Ruach wiped demon blood from his blade and studied the scorched village around him. The smallest of the three demon-lords had passed through here last week, leaving only ash and corpses. He crouched beside a burnt footprint in the dirt—too large to be human, too deliberate to be accidental. His homeland of Zaar had suffered under these creatures for five years now, twisted from green valleys into smoking wastelands. Ruach had sworn an oath on his brother's grave to hunt down all three demon-lords and end their corruption. The trail led north into the Blackspine Mountains, where the demons were said to gather strength. He stood and sheathed his curved blade. The hunt would not wait. Three days later, the mountains gave way to desert. Ruach spotted something tall jutting from the sand ahead. As he drew closer, he saw it was an iron tuning fork, taller than any tower. The metal hummed without wind or touch. He pressed his palm against it and heard whispers—dark words in a language he half-remembered from childhood tales. The demon-lords had marked this place with their power. Their corruption spread farther than he'd thought. He followed the fork's shadow across the dunes until he found a shipwreck rising from the sand. The massive hull lay tilted but intact, its wood dried gray by years under the sun. Ruach climbed through a gap in the side and found the interior still solid. The cargo hold stretched wide enough for supplies and planning. He would make this his base. From here, he could strike at all three demon-lords when the time came. Near the ship, he discovered a building made of cracked clay the color of old wood. Inside sat racks and tables, empty but ready. Ruach unpacked his gear—blades, hooks, chains, and vials of blessed oil. Each weapon found its place on the walls. He stepped outside and looked toward the distant mountains where the demons waited. His base was ready. His tools were sharp. The real hunt was about to begin.