The evening sun painted the desert in pale gold when Ethan reached the ridge.

  He had left Mountford after lunch, keeping his promise to Tilly. It was good food, making him glad he stayed—even if it was only for half an hour. The only downside was Tilly pestering him not to go out there on his own. If not for that, it would have been perfect. He wasn’t sure why she had been so insistent. They had only met the previous night and even then had only spoken briefly. But that wasn’t his business, so again, he politely told her he was still going to leave.

  Now, he stood back in the desert. No town in sight. Which wasn’t good. He knew there was supposed to be one somewhere around here, but admittedly, he had never really traveled this side of the desert before.

  Ethan looked around, noting the massive gorge carving through the desert. He was definitely in the right place. The dunes parted for it, the split cutting through sand and stone alike. Ethan looked up as sand fell every now and again from the top.

  Two jagged ridgelines framed the entrance, their clay and stone faces worn smooth from the elements. The opening was wide enough for a vehicle to pass through, but beyond that first stretch, the passage narrowed sharply. Wind funneled through it, carrying a dry, whispering hiss that echoed faintly down the passage.

  Shit, maybe Tilly wasn’t joking around. Maybe there were monsters hiding in the shadows.

  But apparently this was where people had gone missing. Or at least somewhere around here. So even if it was a bit creepy, he had to check it out.

  He activated [Keen Sense] and let his perception expand. It had already leveled once from being around so many people and keeping it active. Now, with it sitting at level three, it felt like a whole other skill.

  Combined with his awakened [Molten Core], the effects were a lot more pronounced.

  He closed his eyes now and let the skill bloom. His awareness spread outward in a controlled sphere. He was keenly aware of his immediate surroundings. Everything within five yards was opened up to him. Even smells from the desert heat were amplified. His vision sharpened as he checked the shadows for any monsters.

  Everything seemed clear, but he couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched. Call it intuition or experience, either way. He had a strong feeling he wasn’t alone. Still, he kept [Keen Sense] flared as he stepped fully into the gorge.

  The moment he entered it, the wind rolled into him. It funneled between the stone walls in tight, violent currents. Sand whipped sideways, scraping across his clothes and biting at exposed skin. Ethan lifted his bandana and pulled it up over his nose and mouth, narrowing his eyes as grit stung against them.

  The walls rose high on either side, jagged and uneven, casting long shadows that pooled across the canyon floor. Sunlight filtered down in thin slashes, illuminating only fragments of the path ahead.

  He slowed his pace, letting his breathing settle. He didn’t know exactly what he was searching for. A broken weapon. Scorched stone from a spell. Blood. Footprints that hadn’t yet been erased by wind. Anything that suggested Leah and her team had passed through here.

  But for all he knew, they hadn’t.

  For all he knew, this entire direction was nothing more than tavern gossip stitched together with his own desperation.

  But it was the only lead he had, and he wasn’t turning back until he saw it through to the end.

  He swept his awareness along the cliff edges, then across the canyon floor. There were no signs of life. But that didn’t mean much. The desert swallowed any and all traces.

  A sharp clack echoed overhead.

  A small rock dislodged from the cliff and bounced down the wall before striking the ground several meters in front of him. The sound echoed along the cliff.

  Ethan stopped. His hand slid to his sword hilt.

  He angled his head upward slightly, trying to see what had caused the dislodge. The wind pushed hard through a crevice above, and loose grit cascaded down the rock face once more. His grip loosened.

  “It’s just the wind. Stop being a chicken.”

  Ethan exhaled slowly and resumed walking. He had taken no more than five steps when another sound reached him.

  This one did not come from above. It came from ahead. He froze mid-stride, every muscle tightening.

  At first it was faint, irregular against the wail of the wind. Then it grew clearer. Footsteps. Not the soft drag of sand being pulled along by air. Not the scuttle of a small creature hugging the rock.

  These were heavier. Boots striking stone. Echoing unnaturally between the gorge walls.

  Ethan drew his sword in a single controlled motion. The sound of steel leaving its sheath seemed too loud in the confined space. He shifted his footing, planting himself where the ground was firmer, angling his body slightly sideways to reduce his profile.

  The footsteps grew louder.

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  The canyon bent slightly ahead, shadows thickening where the walls narrowed. Ethan strained his eyes, searching for any movement beyond his line of sight.

  A shape emerged from the shadows. It was humanoid. Roughly his height. Moving fast toward him.

  Ethan’s grip tightened fractionally.

  Undead were the most likely answer. The first level was saturated with them after all.

  The figure ran further into view, still partially swallowed by shadow. His head jerked slightly to one side.

  Ethan raised his blade, prepared to sever the neck the moment it entered range.

  The wind dropped for a brief, unnatural lull. In that stillness, the silhouette crossed into a sliver of light. It wasn’t undead.

  It was a human.

  The man rushed forward, clothes torn and coated in blood. One arm hung at an unnatural angle. His face looked beaten, eyes swollen and brow cut.

  Ethan did not lower his sword. He had no idea what the hell was going on, but judging from the man’s outfit, it was safe to assume he had found one of the missing Valkyries.

  The man’s gaze locked onto the blade and he flinched, nearly losing his footing.

  “Help,” he rasped, voice raw and broken. “Please, you have to help.”

  Ethan’s eyes flicked past him toward the bend in the canyon behind, looking for any other dangers.

  “Who did this?” he asked, voice even despite the tension coiling through him.

  The man slowed and came to a stop. He glanced over his shoulder as though expecting something to appear at any moment.

  “They’re still here,” he whispered.

  “We need to get out of here,” he said more urgently.

  Before Ethan could ask what he was going on about, more figures rounded the bend in the gorge.

  Three of them.

  They did not stumble like the injured man had. They moved with speed and purpose, but their bodies lacked any normalcy. Ethan recognized the wrongness in them immediately. The stiffness in their shoulders. The faint stench of rot.

  It looked like undead were actually here. But something was different.

  The first carried an axe. The second held a sword in a proper grip, blade angled forward with familiarity. The third, a woman, came empty-handed, but she ran with an unnatural grace.

  Undead were not supposed to do that.

  On the first level they were mindless. They clawed and bit and swarmed in numbers. They did not carry weapons, and they didn’t look so composed.

  The injured man looked back over his shoulder, saw them closing in, and swore loudly. “Oh fuck. Oh shit, shit, shit.”

  He turned and ran out of the gorge, not looking back.

  Ethan did not follow.

  He committed the direction to memory and shifted his focus back to the three charging figures. Whatever was happening here, it was wrong and he needed to find out why. Three undead wearing Valkyries uniforms, more supposedly missing. The whole thing smelled like a danger he wasn’t willing to ignore.

  The axe wielder reached him first, bringing the weapon down in a brutal vertical arc aimed at splitting him in two. Ethan moved before the strike fully formed. His blade cut out low and sharp, intercepting the haft just above the grip. Steel met wood and iron with a violent crack that rang through the canyon.

  The impact tried to shove him backward, but his feet held firm as [Steadfast] took hold. Instead, the undead was the one forced to adjust, sliding half a step to the side as its balance shifted.

  But it recovered immediately. Ethan felt a flicker of surprise. First, its strike had been powerful, and second, it had already adjusted, preparing to attack again.

  He didn’t have time to think about it any longer though, because the woman was already on him.

  Her fist came in fast and direct. Ethan struggled to track the movement and instead relied entirely on his senses. He ducked beneath it, but his movement was slower than he liked. The weight of his pack dragged at his center of gravity, throwing off the smoothness of the motion.

  Her knuckles tore through the space where his jaw had been. He felt the air displacement brush his cheek.

  He rose just in time to see the third undead stepping in.

  The swordsman brought his blade down toward Ethan’s skull in a clean, precise line. Ethan twisted and dropped to one knee as the sword slammed into stone beside him.

  He rotated through the motion, shrugging his pack off in the same fluid movement. The straps slid free and he hurled it toward the canyon wall. It struck rock and dropped out of the way.

  Lightened, he surged back to his feet.

  The woman’s second strike was already mid-swing. Ethan stepped into it instead of retreating. His blade flashed in a tight arc, meeting her knuckle. It split skin, bone, and flesh apart until coming to a stop at her elbow.

  Her fist stopped inches from his face. Blood spilled from the wound in a heavy stream as flayed meat fell to the ground.

  Ethan’s eyes narrowed as he registered the color. It was deep red and vibrant, unlike the usual black sludge it became.

  He tore his blade free and pivoted while kicking the woman back.

  The axe came again, sweeping horizontally toward his ribs. Ethan leaned back just enough to let the edge skim the front of his shirt. He stepped forward before the undead could reset its stance and drove his elbow into its jaw with brutal force.

  Ethan followed it up with a diagonal slash. The blade cut through the undead’s robes and sank into flesh.

  The swordsman thrust for his throat. Ethan parried cleanly, redirecting the blade. He countered immediately with a cut toward the wrist.

  The undead withdrew just in time.

  The woman lunged again despite her ruined arm. She lowered her shoulder and drove into him, trying to slam him against the canyon wall. The narrow space limited his options. Her shoulder clipped him, pushing him back two steps as sand skidded under his boots.

  That was a mistake on her end and he intended to make her pay. He brought his sword up and slit it across her throat. She tried to retreat but his precision was too great. She fell to the ground, revealing an axe coming toward him.

  Ethan met it head on. Steel screamed as the blades collided. Steadfast anchored him in place, allowing him to absorb the force without giving ground. His strength, bolstered by cultivation, overpowered the undead’s leverage. He slid his blade down the haft and carved into the creature’s fingers.

  Two severed digits fell to the sand. The undead adjusted its grip without hesitation and tried to bring the weapon around again.

  Ethan ended it.

  He stepped inside its reach and drove his sword straight through its throat. The resistance gave way with a sickening pop.

  He ripped the blade free and pivoted instantly, blocking the swordsman. [Keen Sense] working in overtime.

  Their blades clashed in a rapid exchange. Strike met parry. The undead’s form was rigid but technically sound. It guarded its centerline and conserved movement. Ethan could feel the remnants of skill in every motion. And finally he had a decent opponent.

  He broke the rhythm with a sudden kick to the undead’s knee. The joint snapped sideways. As the creature dropped, he brought his sword down in a decisive vertical cut that split skull and brain cleanly.

  It collapsed at his feet. He was a little disappointed, but still, the undead had been stronger with the sword than Nivia.

  Silence returned to the gorge. The wind slid through the narrow passage, carrying the faint scent of blood. He felt his skills deactivate as he stood there, breathing steady, scanning the cliffs for any more danger.

  When nothing presented itself and he felt notifications waiting for him, he wiped his blade on the robe of the least stained undead.

  He needed to track down that Valkyrie and find out what the hell was going on.