The trees of Lakshmivana whispered with an uneasy stillness as Bhima led them deeper into the jungle. Sunlight scarcely reached the forest floor, caught in a dense lattice of mist and interwoven branches overhead. The warm gold of dawn—once a comfort—felt distant now, like a memory fading behind gathering storm clouds.

No one spoke.

Erik’s ears twitched at every rustle, his tail hanging low, dragging behind him like a weight he could not cast off. The sharp defiance that once lit his golden eyes had dimmed into something far more distant—haunted, searching. Each step seemed heavier than the last. The scent of damp earth, laced with soot and the faint metallic trace of old blood, lingered in the air.

He knew this place.

Not as it was—but as it had been.

And as it had become.

This forest was no longer a path. It was a wound that had never healed.

Seth followed a few paces behind, his usual lightness gone. His head remained bowed, brows drawn tight with strain. The warmth in his eyes had vanished, replaced by something hollow, something brittle. His tail, once animated by every passing thought, now hung still. One hand never left his bow, fingers clenched as though it were the only thing keeping him grounded.

Even Klara had fallen silent, her usual curiosity subdued, her catalyst held close to her chest like a shield. Star walked just behind Bhima, her gaze sharp, attuned to the subtle shift in the air—the way the forest seemed to hold its breath.

They emerged at the crest of a low hill.

Below them, the forest fell away into ruin.

The Felinari refugee camp lay sprawled across the barren expanse.

If it could still be called that.

Tattered tents clung to the earth like open wounds. Smoke rose in thin, wavering trails—not for warmth, but to keep the insects at bay. Children sat motionless in the mud, their silence more unsettling than any cry. Adults moved with slow, mechanical exhaustion—hauling crates, carrying water, dragging stones with trembling limbs.

They did not live.

They endured.

And among them—

Star saw the dead.

Unburied. Uncovered. Left where they had fallen. Curled beside tents. Slumped against broken structures.

Forgotten.

She stopped.

So did the others.

Erik’s breath caught sharply. “What… what is this?”

His voice trembled—not with shock, but with recognition.

Seth took a step forward, then faltered. His tail bristled, his grip tightening on his bow until his knuckles whitened. His entire frame trembled.

He had heard the stories—half-spoken warnings, silences where words should have been. But stories had never carried the weight of this. The smell. The stillness. The quiet rot of a world abandoned.

His gaze locked onto a child—no older than his brother had once been—sitting in the dirt, rocking gently, lips moving in a soundless murmur.

No one spoke.

Even Bhima stood still, eyes closed, jaw set with memory.

Then—a figure stumbled into view.

A Felinari woman. Emaciated. Bruised. Her skin torn and marked by lashes. Her eyes passed over them without recognition. There was nothing left in them—no fear, no hope.

She collapsed mid-step, face striking the dirt with a dull, final thud.

No one moved to help her.

Not even those closest.

A few glanced her way—then turned aside.

Seth inhaled sharply. The sound broke from him, raw and jagged. He surged forward—

—and Erik caught him.

“They’re afraid,” Erik said hoarsely. “They… they won’t even help each other.”

Seth turned on him, voice breaking. “Then what are we doing here if we can’t—!?”

The words failed him.

He staggered back, pressing his hands to his face as his shoulders shook. His breath came in uneven, fractured gasps. His ears drooped, his tail curling inward as if he could make himself smaller—disappear entirely.

But he couldn’t.

The pain was too real.

Too present.

Erik released him slowly.

Then his greatsword slipped from his grasp, striking the ground with a heavy, lifeless thud.

He sank to his knees.

“I thought I was ready,” he whispered. His claws dug into the dirt, trembling. “I thought… after all this time, I’d accepted it. I told myself surviving was enough.”

His voice fractured.

“But this—”

He bowed forward, his forehead pressing into the earth, as if seeking refuge from what he could not bear to see.

“This is worse.”

For a moment, the warrior vanished.

Only a boy remained.

A boy who had once been caged.

Star stood frozen, her heart hammering against her ribs. She wanted to move. To speak. To act.

But the weight of it held her in place.

Seth did not move.

Erik did not speak.

And Star knew—

they were already too late.