The earth bled mana.
It oozed up from the cracks between stone and root, thick and dark like oil, shimmering violet where the light touched it. Pools of it slicked the basin floor, catching the breath of creatures too slow or stupid to avoid the taste. The predator watched it roll down a bent root, pooling silently at its paws — one droplet slid against the pad of its toe, cold and humming.
It had not drunk yet. Not properly. Not with purpose.
It crouched beneath the thorns in silence, eyes fixed on a murk-antlered grazer that had strayed too close to a mana spring. The air steamed where the creature's hooves disturbed the soil. Its blood would be rich — its flesh would be laced with the life that shaped this world. A worthy first kill. If the predator drank deep enough after the heart stopped beating, it might feel the shift. Might feel the change.
A breeze stirred. Liquid mana shivered in its pools like disturbed breath.
The predator waited. Then moved.
It slowly faded out of reality as light seemed to bend around it's features giving it a semi-invisible. This would not last log its mana consumption was nothing to scoff at.
In a quick burst if speed it shot at the murk-antlered grazer, without missing a beat it pounced roaring mid leap. A mana- infused sound burst rippled through the marsh lands a grazer stood paralyzed allowing a successful bite to its spine rendering it immobile. In one final execution the predator pressing it's paw down on the creatures neck it increased pressure as mana pulsed violently through its veins.
The predator stood over its prey as it huffed violet smoke escaping its nostrils.
"I need to return... the cubs should have been born by now." the predator spoke a low growl coming out by the end of his statement.
It opened its maw. Its forward-curving canines locked around the neck of the carcass. With practiced ease, it dragged the kill through the marsh.
The path home wound through a vast, dark-purple plain — a stark contrast to the vibrant, bioluminescent forest edging its border. Shadeclaw paused beneath a towering tree. Its fruit resembled apples, but they were deep violet, veined with glowing blue runes that pulsed softly in rhythm with the mana-soaked earth.
At the tree's base, Shadeclaw released the carcass. With a precise bite, he tore open the neck, letting the blood spill freely onto the tangled roots.
The ground drank greedily. The tree glowed, vibrant and surreal, bathed in light as the ashen-grey blood soaked into the soil. Humming filled the air. Mana pulsed up through the trunk, the fruit intensifying in color like living stars.
Shadeclaw barely reacted. He'd seen this before.
Once the offering was accepted, he lifted the carcass again and continued along the memorized route toward his lair — until a shift in the trees stopped him cold.
Something large. Heavy.
He turned.
A Greyhold stepped from the shadows — young, but already towering at seventeen feet. Its tusks gleamed beneath the moon-filtered canopy, and its eyes were sharp with idle mischief.
"Isn't it Shadeclaw the Welgroth," it rumbled, trunk swaying with casual arrogance. "My neighbor. Where's your mate?"
The earth shuddered beneath its footsteps as it paced the border, each print a crater in the moss.
"C'mon, man. Entertain me a little. I'm bored."
Shadeclaw stared. Unblinking. Unimpressed.
"Look, kid," he growled. "I was here when your ancestors still pissed themselves at lightning. I ain't your pal. Go back to being a lazy little shit and stay off my trail."
In a single, fluid motion, he turned and vanished into the trees, the carcass dragging behind him in silence.
The Greyhold stood there for a while, blinking.
Then, with a snort, it turned and plodded away — leaving Shadeclaw alone with the dark, steaming roots of the world.
The swamp was really swampy, and the air was heavy. Shadeclaw moved through it with slow, heavy steps. Everything around him was kind of glowing and pulsing like it was breathing or maybe alive. Mushrooms dangled off tree trunks, and fireflies buzzed around like little flying lanterns. It was quiet except for his footsteps and dripping sounds. The blood from the carcass was still dripping too.
He didn't exactly need a path because he already knew where to go. Even though the landscape changed sometimes, he could feel it in his bones. Mana had a way of messing with the ground — roots growing weird, rocks glowing, and sometimes the way forward didn't even look like it did yesterday. But Shadeclaw remembered.
Finally, he reached his den. It was kind of hidden under a sharp rock that bent over like a claw. Vines covered the opening and it smelled strong — like blood, and wet fur, and maybe something else. Like something was born recently.
"Veyra?" he said, not yelling but loud enough.
A small shape appeared. A cub. Wobbly and tiny with big eyes. She looked up at him, sniffing the air. Another cub followed behind, even clumsier, and then a third one rolled into the light, snarling at a stick like it was the most dangerous thing in the world.
Then Veyra came out. She looked tired but proud. Her leg was a little hurt maybe, or just stiff. She didn't say anything, but Shadeclaw looked at her and kind of nodded. That was enough.
He dragged the carcass into the den and the cubs attacked it — not really skillfully, but with excitement. Shadeclaw sat down near the entrance, just breathing and letting the violet smoke come out of his nose slowly.
Then the ground shook.
It wasn't huge, but it was there. Like something moved underneath.
Veyra looked up. "You felt that?"
Shadeclaw narrowed his eyes. "Not a storm."
The air had changed. It felt colder and kind of wrong. He sniffed, muscles tense. Something was off.
Then there was a sound. It wasn't a normal sound. It was like something grinding metal together, but deeper. He turned west.
"Watch the den," he told Veyra, and didn't wait.
The trees were broken. Not from age but from something hitting them. Mana was acting strange. Instead of flowing, it looked stuck, like it was scared.
Shadeclaw climbed up a hill. At the top, he saw something bad.
A hole.
Not just a hole — it was black, and deep, and looked like it was hurting the ground. The roots around it were dead. Mana had crystallized into weird sharp shapes that looked like broken glass.
Shadeclaw growled.
He knew what this meant.
The Nullborn were back.
They weren't normal creatures. They were wrong. Made from dead mana, from silence and stuff that should never move. They were more like accidents than anything. They didn't bleed. They didn't live. They just consumed everything.
He saw one.
It crawled out of the hole, long and skinny and weird. Its arms bent the wrong way. Its face had no eyes — just a smooth, glowing bone-like surface. It was hungry.
Shadeclaw jumped.
The monster jumped too.
They hit each other in the air. Claws and teeth and screeches. Shadeclaw bit down, and his roar blasted out across the trees.
It wasn't just a fight.
It was a warning.
The Nullborn hit the ground hard. It was dying, or whatever dying was for something like that. Its black blood hissed and disappeared, turning into smoke. The smoke whispered — voices, maybe. But Shadeclaw ignored them.
He stood there, breathing heavy.
One down.
But he knew there were more.
The world was changing again. Not slowly, like before. Fast. Dangerous.
He looked back toward his den.
The cubs were waiting.
There was no time to sleep anymore.