"Purple lightning split the ridgeline—move, now!" someone shouted as a bolt lanced the slope. "Shield her!" Keir Gu barked, running, his boots throwing gravel. "She's only hours from birth," Kayla shouted, dragging a cloak over the woman's shoulders. "Don't let them take the child!" "Stay down!" a hunter called, planting his spear. "The strike follows its target." "Who fires heavenly lightning on the Wraithpeak trail?" a steward demanded, eyes narrowing. "This isn't the Miasma—this is aimed." The woman moaned and clutched at her belly. Rain hammered the ridge, and each crack of thunder felt like a drumbeat counting down. "Don't touch—it's restless," the midwife hissed, fisting the woman's hand. "Whatever's inside senses the storm." "What do you see?" Keir demanded, dropping down beside them. "A dancer of shadows. A blue pulse." The midwife's voice shook but she kept her hands steady. "It tries to swim away and then lashes out." "Then we'll stop it from lashing," Keir said. He barked orders in a short, hard cadence. "Spare no ward. Two on her sides. One on the trail. If whatever that is pushes, break its line." "Corvin said the road must be clear for the envoy," a steward argued, peering up the slope. "We can't—" "Clear or not," Keir snapped, "we die if that thing reaches her. Move." Steel flashed. Men and women formed a shield ring, physical and spiritual. The House of Gu's wards flared