The news of the "Beast-Breaker" moved through the Steppes faster than a prairie fire. It wasn't carried by riders—who were currently either dead or wandering the grass without their mounts—but by the animals themselves. The birds in the sky chirped of a "Silver Voice," and the lizards in the rocks scurried to tell the insects of a boy whose eyes held the moon.
Livius sat atop the lead Steppe-Ravager, the massive beast purring with a sound like a grinding millstone. It had accepted him not as a master, but as a part of the natural order. Behind him, the Kharat caravan followed, their wagons now guarded by a pack of twelve iron-furred wolves that would have slaughtered them a day ago.
"The Khan is no longer just angry, Livius," Cian said, riding a smaller, surprisingly docile lizard-mount. He was holding a communication crystal that was vibrating with high-frequency interference. "He's terrified. My sources within the Iron Yurt say that half of his 'Sky-Falcon' scouts have refused to return to their handlers. They're simply circling above the border, waiting for... well, for you."
Livius didn't look back. His Silver Sight was pushed to its limits, scanning the horizon. "The Khan will not surrender because he lost a few scouts, Cian. He has spent forty years building his power on the backs of these creatures. To lose the bond is to lose his identity. He will do something desperate."
"Desperate is an understatement," a voice whispered from the air. Raven appeared, her face pale. "The ground is shaking, Master. Not from an earthquake. From a wake."
Livius felt it then—a deep, rhythmic thrumming that vibrated in his very marrow. It was a mana-signature so large it felt like a mountain was moving beneath the grass. It was ancient, heavy, and filled with a suffocating, stagnant hunger.
"The Earth-Drake," Livius whispered.
In the Silver realm, he saw it. A mile beneath them, a creature the size of a city block was tunneling through the bedrock. It was a "Primal Beast," a creature that hadn't seen the sun since the First Emperor of Argentine had "sealed" the Steppes with a blood-contract. The Khan hadn't just awakened it; he had broken the seal, releasing a catastrophe that he couldn't possibly control.
"He's sacrificed his own vanguard to wake it," Livius said, his golden eyes flaring with a sudden, sharp heat. "He fed the mana-circuits of a thousand riders into the Drake's sleeping heart. It's not a weapon anymore, Cian. It's a localized apocalypse."
The ground ahead of them suddenly buckled. A fissure a hundred yards wide tore through the grass, swallowing trees and boulders like a hungry mouth. A cloud of sulfurous yellow gas erupted from the depths, and then, the head of the Earth-Drake emerged.
It was a nightmare of stone and scale. Its eyes were milky-white, blind to the physical world but sensitive to the smallest ripple of mana. Its "breath" wasn't fire, but gravity. As it roared, the air around the caravan grew heavy, the wagons' wheels groaning and snapping under their own weight.
"Cian, get the Kharats back!" Livius commanded, leaping from his mount.
As he hit the ground, the silver scales on his skin manifested instantly, glowing with a fierce, moonlight brilliance. He didn't draw a sword. He didn't use a spell. He stood in the path of the mountain-sized beast and opened his soul.