Muffled voices drifted into Erith’s awareness, feeling close yet distant, fading as though they were slipping through a dense fog. He strained to focus, but the sound grew farther away. Slowly, he blinked his eyes open. His vision blurred, the world around him swimming in and out of focus. 

Pain flared in his head, a deep ache pounding at his temples. He tried to shift, lifting himself just slightly, but the instant he moved, a sharp, awful pain shot through his right side. Erith sucked in a breath, but even that small action sent a searing pain through his chest. Unable to fight the pain, he collapsed back against the cot.

For a brief moment, his mind drifted back to Elian. The memory of his friend’s face before the Murasi struck flashed through his mind—panic and fear twisting Elian’s features, but then the cold, peaceful gaze from his lifeless body. The image hit him harder than the pain, and before he could stop it, tears rolled down his cheeks.

A voice broke through the haze of his thoughts. “Ah, so you’ve come around,” it said gently. Erith blinked through his tears, his blurry vision finally sharpening enough to make out a man standing at his bedside. The healer wore a deep green long coat, its fabric worn but sturdy, and a leather belt hung with various satchels and tools that clinked softly as he moved. 

“Try and lie as still as you can,” the healer continued. “We’ve kept you under for nearly a week, but you’ll still need time to recover.” He leaned closer, inspecting the fresh bandages wrapped tightly around Erith's chest. “These look like they’ll do from here.”

Erith glanced around, taking in his surroundings. He was in the healing tent. The smell of herbs and salves hung in the air, and soft light filtered in through the fabric walls. He felt weak, like his body had been wrung dry of strength.

The healer leaned in closer. “Can you speak?” he asked.

Erith winced as he answered, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yes.”

The healer gave a small nod, though his brow furrowed in concern. “That’ll be your ribs. We suspected several were fractured. Don’t move too much, you’ll only aggravate them. Stay put. I’m to let the Vice Captain know that you’re awake.”

As the healer moved away, Erith’s thoughts wandered again, back to Elian, Minisk, and Amaru. He pictured them around the campfire, eating, laughing.

Outside the tent, the low rumble of voices caught Erith’s attention. He recognized one of them to be the Warden’s. His voice was sharp, though hushed, locked in a quiet argument with someone else.

“I understand your concerns,” came the Vice Captain’s calm, measured voice. “And I assure you, they will be addressed in due time. But pressing someone who has barely regained consciousness, whose last memory is that terrible encounter, will yield little of the clarity you're hoping for.”

The Warden said something in return, but his words were muffled and indistinct as he turned to walk away.

The Vice Captain entered the tent, quietly assessing Erith’s battered form. He pulled a small wooden stool from the corner and sat down beside the cot. For a long moment, he said nothing, simply taking in the bruises and bandages covering Erith. A crate of used bandages sat nearby, most soaked through with blood. His eyes briefly caught on the tear streaks marking Erith’s face, but he didn’t linger on them. A faint sadness passed over his expression as he closed his eyes and looked down briefly, before turning his attention back to Erith.

“The Surelian Sifting Company has stood for nearly three hundred years,” the Vice Captain began, his voice calm yet resonating with pride. “It wasn’t just a trade organization. It was built on tradition, precision, and an unyielding commitment to securing Aldarath’s future. Adoses Surelian understood the delicate balance of nature and order better than anyone. When he established the company, he insisted that our strength lay not just in harvesting Kaida, but in how we respected it and prepared for its every shift.”

The Vice Captain’s eyes glimmered briefly as he spoke. “The Storm Seers would chart the storm routes, predicting when and where Kaida would surge. And from those predictions, Surelian would send out men. Every year, each expedition is named after the path they would follow, chasing the storm’s wake. This wasn’t just a system. It was a tradition, a map for greatness.”

He paused, his gaze lowering briefly to the ground as he gathered his thoughts. “But the Pining Frost Expedition is the only expedition which keeps its name year after year. That was Adoses’ doing. The first out each season, setting the tone for what was to come. It was meant to be more than a group of sifters—it was to be a symbol. Trained for excellence. Its name was to endure as long as the Surelian Sifting Company stood, a beacon of perseverance, determination, and strength. For generations, it has done just that.”

A heavy weight settled into the Vice Captain’s words as his voice grew faint. “The Pining Frost Expedition was not meant to simply survive the trials of a season—it was designed to represent the very foundation of Aldarath itself. A model of greatness. In these uncertain times, we’ve continued to persevere. To push forward. To be blind.”

The grandeur of history gave way to the harsh reality of the present, with Erith lying before him. “The drought has not just robbed us of Kaida. It has brought dangers we neglected to foresee..." "The threats now are not just scarcity or the struggle to gather what little Kaida remains. There are forces far darker, and your friends' deaths… they are not your burden to carry.”

He looked steadily at Erith, the gravity of his words deepening. “Whatever choices you may be reflecting on now, their loss is not on you. This failure is mine. I should have known. I should have seen that the strength of Aldarath—and the Pining Frost Expedition—is being tested like never before. And in that, I failed you all.”

Erith tried to speak, his voice weak. “Elian… They…”

The Vice Captain shook his head gently. “That Murasi tore through stone like it was nothing. It passed through the barrier—far beyond what we thought possible. We feared it might not be deterred at all. Eventually, it retreated into the cliffside. We lost twenty-two men that night.”

His eyes darkened with sorrow. “At dawn, we buried the dead that we could along the river and made for the Reach.” He hesitated, genuine sadness in his voice. “I’m sorry.”

After a slow, measured breath, the Vice Captain continued. “I don’t want to force you to relive that night, but it’s haunted me. Murasi of that size… I thought they were myth. Stories meant to stoke fear and keep people cautious. If you'd told me you’d seen one, I wouldn’t have believed you. How could someone live to tell that tale? And yet…” 

He paused, his voice trailing off for a moment. “Here you are. I saw it with my own eyes, and still, I can’t quite reconcile it. You were thrown halfway to the riverbank with the rest of that building.”

He looked Erith in the eye, his voice almost a whisper. “How did you survive?”

Erith’s chest tightened, the question striking deeper than the pain in his ribs. If anyone knew what had really happened that night, he feared what might follow. His voice came low and strained, each word carefully chosen. “I… I don’t know. I knelt behind the sword. The other one… it was at my feet near the wall. I don’t know if that made a difference.”

He hesitated, then slowly lifted his gaze to meet the Vice Captain’s eyes. His voice broke as he spoke the only truth he had to offer. “I wish it didn’t.”

A quiet sorrow settled in the Vice Captain’s eyes as he leaned forward, listening intently to Erith’s words. “Survival can be its own burden—we’re the ones left to endure after what’s been lost. I don’t know if anyone in Aldarath has ever faced what you have and lived. Maybe there’s something in that, something worth seeing through.”

The Vice Captain stood up smoothly, making his way toward the tent entrance. “Rest a bit longer. You won’t be fit to sift, but there will be other ways for you to help.” He paused at the threshold, offering Erith a final glance. “Ah, I never introduced myself properly. Maeric Estorath."

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