The first light of dawn cut through the canopy of the Aether-Oak, painting the cliffside in streaks of gold and grey. Kael woke not to the sound of an alarm or the Ministry’s morning bell, but to the rough, sandpaper sensation of a tongue against his cheek.

  One of the Howlers was hovering over him, its massive charcoal head blocking out the sun as it gave him a clumsy, wet lick across the face. The other was nudging his shoulder, sniffing his gear with a curious, huffing breath. The predatory intensity from the night before had shifted into something else—a rough, wild affection.

  "Alright, alright! I’m up," Kael laughed, pushing the heavy snout away. He sat up, wiping his face, feeling the strange, grounding weight of the pack’s acceptance.

  Suddenly, both Howlers sat back on their haunches, their molten orange eyes fixing on the rising sun. They let out a synchronized, low-frequency howl that vibrated through the very rock beneath Kael’s boots. It wasn't a hunting cry; it was a ceremony—a declaration to the mountain that the hierarchy had shifted.

  Watching them, Kael couldn't help but giggle like a kid. It was the first time since leaving his world that the pressure of the race felt light. For a moment, he wasn't a driver under a deadline; he was just a man with a pack.

  "You guys are something else," he muttered, reaching out to scratch the thick fur behind the leader's ears.

  The light-hearted moment vanished the second Kael stood up and turned toward the roots of the Aether-Oak.

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  The patch of moss where the Zephyrix Drake had been resting was empty.

  Kael’s heart did a frantic downshift. He scrambled over to the spot, his eyes scanning the ground. There were no signs of a struggle—no blood, no displaced dirt. Just a few stray teal feathers catching the morning light.

  "No, no, no..." Kael paced to the edge of the cliff, shielding his eyes as he looked out over the mist-covered spires. "He couldn't have gone far on that leg. Not unless he’s crazier than I thought."

  He turned back to the Howlers, who were currently nipping at each other’s scruffs in a playful tumble.

  "Hey! Where is he?" Kael shouted, gesturing toward the empty spot. "The Drake. The big green lizard. Did you see which way he went?"

  The Howlers stopped their play and tilted their heads in perfect unison. One of them let out a short, happy "woof" and tried to nudge Kael’s hand for more scratches. They didn't have a care in the world. To them, the Alpha was awake, the sun was up, and everything was right. Asking them for tracking data was like asking a puppy for a lap time; they just wanted to play.

  "You're useless," Kael sighed, running a hand through his hair. "He’s wounded, alone, and probably thinks he’s better off without us."

  He looked at the steep, jagged rocks leading further up the spire. If the Drake had bolted, it would have headed for higher ground—to the "Away" the villagers spoke of. But with that gash on its leg, it was leaving a trail of scent that every scavenger in the canyon could follow.

  Kael grabbed his pack and snapped his Black-Vine glaive onto its magnetic holster. He didn't have time for a slow search.

  "Listen up," he told the Howlers, his voice regaining its command. "Stop playing. We’re tracking the Ghost. Find the scent. Move!"

  The Howlers seemed to catch the change in his frequency. Their ears flattened, and their playful stance vanished. They lowered their noses to the moss, sniffing the spot where the Drake had slept.