The gates of Thornstud opened to them four days later.

Gabriel and Tess walked through with the weight of thirty Greystone crystals in their packs and the smell of smoke still clinging to their clothes. The guards barely glanced at them. Just two more hunters returning from a contract, alive or dead didn't matter to gate duty.

The streets felt different now. Louder, more chaotic. Or maybe Gabriel was just more aware of how thin the line was between the hunters drinking in taverns and the Greyscale they'd burned in Millren's Rest.

"Straight to Tormund's?" Tess asked.

Gabriel nodded. His ribs had finished healing on the journey back, the bones knitting together completely. No pain remained, just the memory of the alpha's fist and the knowledge that he'd survived something that should have crippled him.

The awakening was accelerating. He could feel it in his blood, in the way his senses had sharpened, in how the red smoke responded faster to his will.

Time was running out.

Tormund's forge blazed with heat as they entered. The dwarf stood at his central workstation, hammer striking molten metal with rhythmic precision. He didn't look up.

"Back already," he said over the ringing strikes. "Either you're the fastest hunters I've ever met or the dumbest, coming back to lie about finishing the job."

Gabriel pulled the pouch from his pack and poured the Greystone crystals onto the workbench.

Thirty crystalline deposits, ranging from white to dark grey, clattered across the stone surface.

Tormund's hammer paused mid-swing.

He set down the tool and moved to the workbench, picking up one of the darker crystals and holding it to the light. His expression remained neutral, but something shifted in his eyes. Respect, maybe. Or disbelief.

"Thirty," he said quietly, rolling the crystal between his fingers. "You cleared the entire nest."

"Yes," Gabriel said.

"The Marrows were six experienced hunters. They didn't even get half this far." Tormund set down the crystal and looked at them properly. "What happened to them?"

"Three were dead when we arrived. The other three had been turned." Gabriel's voice was flat. "We killed them with the rest."

Tormund was quiet for a moment, studying Gabriel with new intensity. Then he nodded slowly.

"Wait here."

The dwarf disappeared into the back of his forge. They heard movement, the sound of heavy objects being shifted, then he returned carrying the Ironscale plate armor they'd seen before.

He set it on the workbench with surprising gentleness for something made of metal.

"Ironscale ore," he said, running a hand across the dark grey metal. "Light enough to move, strong enough to turn wyvern claws. Articulated plates here and here." He pointed to the joints. "Allow full range of motion. Won't slow you down in a fight."

Gabriel stepped forward and lifted the chest piece. It was lighter than he expected, the metal cool against his hands. The blue shimmer in the grey surface caught the forge light.

"Try it on," Tormund said.

Gabriel removed his torn cloak and ruined shirt. Tess helped him fasten the straps, adjusting the fit across his shoulders and ribs. The armor settled against him like it had been made specifically for his frame.

He moved through a few practice motions. Drawing his sword, pivoting, raising his arms. The plates shifted with him, flexible despite their strength.

"It fits," he said.

"Should. The hunter who commissioned it was your build." Tormund moved to another rack. "Now for the swords."

He pulled down two blades, each wrapped in oiled cloth. When he unwrapped them, Gabriel's breath caught.

Twin swords, perfectly matched. Dark grey Ironscale ore with the same blue shimmer as the armor. Each blade maybe ninety centimeters, straight and double-edged with a narrow taper designed for piercing. The crossguards were minimal, allowing fluid transitions between strikes. The handles were wrapped in dark leather, worn smooth.

"Balanced for dual-wielding," Tormund said, offering them hilt-first. "Light enough for speed, heavy enough to bite deep. The ore resists magic. Won't shatter against enchanted defenses like normal steel."

Gabriel took them, one in each hand. The weight felt perfect, the balance precise. He moved through a basic pattern, letting muscle memory guide him. The blades sang through the air, faster and smoother than anything he'd wielded since Lucius broke his original twins.

"They'll pierce wyvern scale," Tormund continued. "Won't guarantee they'll kill one, but they'll cut what needs cutting."

Gabriel lowered the blades, staring at them. For the first time since Eldenreach, he felt properly armed. Complete.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

Tormund waved a hand dismissively. "You earned them. Thirty Greyscale is no small feat." He moved to gather the crystals into a secure container. "I'm keeping these for my work. But I owe you the rest of the payment."

He pulled a leather pouch from beneath his workbench and counted out twenty gold pieces. Then he disappeared into the back again and returned with bundles of equipment.

"Cold-weather gear," he said, setting them down. "Thermal cloaks lined with dire wolf fur. Climbing ropes. Real mountain rope, not the cheap hemp most hunters use. Pitons, hammer, carabiners. Everything you'll need for the Spine."

He paused, studying Gabriel again. "You're really doing this. The wyvern hunt."

"Yes."

"Why? Most hunters go after wyverns for glory or gold. You don't strike me as the type who cares about either."

Gabriel was quiet for a moment. "I don't have a choice."

"Everyone has choices."

"Not me. Not anymore." Gabriel met the dwarf's eyes. "I complete the trial or I die. Those are my options."

Tormund's expression shifted slightly. Understanding, maybe. Or recognition of something he'd seen before in other desperate hunters.

"The Spine is three days east," he said finally. "Follow the trade road until it ends, then navigate by the peaks. Look for a triple-peak formation. Central peak tallest. That's where the white wyvern hunts."

"You've seen it?"

"Once. Twenty years ago, when I was still fool enough to climb mountains." Tormund's hand moved unconsciously to his shoulder, old injury remembered. "It's bigger than the legends say. Faster. And it's intelligent. Don't make the mistake of thinking it's just a beast."

"I won't."

Tormund gathered the climbing gear and tied it into a manageable pack. "One more thing. When you face it, and you will face it, wyverns don't hide from threats. Don't hesitate. The moment you see an opening, you take it. Second-guessing gets you killed."

Gabriel nodded. The advice was sound, though he suspected the reality would be far more complicated.

They gathered their new equipment, Gabriel wearing the Ironscale armour and twin swords, Tess helping distribute the climbing gear between their packs.

"Good hunting," Tormund said as they prepared to leave. "Try not to die stupid."

"We'll try," Tess said.

They stepped back into Thornstud's streets, now properly equipped for what was coming. Gabriel adjusted to the weight of the armour, the balance of the twin swords on his back. Everything felt right in a way it hadn't since before the torture, before Ariya, before everything changed.

"We should stock up on supplies," Tess said. "Rations, medical..."

Gabriel stopped walking.

The street continued around them, hunters and merchants flowing past, but Gabriel stood frozen. A chill had run through him, ice in his veins, and with it came a whisper that wasn't the book's voice.

Six moons, Dracamere. The debt comes due.

The illusion charm. The mage in Bridgedon, six months ago. He'd forgotten in the chaos of everything since. Adaranthe, the escape, the trial.

"Gabriel?" Tess touched his arm. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He forced himself to move again, but the chill remained. "Just another problem for later."

How many debts could one person carry? To the book, to Drusgard, to whatever the trial would demand. And now to a mage whose price he didn't know and couldn't pay.

Later. He'd worry about it later.

If he survived the wyvern.

They spent the rest of the day gathering final supplies. Preserved rations for three weeks, medical supplies to replace what they'd used at Millren's Rest, better boots rated for mountain cold, undergarments designed to wick moisture away from skin.

The Cracked Fang's common room was busy when they returned. Vela served stew and bread, moving between tables with her three-fingered efficiency.

Gabriel sat in the corner, away from the crowd, and began his nightly ritual. Both swords this time, checking edges, testing balance, ensuring every component was perfect.

Tess watched from across the table. "You look different."

"The armour?"

"No. Your face. You look focused. Like you've made a decision."

Gabriel ran the whetstone along the first blade's edge. "I have. Tomorrow we leave for the Spine. Three days to base camp, then the climb. No more delays, no more distractions."

"The voice is getting stronger."

It wasn't a question. Gabriel nodded anyway.

"How much longer can you resist it?"

"I don't know. Days, maybe. A week at most." He set down the first sword and picked up the second. "The incomplete awakening is tearing me apart from the inside. I can feel it. Every day it gets worse."

Tess was quiet for a moment. Then: "What happens after? If you complete the trial, drink the wyvern's heart. What do you become?"

"I don't know that either." Gabriel focused on his work, not meeting her eyes. "The vision showed fire. Dracamerians erupting with flame. Becoming something more than they were."

"And you're afraid you'll lose yourself."

"Yes."

"Then I'll be there to remind you." Tess's hand reached across the table, covering his. "Of who you chose to be. Not what they made you. Who you chose."

Gabriel looked at her hand on his. Small, scarred from years of fighting, steady and warm.

"I chose revenge," he said quietly. "I chose to hunt Lucius."

"And then you chose to save a woman in an alley. Chose to try stopping her execution. Chose to complete this trial instead of letting it destroy you." Tess squeezed his hand. "Those were your choices. That's what matters."

Gabriel turned his hand over, threading his fingers through hers. "What if completing the trial destroys everything I am? What if I become exactly what the cult wanted?"

"Then I'll figure out what to do with what's left." Her voice was firm. "But I don't think that's going to happen."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because monsters don't worry about losing themselves. They don't test their control against Greyscale nests. They don't spend every night maintaining weapons like it's a prayer." She met his eyes. "You're still in there, Gabriel. And you're fighting to stay."

The conviction in her voice made something tight in Gabriel's chest loosen slightly. Not the book's pull. That remained constant, demanding. Something else. Something human.

He finished with the second sword and set it aside. The ritual complete, weapons perfect.

"We should sleep," Tess said, though neither of them moved. "Early start tomorrow."

Gabriel nodded but remained seated, her hand still in his.

The common room noise continued around them. Hunters boasting, merchants haggling, the normal chaos of Thornstud at night. A town built on killing monsters, where people like him were normal.

Except he wasn't normal anymore. Hadn't been since Ariya carved the first sigil into his chest.

"Tess," he said quietly.

"Yeah?"

"If I become something you can't recognize. Something dangerous. You run."

"Gabriel..."

"Promise me."

She looked at him for a long moment. Then nodded slowly. "I promise."

She was lying. They both knew it. But the words needed to be said anyway.

They sat in silence until the common room began to empty, other hunters heading to their rooms or continuing their drinking elsewhere. Finally, Tess stood and pulled Gabriel to his feet.

"Come on. Tomorrow we leave for the mountain."

Their room was dark and quiet. Gabriel lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, Tess already asleep across from him.

The book pressed against his consciousness even from inside his pack. The pull was constant now, almost painful. Like something hooked into his sternum, tugging him east toward the mountains.

Dracamere, the voice whispered. You are close. Complete the trial. Become what you were meant to be.

Gabriel's hand clenched into a fist.

Three days to the Spine. However long to find the wyvern. Then the hunt itself.

Then the transformation.

One impossible task at a time.

He finally slept, and his dreams were filled with white scales and golden eyes.

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