An Old Face, A New Mask

The Frostscale Python made its den on Frostfang Ridge, a stretch of broken, windswept terrain a hundred miles north of the capital home to a Gold-tier boss sitting somewhere around level 25, according to the bounty board back at the Guild.

Kael pushed north at a steady clip the moment he cleared Frostwatch's gates, boots crunching over half-frozen ground, breath fogging in air that hadn't warmed up since dawn. A few miles out, something at the back of his skull started itching.

Someone's behind me.

Whoever it was knew exactly what they were doing. Multiple bodies, trading off the tail in short, disciplined intervals, dipping in and out of stealth like they'd rehearsed it.

The kind of tracking an average player would never notice in a hundred years hell, most veteran players wouldn't catch it either.