Death was coming.

That was nothing new, for death had been coming for the wanderer for a long time now. But this time, it did not just come for him. It came for Dekker and his family, for Clint and the Perishables, and the villagers of Alhs.

Death was coming.

And it was he who had called it.

The enemy who had taken Ranger's place hunted them, and at his back marched an army of Revenants, creatures who felt no pain, who knew no fear, and so the wanderer and his companions head deeper into the Untamed Lands in search of safe haven.

But whatever else they might be, the Untamed Lands are not safe. For in the Untamed Lands, nightmares are given flesh, terrors stalk the darkness, and ravenous beasts hunt beneath the sun.

Here, in the Untamed Lands, monsters roam.

But the wanderer has lived more than a century, and one of the things he learned was that the worst monsters, the worst evils a man faced were those he brought with him.

Those evils were coming—they had been coming for a long time now.

For the last century, he had survived by running, by staying one step ahead.

But the time for running was coming to an end.

After all, a man could not flee from his demons forever. Sooner or later, he must stand and face them. And so, in the wilds of the Untamed Lands, the eternal wanderer will wander no longer.

He will stand and face his demons.

He will fight.