “What are the chances? How long has it been… twenty years?”

  He spoke as if convincing himself.

  “They haven’t been in our forest for a long time,” Velm replied. “But this one… near the mine… It suits them.”

  Rianes finally turned. “You do understand,” he said quietly, “that if it’s not them but someone else, we might not come back.”

  Velm fell silent — truly silent. He hadn’t considered that.

  When he spoke again, the smile was gone. “Maybe… I should go with you. Take Syra as well?”

  Rianes didn’t answer at once. “No,” he said finally. Then more firmly: “No. That would be worse.”

  He stepped closer. “They remember you. Very well. If it really is them — and they see you — we’ll never see the engineer again.”

  Velm nodded.

  “And Syra is needed here. She’s the only one maintaining contact with Olaf and the city’s fine society.”

  “And the ‘trump card’?” Velm asked quietly. “Do you really think he won’t make things worse?”

  Rianes exhaled. “Let’s call him. I want to be sure this works for him, too.”

  A pause.

  “Because if not—”

  “—then I’ll go,” Velm finished.

  He stood, stepped to the entrance, and briefly called to the guard.

  “Bring our friend.”

  They sat down side by side. In silence. Shifting their hands. Searching for a comfortable position. Not finding it.

  This “friend” always demanded the right posture for a meeting. And it showed in both of them.

  Footsteps near the entrance. The mercenary guard held the canvas aside, widening the passage.

  The “trump card” entered.

  He was big. Too big for the tent.

  It was Grimcross.

  He stopped by the entrance, forced to lower his head. The tent was made for humans. He was not.

  In size, he was smaller than an ordinary bear, but that felt like deceptive relief. There was no bear-like heaviness in him. His body was denser, coiled like a spring, ready to uncoil at any moment.

  He retained the hide of a beast and the familiar gait on four limbs.

  But he could straighten up— stand upright like a humanoid, and then his shadow changed at once, becoming unnaturally human.

  The forelimbs were developed far more than those of any other animal. Not just paws— they were hands, capable of holding weapons, opening latches, and carefully picking up small objects without breaking them.

  His face was the worst part.

  The shape of the skull still belonged to a beast, but human features were already emerging within it: an irregular jaw, a gaze that was too aware, muscles that worked not like an animal’s.

  It was not a human face. And not a beast’s muzzle.

  It was something in between, and that was exactly why it was monstrous.

  Grimcross could speak only a few words in a row. Roughly. Abruptly. But he heard everything. Understood more than he wanted to show.

  Sometimes he stayed silent longer than necessary. Not from lack of understanding— from choice.

  So that he could be among people, the Compact had created special light armor for him.

  It did not restrict movement and covered only the most critical areas of the body: chest, neck, and joints.

  A mask was put on his face. Not to hide fear.

  But so people could look in his direction and not avert their eyes immediately.

  The mask did not hinder breathing. Did not block vision.

  And did not make him any less dangerous.

  Grimcross stood silently. He did not move.

  But the tent felt tighter than its walls allowed.

  Long ago, Rianes and Velm had found him in the basement of a dungeon in the capital of Gravell.

  Back then, the local king had summoned them to investigate a series of murders.

  The king did not know what to do with him. He feared the beast.

  And at the same time, used him as everyone does— for intimidation.

  For public executions. For silence in the courtroom.

  Grimcross sat in the darkness, chained, and looked at people as if he had long since understood who the real beasts were.

  How exactly Velm recruited him— no one ever found out. Not by force. And not by suggestion.

  But a few days later, Grimcross vanished from the dungeon.

  And a week after that, he appeared in Hariv— the city of mercenaries.

  Over several years of life among The Compact, he learned the language. Not perfectly.

  But well enough to understand orders, intentions, and—most importantly—threats.

  He became part of the team. Not an equal part. A necessary one.

  A part used for special tasks.

  All Cross shared one common trait. They sensed suggestion. Not like humans. Deeper.

  They could catch its trace at a great distance. Follow it like a scent. Find a Suggestor who had been hiding for months.

  The Compact made wide use of this. Especially when it came to those who were wanted and did not want to be found.

  Rianes did not tell Ruvan about this. When he handed over the captured bandits.

  But it was the Cross who led them to a deeply concealed camp.

  The bandits had no chance. None.

  That kind of story is not told to townsfolk. But this time, the Cross was not needed for hunting. This time—for fear.

  The Pale, who lived in dark and wild forests, often became prey to the Cross itself. And they feared them not as enemies.

  They feared them the way one fears a natural force. That was exactly what Rianes intended to use.

  The tent felt tighter. And much colder. Rianes lifted his gaze to Grimcross.

  “We need to talk.”

  Grimcross remained silent. And that was enough to understand— he was listening.

  Rianes did not raise his voice. One did not speak that way to Grimcross.

  “We need to go into the forest,” he said.

  “And take one person from the Pale.”

  He paused, letting the words settle.

  “In the first good scenario, our acquaintances will be there. We’ll talk. And in a few days, we’ll return with that person.”

  His fingers tightened slightly on the edge of the table.

  “In the second, worst scenario, there will be other Pale.

  And then we’ll find ourselves on the enemy territory, where no one is waiting for us, and no one wants to see us alive.”

  He looked up at Grimcross.

  “I want you to come with us. In case of the second scenario.”

  A short pause.

  “But I don’t want trouble in the first scenario.”

  Rianes took a few objects from the table— a pebble, a knife, a splinter of wood— and laid them out in a line.

  He placed one more slightly behind the others.

  “Come here. I’ll show you.”

  Grimcross slowly rose from four limbs to two. and leaned his forelimbs against the table. The table held. But it creaked—dull, displeased.

  Rianes pointed, object by object.

  “This is us. Me, Skeld, Feren.”

  He shifted one splinter.

  “The archer. Philip. We need eyes and silence.”

  Two more objects.

  “Two locals. The guard Yahim and the smuggler Kesh. One knows the terrain. The other knows the route to the forest.”

  His finger stopped on the object set apart.

  “And this is you.”

  He looked Grimcross straight in the eyes.

  “You stay behind. At a distance. Close enough that we can see you. Far enough that the Pale don’t see you right away.”

  Grimcross slowly lifted his head and cast a glance at Velm.

  “I’m not going,” Velm said calmly. “A Suggestor among the Pale is a bad idea. Trust me. We’ve been through that before.”

  Grimcross remained silent.

  “We leave tomorrow during the day,” Rianes continued.

  “So we reach the forest by evening. Night—on its edge. Morning—search.”

  He swept the imagined map away with a hand.

  “Provisions for three days.”

  A pause.

  “That’s the plan. What do you think?”

  The arteries in Grimcross’s neck tensed. They bulged strangely beneath the fur, as if the body itself were preparing to move.

  Then he answered. The voice was low. Drawn out. Unlike anything human—or animal.

  “I… am with you.”

  Rianes nodded. “Good. Be ready tomorrow. And… don’t scare the locals right away.”

  Grimcross stepped back from the table, dropped to all fours again, and, unhurried, left the tent.

  Rianes exhaled.

  “Every time,” he said quietly, it feels like the first.”

  From outside came the guard’s voice:

  “Not just you, Ri.”

  Velm snorted.

  “Don’t complain. At least he doesn’t sense you somewhere else. Unlike me.”

  “Oh, come on, Velm,” Rianes smiled.

  “He likes you. Consider yourself lucky—you’ve got a loyal friend.”

  “One who will never lose you,” the guard added.

  They laughed.

  Velm made a show of grimacing, then smiled as well and headed for his tent.

  Ahead lay the forest.

  And with it, decisions that could not be taken back.