Muffled voices drifted into Erith's awareness, feeling close yet distant. He strained to focus, but the sound grew farther away.

Pain flared in his head, pounding at his temples. He lifted himself slightly, but the instant he moved, a sharp, awful pain shot through his right side. Unable to fight the pain, he collapsed back against the cot.

The memory of his friend's face was inescapable—panic and fear twisting Elian's features, then the cold, peaceful gaze from his lifeless body. The image hit him harder than the pain. 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 and a leather belt hung with various satchels and tools that clinked softly with each step.

"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 hovered over Erith, inspecting the fresh bandages wrapped tightly around his chest. "These look like they'll do from here."

He was in the healing tent. Herbs and salves clung to the air, clinging to his breath. He felt weak, wrung dry of strength.

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

Erith winced as he answered, mustering only a whisper. "...Yes..."

The healer gave a brisk nod. "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."

Outside the tent, the low rumble of voices caught Erith's attention. The Warden’s sharp voice—though hushed, locked in a subdued 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 growing distant.

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. A crate of used bandages sat nearby, most soaked through with blood. Tear streaks marked Erith’s bruised face, but he didn’t linger on them.

His expression dimmed, lowering his head.

"The Surelian Sifting Company has stood for nearly three centuries," the Vice Captain began, his voice calm yet resonating with pride. "It was never just another sifting operation. It was built on tradition, precision, and an unyielding commitment to securing the Kingdom of Aldarath's future. Adoses Surelian understood the delicate balance of nature and order better than anyone."

The Vice Captain's eyes glimmered as he spoke. "The Storm Seers chart the storm routes, predicting when and where Kaida would surge. And from those predictions, Surelian would send out men to sift for the fallen Kaida shards. Every year, each expedition is named after the path they would follow, chasing the storm's wake. "

He paused, his gaze returning to the discarded bandages. "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."

A heavy weight settled into the Vice Captain's words. "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."

His voice grew faint. "To be blind."

The grandeur of history gave way to the harsh reality of the present, with Erith lying before him.

"The drought hasn't just robbed us of Kaida," the Vice Captain said, grimacing. "It's brought dangers we failed to foresee. The threat now isn't just scarcity—it's something far darker. And your friends' deaths... they are not your burden to carry."

The gravity of his words deepened. "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."

The canvas walls hissed dully against the wind. "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?"

The question struck deeper than the pain in his ribs. If anyone ever found out what he could truly do—what he’d been able to do for as long as he could remember—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."

Sorrow flickered in the Vice Captain's eyes as he listened 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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