The Arch of Blood

The orange wall slams across the Sea of Green, hissing grit through the grass. The Woodsman squints into it, then points toward a pale shape ahead, half-buried in reeds. A white stone arch rises from the turf, and beneath it the air shimmers like heat over coals.

The Royal Courier steps closer to Embers, eyes fixed on the arch. Wind tugs at the dust-cloak there, and for a heartbeat a red sigil flashes within the stonework, matching the mark the Man in Gray wore at the hollow.

The grass parts on the far side of the arch. The Man in Gray stumbles into view, coughing, one hand outstretched as if the barrier has driven him exactly where it means to. He freezes when he sees Embers, then reaches for something wrapped in oilcloth at his belt.

The Woodsman moves in front of Embers, blade low. The courier shifts to his flank. Beyond the arch, a narrow path opens through the grass, leading straight toward a dark stand of trees and, farther still, the edge of a stone ruin half-swallowed by vines.

The arch is not just a trap. It is a route.

The Man in Gray plants his boots firmly in the dirt, his body positioned directly between Embers and the shimmering threshold of the arch.

Embers darts aside with a sudden, sure choice, and the two protectors peel away with her motion, splitting the hunter's attention. Grayman turns after the movement, too late to keep the arch fully barred.

The red sigil flares as Embers reaches the white stone threshold, and the air beyond it opens into a cold, silent corridor of ruin. The arch answers her blood, not his.