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Julen nodded. “Yes.”

They both turned slightly in the saddle, scanning the path behind them. For a moment, there was nothing.

But then a shape emerged from the bend they had just passed. Low to the ground and too fast. It resolved as it closed on them.

A glasshound.

Its body was wrong, even more than when they’d seen them before. Light refracted through fractured planes along its limbs, its form constantly shifting as though it struggled to remain contained.

Another followed. Then a third.

Julen swore under his breath. “Keep moving. Quietly.”

Maia didn’t need telling. She urged the horse forward, the animal responding instantly, hooves striking harder against the uneven ground as it surged into motion.

But behind them, the hounds accelerated.

They didn’t bark or snarl. They moved in silence, which was worse because they had no way to judge how close they were. Instead all they could hear was the musical notes of the snow hitting the glass, and the calm around them did not match what was behind them.

The path narrowed ahead, curving sharply around the cliff. Maia leaned into it, guiding the horse as best she could.

“Oh Gods, they’re faster than before,” Julen said, glancing back.

“I know.”

The nearest hound closed the distance quickly, its form stretching unnaturally as it leapt forward.

Maia’s pulse spiked.

“Hold on.”

She pulled the reins hard, forcing the horse to veer slightly off the main path, toward a section where the ground splintered into uneven shards. The horse hesitated at first, but then obeyed.

Behind them, the hounds followed but faltered.

Their movement hit the fractured ground differently. Where the horse found footing, the creatures fractured further, their forms destabilising as they crossed the jagged glass embedded in the stone. One stumbled and started distorting - its limbs collapsing inward before snapping back into place.

Maia seized the moment.

“Now… go!”

The horse surged forward again, gaining distance as the hounds struggled to maintain cohesion over the broken terrain.

One of the hounds didn’t fall back.

It adapted.

Its form tightened, shifting faster over the fractured ground, closing the distance in a sudden, unnatural burst.

“Maia!”

She didn’t have time to turn.

Julen’s grip wrenched against her as something struck the back of the saddle. The horse reared violently, a sharp, panicked cry tearing from it as glass scraped beneath its hooves.

Maia twisted just enough to see it.

The hound, half-formed, its jaw splitting into jagged light as it lunged for Julen’s leg. He kicked instinctively, barely pulling free as it snapped shut inches from him.