The caravan never knew how close it came to dying.

  Moonlight filtered through the broken canopy, silver and cold, glinting off wagon roofs far down the road. The merchants moved cautiously, unaware that twenty men lay hidden ahead of them—spread in a loose crescent, blades oiled, bows notched, patience sharpened.

  They never got the chance.

  Kaelen moved first.

  He did not charge.

  He fell—a shadow peeling itself off a tree trunk, dropping soundlessly behind the rearmost bandit.

  The man had just enough time to frown before darkness swallowed his mouth and blood stopped his breath.

  Kaelen lowered the body gently, already gone.

  Lightning flickered once.

  Not outward—inward.

  His muscles surged, reaction time collapsing to instinct. He blurred forward, shadow folding around him like a cloak, blood Ni reinforcing sinew and bone.

  The first scream never finished forming.

  A bolt of compressed lightning punched through a man’s chest without burning, stopping his heart instantly.

  Kaelen was already moving when the body fell, shadow carrying him sideways as an arrow cut through where his head had been a heartbeat earlier.

  “Left flank,” Roric muttered from the ridge above.

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  “I see it,” Vex replied quietly.

  Kaelen didn’t need either of them.

  He felt the flow—the shape of the fight forming in his mind.

  Twenty enemies. Poor spacing. Overconfidence. Fear blooming too late.

  He stepped into the fear.

  Shadows surged up from the ground, not as tendrils, but as false silhouettes—flickering afterimages that sent bandits swinging at ghosts.

  Kaelen slipped between them, blood Ni spiking as he drove a palm strike into a man’s throat.

  Cartilage collapsed.

  The bandit dropped, choking.

  Lightning cracked—short, surgical.

  Three men convulsed as nervous systems overloaded, bodies locking before they hit the dirt.

  Kaelen rolled through them, came up behind another, and snapped his neck with reinforced strength.

  “Clean,” Vex murmured. “He’s not wasting motion.”

  “Or mercy,” Roric rumbled. “Good.”

  The bandits finally reacted as a group.

  Shouts. Panic. Steel flashing.

  Five of them broke from cover and charged him together.

  Kaelen stopped running.

  He stood.

  Blood Ni flared visibly now, veins glowing faint crimson along his arms as he braced.

  The first bandit swung wide—Kaelen caught the blade barehanded. Metal screamed as his blood-enhanced grip crushed it inward. He drove his elbow into the man’s face, skull caving.

  Shadow surged behind the second attacker, forming a momentary wall that redirected his strike into empty air.

  Kaelen pivoted, lightning snapping through his leg as he kicked—shattering a knee and dropping the man screaming.

  The third and fourth came together.

  Too slow.

  Kaelen stepped between them, lightning snapping outward in a controlled arc that struck both hearts simultaneously.

  They fell without a sound.

  The fifth hesitated.

  That was his mistake.

  Kaelen closed the distance in a blink, blood Ni surging as he slammed his forehead into the man’s nose.

  Bone exploded.

  The bandit dropped bonelessly to the ground.

  Silence followed.

  Bodies lay scattered across the ambush zone—twenty men neutralized before the caravan even reached the bend.

  Kaelen stood among them, chest rising steadily, eyes sharp.

  No weapons.

  No wasted motion.

  No hesitation.

  From above, Roric let out a low chuckle.

  “He dismantled them.”

  Vex nodded slowly.

  “And he did it exactly how we told him to.”

  Below, Kaelen turned toward the distant road, shadows retreating, lightning fading, blood Ni settling back into his veins.

  The caravan rolled on—unaware, untouched.

  And somewhere deeper in the Wilds, the Ashen Talon lost another set of claws.