A cool breeze brushed against Erith's face, the tall grass drifting like waves drawn by the tide beneath the moon’s pale glow.

He lay still beside a dark pond, his fingers grazing its edge where distant stars wavered in the rippling water.

Everything felt distant—weightless—until Elian's muffled voice drew him back.

The wind faded, replaced with the harsh sound of his labored breathing. Pain surged up his arm and blood saturated the dirt around his hand.

Arms wrapped around his waist, hauling him upright. Elian, equally bloodied and breathless, staggered to keep them both standing.

Dust drifted over the rugged cliffside nearby. The ledge beneath them dropped into a snaking river far below.

“You… fell…” Elian rasped. “The tent pack went over… Still your turn to set up camp… this doesn’t get you out of that.”

Erith coughed a weak laugh, leaning into him as they clambered toward the others climbing the summit.

Hours of marching up the gradually inclining fields and into the abrupt, unforgiving hillsides of the Narrows had battered the Pining Frost Expedition, but as the sun began to wane, their steps finally had leveled out.

An officer stood by a crate of torches ahead with two others lighting and handing them out to weary sifters trudging past.

The river far below wound its way through steep cliffs meeting the hills at a basin, where wilderness was overtaking remnants of an ancient stone city that once stood proud.

Erith imagined the city in its prime, alive with the energy of a hardened people who had defied the harsh terrain to build their home here.

Their legacy lay etched into the stone at his feet, enduring so those of today might witness the grandeur of what came before—and wonder what could have brought it all to an end.

The final descent toward the riverbed quickened as the Pining Frost Expedition, worn down by the season’s most grueling trek in recent memory, was eager for the promise of rest ahead.

"They figured the Narrows weren’t enough?” Erith quipped, passing between crumbling stone walls that flanked their path. "Must’ve really hated visitors if they needed a wall on top of all this."

The wall ran down toward the river and climbed the opposite bluff, as if it had once stretched across the water.

Elian smirked, nudging him. "Completely walled off from the rest of civilization... Sounds like your dream. Bet you'd have loved it here."

The main road forked into narrower passageways where structures stood tall, defying time, while others had crumbled, their rubble spilling across the streets below.

“How many people do you think lived here? Hundreds?” Elian wondered aloud to Erith.

From the heart of the ancient city rose a grand staircase, etched from the stone itself, ascending into the towering bluff and vanishing through a dark opening cut deep into the rock. Remnants of buildings trailed up each side of the steps, disappearing into the hollowed mountain, their shapes swallowed by shadow.

“Maybe thousands," Erith replied, tracing the ancient stone. "I think we’re only seeing the outskirts.”

The caravan veered away from the stairs, winding deeper into the slim passageways through the city ruins toward the river basin.

“Looks like the Warden and the officers are gathering people over there. How does he look that put together after a day like this?” Elian asked, giving a futile swipe at the blood and dirt on his shirt.

“Come to think of it, you never see him sifting either, do you?” Erith teased, stepping toward the river basin where wagons had circled.

Standing next to the Warden was the Captain of the Surelian Sifting Company's Pining Frost Expedition. His graying hair framed a face hardened by years in the field. Despite his age, the man radiated quiet, unmistakable authority over both the Surelian officers and Kaida sifters.

Across from the Captain stood a younger man, the Vice Captain—son of the Captain. Handsome, perhaps Minisk's age, he listened with rapt attention to every word the Warden and Captain exchanged.

The Warden concluded a hushed conversation with the Captain, took a torch from a nearby officer, and stepped into the clearing.

“We’ve got food to pass around,” the Warden began, his voice firm. “Grab water from the river, set up your camp. No drills tomorrow. We eat, then make for Caldis Reach at dawn.”

He squared his shoulders, his gaze sweeping the sifters. “Keep fires lit where possible. If there’s Murasi or any other danger, state your paces. Report it clearly. Your life depends on it. We wake at dawn.”

With that, the Warden gave a final nod, and the ancient city stirred to life as the encampment spread out, sifters setting tents in the clearing and exploring nearby ruins for shelter.

Erith and Elian made their way toward the river, eager to wash and gather water, where a familiar figure emerged.

“Minisk is setting up a fire up the street,” Amaru said softly, gesturing toward a partially intact building farther up a sloping path.

"Heard about your fall," he added. “Minisk said to camp with us tonight. We can share supplies.”

“I’ll grab us some food. You go ahead and clean up, Erith,” Elian said, giving Amaru a small nod. “I’ll meet you by the fire once I’ve rinsed off.”

Elian caught Erith’s sleeve and tugged him closer. “And, Erith?” he whispered, “Tonight isn’t a night to sneak off, I can’t drag you back from a place like this.”

He met Elian’s gaze—warm as fire, yet edged with worry. The words clung to him as they separated.

Erith peeled off his clothes as he reached the riverbank. Blood streaked his shirt, and a dark bruise and thin cut traced across his shoulder beneath it. 

Sifters bathed along the river, replenishing their canteens, while the bluffs above them stood in dark silhouette against the night, silent and watchful.

The cold water bit into his skin, the sharp chill sweeping the worry from his thoughts as he dipped beneath the surface to scrub away the dirt and sweat. He held his shirt beneath the current, watching the moonlit water carry away the blood.

The chill of the night air followed him as waded back and wrung out his damp clothes. He crossed the clearing toward the ruins where the orange glow of a fire spilled from one of the archways ahead.

Minisk and Elian sat by a crackling fire near the entryway, its light barely reaching the darkened corners of the crumbling room.

Erith joined them by the fire, letting the warmth seep into his bones. Elian rummaged through his pack and handed Erith a change of undergarments along with some dried meat and a biscuit.

He surveyed Erith's bruised shoulder, wincing slightly on his behalf. “You look rough, but at least you smell better,” Elian remarked with a smirk, his fingers tracing along an old scar on Erith’s abdomen.

“Yer a bit tougher than ya’ look,” Minisk added, nodding toward Erith’s bruises with an approving grunt. Minisk stood up and stretched, his joints cracking from the day's wear. “S’pose we’ll head for a wash ourselves.”

Elian stood, following Minisk’s lead as he rolled his shoulders. “I’ll recount the paces while I’m at it,” he said, “Minisk counted one hundred and eight from the barrier cart. I’ll double-check it.”

After Elian and Minisk returned from the river, the group gathered around the fire. The sounds of the city slowly settled for the night while they warmed themselves and let their clothes dry.

Elian carefully cut a strip of cloth to wrap around Erith's wounded hand. His touch was gentle, careful not to press too hard.

“Good thing that pack flew off,” Minisk teased, motioning toward Erith. “That’d take you right over the edge with it. I’m sure you’re glad to be rid of it—you always hated setting that thing up.”

When Elian finished tying the bandage, his fingers lingered. He met Erith's eyes with a warmth as soothing as the fire beside them. “There,” Elian whispered, his thumb brushing lightly against Erith's hand.

Amaru chuckled, shaking his head. “Glad Elian’s quick on his feet. Not many would’ve dove after someone like that.”

Minisk’s voice turned more genuine as he nodded toward his tent pack. “You and Elian’ve earned a bit of comfort tonight. Go on, Erith, pull out that canvas. You two can use it for a cover. After a day like today, we’ve all earned something soft to rest on.”

Erith reached for the bag, a faint smile tugging at his lips as his fingers closed on the edge of canvas.

Something shifted at the edge of his vision.

Dust rose in a thin plume from the far corner of the room, drifting down through still air. No one had moved. No one was there.

A faceless figure, woven from shifting strands of darkness, crept behind Minisk without making a sound. The air around it rippled unnaturally, distorting the space it passed through in subtle, unsettling waves.

“Minisk…” Erith started, the word catching in his throat.

"Murasi!" Elian’s shout rang out, sharp with alarm.

The creature’s hand plunged through Minisk’s back, long, jagged fingers bursting out through his chest. Minisk’s body lurched, choking out a startled grunt.

Elian stood beside him, frozen in shock, with nowhere to back away.

"Murasi! One hundred and twenty paces west of the cart! In the building with the archways—!" Panic swelled in Elian’s voice, but the Murasi’s claw swept sideways, slashing across his throat.

The words were abruptly silenced, replaced by a wet, choking gurgle. Elian’s eyes went wide as he clutched his neck, blood spilling out over his fingers.

The Murasi struck again, driving its hand into Elian’s chest. He staggered backward and vanished behind a mound of debris.

All that remained visible was the lifeless sprawl of Elian's arm amidst the scattered stones.

“Elian...” Erith whispered.

Amaru lunged for one of the swords nearby, but before he could grip the hilt, the Murasi cut him down with a single, devastating swipe.

Panic took over. Erith shouted what Elian had tried to report, desperately repeating the paces and their location. His voice cracked with fear as the Murasi closed in on him.

With its dark form looming over him, his foot caught on loose stone. He fell into the corner, back pressed against the cold wall.

His heart thundered.

The creature raised its arm, preparing to strike him down.

In that moment, Erith forced his panic into fleeting serenity. He thrust his hand upward, catching the Murasi’s wrist mid-swing.

The smoky tendrils swirling from the creature shifted, as though drawn toward Erith’s grip. With his other hand, he pressed firmly against its chest.

Strands of the Murasi’s smoky form reverberated across his vision. The threads began to unravel and the creature’s body dissolved into the night air, leaving only a brief silence in its wake.

Erith’s breath came in ragged, uneven gasps he couldn’t control. Minisk lay motionless, a dark pool spreading beneath him, while Amaru slumped nearby, his body still and lifeless.

Shouts echoed from the streets outside, faint and distant.

Trembling, Erith crawled toward where Elian had fallen. He fought to hold back tears, dreading the sight he knew awaited him.

Please, Elian...

He peered over the uneven debris, his heart sinking as he saw Elian’s motionless body, sprawled on the ground.

Before he could react further, the side of the building wrenched and crumbled, ripped apart by an enormous force.

The blow sent debris flying, exposing a monstrous Murasi that towered over Erith.

Its distorted, giant form stood as tall as the building itself. It wound up for another strike, easily tearing through the stone around it.

Erith stood paralyzed in terror staring up at the giant Murasi.

There’s no way…

Every muscle screamed at him to move, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. The massive claw swung down toward him, a blur of dark energy.

In that instant, something inside him shifted. Panic surged, colliding with a sudden, desperate clarity. Erith raised his hands, covering the sides of his head.

His mind veered to Elian’s warm laughter…

…and the world erupted into a blinding flash of light.

His body snapped through the air, caught in a whirlwind of stone and shattered debris. The force of the throw stole the air from his lungs.

Everything blurred—only the stone wall ahead was certain.

✦☽✧❖⨁☼✺☼⨁❖✧☽✦