Devlin drew their sword. Their wolfskin cloak slipped off their shoulders. Around them, the forest bled.

The bole of the white faeriewood tree shimmered as fey soldiers vanished and fled. Whispers rippled through the wood as each soldier's True Name flickered into their mirrors. For a few moments, Devlin sensed no one nearby.

Then, the Hunt arrived. The hooves of helhests burned the forest floor, filling the wood with acrid, sulfuric smoke. Shrieks and howls, growls and roars echoed ahead of them. Devlin shuddered.

Moving through the trees, they shouted an ancient war cry, one remembered from the days of First Shem. Their blade met the flesh of a Hunter, sparks of aether and poioumenon jumping off the conflict between sword and feyblood. The Hunter lept back, bringing a black sabre down hard on the firbolg's arm.