Sever the Spine
The gorge loomed ahead like a black wound carved into the land—a jagged scar where the Ironfang pack funneled their stolen supplies, blood sacrifices, and enchanted steel.
Spanning it was the Stonevein Bridge, an ancient dwarven construct reinforced over the years by dark magic. Below, a narrow river wound through rock and shale—impassable save for this singular crossing.
It was here that Alaric chose to strike.
Nightfall.
The Shadowclaw unit moved like whispers across the trees, their eyes glowing faintly, weapons blackened to avoid reflection. Alaric led them from the front—armor stripped down for speed, his senses sharpened to the edge of instinct.
Twenty elite Moonborn. No banners. No drums. Only intent.
"Signal in two," Kael whispered, crouching beside a low rise. "One patrol. Ten guards on the bridge. Sigil-warding on both ends."
Lira knelt beside him, studying the faint magical symbols painted on the stones. "If we breach the wards too loudly, the whole valley will flare awake."
Alaric narrowed his eyes, then pointed to a higher ridge. "Mira, take five and circle left. Cut the patrol off silently. Kael, time the breach with me. Lira—when I say drop the sigil, do it fast and pray the ancestors still love us."
No further words.
This was war by razor and breath.
---
The Assault
Mira's team vanished into the mist. Moments later—snap. A gurgle. Then silence.
Patrol neutralized.
On Alaric's mark, Kael loosed a black-fletched arrow, striking a ward node hidden beneath the keystone. The glow faltered.
"Now," Alaric growled.
Lira sliced her palm and pressed it to the stones. Her blood hissed as it met the rune, disrupting its flow. The arcane glow sputtered and blinked out.
The bridge, for one breath, was unguarded.
Alaric moved.
He sprinted across the stones like a shadow birthed by vengeance. The guards barely turned before he hit them—claws flashing, blade biting. One fell before he drew breath. Another cried out but was silenced by Kael's arrow to the throat.
Then the alarm stone flared.
"Too slow," Alaric spat—and drove his claws into the final ward node, shattering it with a surge of raw moon-forged power.
Lira and Kael hurled rune bombs beneath the arch. The supports trembled. The river surged below.
A deep rumble began.
"Back—now!" Alaric roared.
They ran, leaping from the collapsing stone as the bridge groaned and crumbled. A final explosion rocked the canyon—an entire supply caravan arriving on the far side was crushed in the collapse, their screams drowned by the roar of falling rock.
From across the gorge, Ironfang warriors howled in frustration.
Too late.
The bridge—their only lifeline to northern Darnholm—was dust.
---
Aftermath
In the high forest above the gorge, Alaric stood with the surviving Shadowclaws, watching the sun rise over a broken horizon.
"Phase one complete," Kael murmured, blood on his cheek, but a grin on his face.
"Let them starve," Mira said. "Let them howl in the dark."
Lira turned to Alaric, her voice quiet. "We've struck the first blow. What now?"
Alaric's expression was grim, resolute.
"Now, we draw their blood where it hurts. And when they come to answer—"
He turned to face the Ironfang homeland, eyes gleaming like fire behind frost.
"—I'll be waiting."