Drake Ashborne had hunted the charizard for eleven years, and today he could not even find the beast's trees. He stood in the middle of Ebonywood with no trail, no tracks, no smoke. The blindfold over his left eye itched in the heat. Beneath it sat the scar the charizard gave him, the reason he carried a spear too heavy for most men. He turned in a slow circle. Every path looked the same. He had walked since dawn and learned nothing. He kicked a rotten log and cursed. A man could wander this forest for a year and never see the monster. He needed someone who had. Someone who had faced it and lived. Smoke drifted through the trees ahead. Real smoke, thin and steady. Drake followed it and found an old man splitting wood. The man swung an axe with one hand. His left sleeve hung empty, pinned at the shoulder. His gray beard covered half his chest, and each swing cracked a log clean in two. "You split wood like that missing an arm," Drake said. The old man did not stop. "Lost it to teeth, not to weakness." He buried the axe in the stump and looked up. "You're the hunter. Word travels. Fool with the covered eye, asking after the fire lizard." "Drake Ashborne." He stepped closer. "You've seen it." "Seen it?" The old man pulled up his empty sleeve. "Garret Thornwood gave it an arm. It came down while I was felling timber. Took the arm, took two men beside me. I crawled three days." He spat. "I remember where it came from. I remember the exact ridge." Drake's heart pounded. Eleven years, and here stood a man who knew. "Show me. I'll pay whatever you ask." Garret laughed, but there was no joy in it. "You can't pay me to go back there. But I'll tell you one thing for free." He pointed his thumb over his shoulder, deeper into the trees. "Walk that way till the ground turns black. You'll find proof it still hunts. Then decide if you're still brave." Drake walked. The trees thinned. The soil darkened, then turned to ash under his boots. He smelled burning before he saw it. In a clearing rose a heap of bones, blackened and cracked, small fires still licking between them. Ribs. Skulls. Some were deer. Some were not. The pile smoked as if fed that morning. He knelt and touched a scorched bone. Still warm. The charizard was close, and it was feeding. His aimless wandering was over. He finally had his direction. But as he stood, he understood what the warm bones meant. The beast had eaten here today. It would return to guard its kill. He was standing in its dining ground, alone, with no plan and the light already fading. Drake gripped his spear and looked up at the darkening sky.