We gave everything to Velora and Irithi, in the Althrenians, where the heavens felt near enough to hear our desperate plea.

Velora burns white against the sky. In its beauty, there can be no mistake, the gods listened.

And in their mercy, they have ended us.

- A fragment, penned centuries past, by one who still hoped, at the end of hope.

Daybreak pressed against Erith's eyelids, warm and persistent. The faint clatter of wood and distant voices stirred the still air.

"C'mon, Erith, if we're late again Sandin will keep us cleaning tools for the rest of the week," a voice rang into the tent.

He dreamed of an open field, its grass swaying under the silver glow of moonlight. It felt familiar, though he wasn’t sure if he wished it were memory, or only a dream.

One more minute couldn't hurt. Letting the warmth linger on his eyelids, he refused the morning a little longer.

A cloth abruptly smacked Erith in the face. He cracked his eyes open to find his vest lying across his chest.

Peeking through the tent flap was Elian, his red hair glowing like embers in the morning light.

"Fine, keep at it then. You'll be fixing the mesh on your own the rest of the week. My fingers are flayed from the past few days," Elian retorted with a playful smirk, Erith's belt dangling from his hand.

Erith ran a hand through his hair to push it out of his eyes with a yawn and stretched. Just as he reached for his shirt, his belt came flying at him.

"Throw another thing at me, and you'll be lucky to have fingers left to complain about." Erith grinned through gritted teeth, throwing his shirt over his head.

Elian returned a mischievous grin. "Oh, so you're actually in the mood to get your hands dirty today? I'll let the kitchen know—they'd love the help chopping vegetables. Now hurry up, it's your turn to break down the tent."

With a restrained chuckle, Elian slipped out through the tent flap.

The cool morning breeze greeted Erith as he dismantled his camp amid the dew-soaked field. Around him, men packed their camps, their boots rustling through tall grass toward the assembly point.

"The Warden is leading exercises today," Elian said, helping Erith toss the remains of the tent into the pack. "Let's get going before you give the Warden a reason to know who we are. I should’ve swapped kitchen duty with Minisk when I had the chance.”

"Minisk did us all a favor. One stew from you and the entire Pining Frost Expedition would be wiped out. Even a Murasi couldn't manage that," Erith teased.

"I undercook one meal and suddenly I'm a menace—"

"One meal none of us will forget," Erith cut in. "I'm still recovering from eating that disaster. You've got a real gift, Elian, truly."

Elian sighed theatrically as they fell in line with the rest of the assembly. His grin faded, and his voice dropped to a hushed tone. "Fine, but I'm more concerned about what the Murasi have managed lately."

He glanced around warily. "You heard about the Morvathi Guard, didn't you? What Minisk said the other day—do you think it's true about the Murasi? That those things tore one of the Guard's sifting camps apart? Didn't they have a barrier?"

His voice thinned to almost nothing. “I never want to see a Murasi like that up close. They’re like something out of a nightmare.”

“We were too young to remember what it was like before the drought,” Erith said quietly. “The old guys say sifting used to be simple—plenty of Kaida to sift for, nothing to be scared of. Maybe with less Kaida around now…it stirs up the Murasi.”

Elian lowered the pack off Erith’s shoulders to the ground, his fingers lingering absently on the straps.

"Hey—you've seen it yourself, Elian. Trouble with Murasi is rare, and when it happens, it's someone wandering off alone. Nothing hurting us with the barrier cart nearby."

A sharp whistle bellowed across the field, silencing the chatter.

The Warden strode through the morning haze onto a small wooden platform, his boots clunking with each unhurried yet purposeful step.

Sunlight grazed his face as he stood tall, framed by parting clouds. Neatly trimmed hair and a well-kept beard contrasted with a weathered vest, streaked gray with yellow markings. 

"Drills and meals will be swift. Mealtime is halved today. Officers will monitor form. Do not give them cause for delay.” The Warden’s expression left no room for disobedience.

"Yes Warden," the field echoed.

There were no pauses between exercises until the Warden signaled the officers forward, sending carts of dull swords and wooden sticks down each row.

"This season, every sifting pair will carry a blade imbued with Kaida." Whispers rippled through the crowd over the Warden’s words, but fell silent the moment he raised a single hand.

"Defensive drills are now part of the morning routine. Use this time wisely—your life may depend on it should the situation arise."

The Warden gave a short nod. “Carry on.”

Erith grabbed the sword and stick from a passing cart, handing the sword to Elian with a small nod.

Elian stepped into the drill, his sword gripped tightly. The first strike jolted Erith's arms, harder than necessary, leaving him scrambling to brace for the next blow.

"Hold up," the officer barked, eyes on Elian. "You're forcing it."

Elian hesitated, the tension still visible in his stance. "What do you mean?"

"You're swinging like it's all about strength," the officer tapped Elian's sword with his own, giving him a knowing look.

"That blade won't cut through a Murasi—steel’s nothing against the Mura they’re made from. But the Kaida in this blade? That might. Save your energy. Let the sword do the work."

Elian peered down at the blade. "Guess I was swinging a bit hard."

"You think?" Erith rolled his shoulders, falling into position again. "Thought this was your way of saying you’re tired of me sleeping in."

“Can this really cut through one of those monsters?” Elian asked, turning the dull blade over in his hand as the officer moved on to the next group. “Hard to believe there’s something in there powerful enough to slice a Murasi… Just seems like a regular sword to me.”

Erith let his gaze fall, his awareness stretching past the borders of his own body. The blade in Elian’s hand answered at once—the familiar pull of Kaida whispered gently like a breath of wind against his senses.

That’s more Kaida than I would’ve thought… So they’re worried…

He met Elian’s eyes, masking his concern with a grin. “It’ll get you out of a pinch—if you know how to use it. So c’mon, let’s keep practicing.”

The clang of swords faded as the Warden took the platform once more.

"The Scouts confirmed the storms moved more west than anticipated. They will be most active around Caldis Reach. The shortest route takes us through the Narrows. We'll move out in an hour. Dismissed."

Erith and Elian exchanged a glance, and without a word, they turned toward the cooking tent.

"You think we'll make it to the other side of the Narrows in one piece?" The question slipped out of Elian before he could stop it.

Before Erith could say anything, a sharp clap landed on his back, causing both him and Elian to jump.

"I swear, Warden's tryin' to kill half of us now, 'cause he couldn't stand knowin' the Narrows would be tougher on his own lot than him," Minisk exclaimed.

"We'll all go through the Narrows, but with what legs? Could be a hundred Murasi out there, won't make no difference. I'll be fallin' off a cliffside in the state he's got us in."

Minisk's words froze Erith for a moment.

Of all the things to say, Minisk...

Erith shot a glance at Elian, searching for words amid the tangle of his thoughts.

"Good to see some color back in ya, Erith," Minisk said with a wink, towering over the two of them. "If not for that mop on yer head, I'd've sworn you were a ghost driftin' 'round camp."

He nudged Elian with his boot. "And Elian? You do know yer s'posed to cook the rabbits before tossin' them in the stew, right? Last batch were nearly jumpin' outta the bowls! Damn near put Erith here in an early grave with that, ya did."

Elian's hands were clenched by his sides, staring down at his boots.

"What's gotten into ya today?" Minisk softened his tone slightly.

"I think you're what's gotten into him," Erith sneered, finding his words again. "Tales of Morvath and Murasi. Didn't know you and the Warden had taken up boosting camp morale together."

Minisk snorted, scratching the back of his head. "Well, the Warden's talk about the Narrows ain't exactly cheerin' no one up, is it? Gonna be one hell of a trek, that."

He shifted his tone into something more reassuring. "But if the scouts can crawl their way through all that and make it back, then it shouldn't be too bad for us sifters."

Minisk leaned over and clapped a hand on Elian’s shoulder. "And fer the Murasi? Don't be losin' no sleep over 'em. Murasi tales get twisted faster than a rope in these camps. Them Morvathi blokes ain't as put together as they sound when it comes to their siftin' setups—prolly just a plain old Morvathi mess."

"I'll catch up with you both on the trail," Minisk said, collecting their bowls. "Amaru's comin' off kitchen duty. We'll head to the front together." He wandered off with a wave.

Erith leaned close, voice dropping. “We’ll make it out—in one piece. I’ll make sure of it.” His fingers brushed the back of Elian’s hand, warm against the morning chill.

“With all that practice of yours,” Elian whispered back, letting his hand settle a little closer to Erith’s, “I’d say I’m in good hands.” 

Erith steadied the tent pack on Elian’s back, and together they joined the gathering ranks.

The unease in the camp hit Erith all at once.

Hushed voices, tense shoulders.

Officers and sifters alike stared ahead toward the cloudy hillsides, no one meeting each other’s eyes.

The drought was bad—but to push us into the Narrows…?

Something had changed. Something was wrong.

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