Cosmic Lord: The Error Awakens
Chapter 138: The Watcher’s Pact

Chapter 138: The Watcher’s Pact

Midnight cloaked the western valley in a veil of frost, the stars sharp above a rocky outcrop where Veyna crouched, her wolves silent at her side. The valley’s keeps were distant, their firelight a faint glow, but her focus was on the shadowed camp below—a rival enclave, its bone tents and crude palisades marking strangers who’d watched Kael’s empire too closely. Her bow was strung, quiver heavy, cloak dusted with snow, but her hunter’s edge was tempered by caution. Kael was far, seeking the southern ruin’s truth, and Rhea held the valley, leaving Veyna to scout this threat. Her wolves, Grim and Shade, pressed close, their breaths steaming, sensing her unease. Kael’s trust anchored her, Lyra’s fire a spark in her memory, but the enclave’s intent tested her instincts. She brushed the ground, feeling Kael’s golden veins, faint but steady, their warmth a whisper of EX: Gold Dominion, guiding her.

Day 130, midnight. The stars watch—my blood hunts. Her amber eyes narrowed, resolve a steady ember despite the dark—hundreds lost, Kael gone, the valley’s hearths her charge. My pack’s strength—thousands strong, lands holding—but strangers test strength. The Nexus was gone, a ghost buried, but her blood murmured: Veyna, you guard. She adjusted her bow, the camp’s fires flickering below. Guard? I hunt.

Veyna had tracked the enclave for days, their scouts too bold, circling the valley’s edges, stealing game, probing weaknesses. No blades had clashed, no lords declared war; the threat was subtler—spies, not soldiers, threatening the valley’s fragile unity. Blood hunts. Her blood stirred, heavy with a new truth: You are the valley’s eyes. She closed her eyes, seeking Kael’s pulse—vision: the valley, keeps glowing, a stranger’s offer, voices tense: Veyna, your hunt binds us. Her blood warmed, the outcrop steady—binds? Grim growled softly, sensing movement—a figure in the camp, cloaked, watching her. She froze, hand on her bow—they know I’m here.

A twig snapped behind her, and she spun, arrow notched, to find Drayce, his glaive low, militia shadows behind him—five elite, cloaks blending with the snow. "Easy, Veyna—saw your wolves’ tracks. Rhea sent us. What’s the camp?" His voice was gruff, eyes on the fires below—trust held.

Veyna lowered her bow, voice low. "Enclave—hundreds, maybe more. Not Kin, not survivors. They’ve watched us for weeks, stealing deer, mapping our patrols. I smell a deal, or a knife." Her wolves stirred, eyes on Drayce—caution lingered.

Drayce’s jaw tightened, scanning the camp. "Deal? Rhea’s holding the valley, but she’s stretched—Koryn and Tila’s truce is new. If these strangers push, we’re thin. Confront ’em, Veyna—militia’s gold." His voice held fire, trust steady—Kael’s shadow lingered.

Veyna’s eyes flicked to the camp—vision: the valley, keeps dim, strangers circling, her wolves leading. She nodded, voice sharp. "Confront, but not blind. Drayce, flank the camp—stay hidden. I’ll parley, see their game. Wolves lead." Her blood stirred, golden veins pulsing faintly—the outcrop warmed, Drayce nodding, his militia fading into the dark.

She descended, wolves silent, her steps light on the snow. The camp’s edge was quiet, bone tents glowing with firelight, sentries sparse but alert. Veyna stepped into the open, bow slung, hands raised, Grim and Shade at her heels. A sentry—a tall woman, scar across her cheek—drew a spear, but a voice called from the camp’s center. "Hold, Sira—she’s alone." A man emerged, cloaked in furs, his hair gray, eyes sharp, a bone staff in hand. "I’m Torv, Watcher of the Dusk Enclave. You’re Kael’s scout—Veyna, yes?" His voice was calm, but his gaze probed—he knows too much.

Veyna’s hackles rose, voice steady. "Watcher? You’ve watched our valley, stolen our game. Speak your intent, Torv—no games." Her wolves growled, sensing his guard—six sentries now, spears low. Her blood stirred, golden veins pulsing—the snow warmed, Torv’s eyes narrowing.

Torv’s smile was thin, staff tapping the ground. "Games? We survive, like you. Your valley grows—keeps, fields, gold veins. We’ve no home, only tents. Join us, share your strength—we offer trade, not blades." His voice was smooth, but his sentries shifted—not all agree.

Veyna’s eyes flicked to Sira, whose spear twitched—vision: the valley, tents burning, strangers fleeing, her wolves chasing. She stepped closer, voice low. "Trade? You steal, you spy. Why trust you, Watcher?" Her wolves bared teeth, Grim’s growl deep—doubt burned.

Torv’s smile faded, voice firm. "Spy? We learn to live. Your Kael seeks a ruin—south, yes? We know paths, old paths. Join us, or we take what we need." His sentries tensed, Sira’s spear rising. Veyna’s blood roared—threat.

A shadow moved—Drayce, his militia circling, glaive glinting. Veyna raised a hand, stalling him, voice sharp. "Take? Try, and you’re ash. Trade, Torv—name your terms, or my wolves feast." Her blood stirred, golden veins flaring—the camp warmed, sentries pausing, Torv’s eyes widening.

Sira spat, voice harsh. "Feast? Your valley’s soft—Kael’s gone, woman’s leading. We’ll take it." Her spear pointed, but Torv’s staff blocked her, voice low. "Enough, Sira—Veyna’s no fool. Terms: we trade paths, maps of the south, for grain, wood, a share of your valley’s yield. Allies, not foes." His eyes locked on Veyna’s—testing.

Veyna’s jaw tightened—vision: the valley, keeps strong, strangers joining, her wolves calm. Her blood steadied, voice firm. "Allies? Prove it—maps first, no grain till we see truth. Swear no blades, or Drayce’s militia ends this." Her wolves stepped forward, Shade’s eyes locked on Sira—trust fragile.

Drayce emerged, glaive low, militia at his back—1,000 elite now, their presence heavy. "Ends it? Veyna’s kind—swear, Torv, or we carve your camp." His voice was gruff, eyes on Sira—trust held.

Sira’s spear lowered, muttering, but Torv nodded, voice calm. "No blades—maps by dawn, Veyna. We’ll camp east, no closer. Allies, if you hold." He extended a hand, bone staff grounded—oath offered.

Veyna hesitated, wolves still, then clasped his hand, golden veins pulsing—the snow glowed, the camp quieting. "Dawn, Torv—maps, or we hunt. Drayce, watch their camp." Her blood steadied—deal or trap?

Torv’s eyes softened, voice low. "Hunt? You’re fair, Veyna—your wolves are your strength. We’ll hold." His sentries relaxed, Sira stepping back—trust stirred.

Drayce’s grin was faint, voice gruff. "Watch? Militia’s gold—1,200 now, Kin and survivors. You’re Kael’s eyes, Veyna—good call." His trust steadied—crew held.

Veyna’s wolves eased, her voice low. "Good? We’ll see. Torv, camp east—Drayce, post scouts. I’ll tell Rhea." Her blood stirred, golden veins faint—the outcrop steadied, the camp’s fires dimming as Torv’s enclave prepared to move.

The night deepened, Veyna climbing back to the outcrop, wolves at her heels, Drayce’s militia trailing. She paused, looking to the valley, its keeps glowing faintly, Rhea’s fire a distant warmth. Her heart was heavy—Kael’s absence, Torv’s deal—but her wolves pressed close, Grim’s nudge steadying her. Blood hunts. She’d always been the scout, the hunter, but tonight she’d parleyed, not fought—new path. Her hand brushed Grim’s fur, voice soft. "We guard, old friend—Rhea’ll know." Her wolves huffed, eyes bright—trust held.

Back at the valley’s edge, Veyna met Rhea by the main keep, the square quiet, fires low. Rhea’s flames flickered, eyes tired but sharp. "Veyna, Drayce sent word—enclave? What’s their game?" Her voice was soft, hand on Veyna’s arm—trust burned.

Veyna’s voice was steady, recounting Torv’s offer, Sira’s threat, the maps promised. "Allies, maybe—maps by dawn, no grain till we see. I swore no blades, but wolves watch." Her wolves lay at her feet, eyes on Rhea—hope lingered.

Rhea’s flames flared, voice firm. "Maps? You’ve done what Kael couldn’t—seen without blood. Hold them to it, Veyna—valley’s yours too." Her trust deepened—hope glowed.

Veyna’s heart lifted—vision: the valley, keeps bright, strangers trading, her wolves calm. She nodded, voice low. "Mine? I hunt, Rhea—but I’ll hold. Post scouts, keep Koryn and Tila ready." Her blood warmed, golden veins pulsing—the keep glowed, the square humming.

The dawn loomed, the valley steady, keeps warm, voices soft but alert. Veyna stood by the outcrop, wolves at her side, watching Torv’s camp shift east, their fires dim. Drayce joined her, glaive propped, militia posted. "They’re moving—good eye, Veyna. Kael’s lucky." His voice was gruff—trust held.

Veyna’s grin was faint, hand on Shade’s fur—cost unpaid. She faced the east, voice a low hum. "Lucky? Valley’s ours, Drayce—game shifts. Watch."

Rhea’s voice echoed in her mind, soft but sure. "You’re our huntress, Veyna—guard us." Her trust burned—hope held.

Veyna’s wolves stirred, her voice firm. "Guard? We’re gold, Drayce—valley’s alive. Hold the line." Her edge sharpened—trust glowed.

The valley waited, golden veins faint, the keeps steady—Veyna’s watch kindled anew, its heart forged in a tense pact.