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 soft 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 against the morning light. His youthful face held a mix of irritation and amusement as he dangled Erith's belt in hand.

"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, his impatience showing.

Erith sat upright with a yawn and stretched, running a hand through his hair to push it out of his eyes. Just as he reached for the rest of his clothing, Elian tossed the belt at him.

"Throw another thing at me, and you'll be lucky to have fingers left to complain about." Erith grinned as he began fastening his belt.

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 stepped outside and began dismantling 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.

Changing course? That hardly seemed like something the Warden would bother to announce. Erith mulled this over while sitting down, fastening the straps of the heavy pack around his shoulders.

"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," said Elian, extending a hand to Erith.

"Minisk did us all a favor by keeping you off kitchen duties. One stew from you and the entire Pining Frost Expedition would be wiped out. Murasi couldn't even manage that," Erith smirked as Elian pulled him upright.

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

"One meal none of us will forget," Erith interrupted, a teasing glint in his eye. "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?"

Elian lowered his voice, eyes on the ground as he walked. “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.”

The two settled into a spot within the forming rows and Elian helped lower the pack 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."

Elian shifted uneasily.

“And this season, they're loading the Expeditions with more Kaida to fuel the barrier carts. No nightmares are breaking through that kind of power. Murasi can’t stand it—Kaida’s like fire to them.”

Before Elian could reply, a sharp whistle bellowed across the field, silencing the chatter.

The Warden strode through the morning haze onto a small wooden platform, his movements unhurried yet purposeful. His boots clunked on the platform as he stepped to the center.

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. His expression left no room for disobedience.

"Drills and meals will be swift. Mealtime is halved today. Officers will monitor form. Do not give them cause for delay.” The Warden’s voice was low, but carried effortlessly across the silent field.

"Yes Warden," the crowd echoed in unison before breaking into the morning drills.

The Warden allowed no pauses between exercises, and the sifters pushed through their routine under the officers' sharp patrol, knowing even a small mistake would mean double wagon duty.

As the drills progressed, the Warden signaled to the officers, who brought out carts of dull swords and wooden sticks. The weapons clattered inside the carts as they were handed down the rows to each pair.

"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, stepping toward them, 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 said, stepping closer. He 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, then over at Erith, who raised a brow. "Guess I was swinging a bit hard."

"You think?" Erith rolled his shoulders, settling into position again. "Thought maybe 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 glanced down at the grass, then closed his eyes and focused on the blade. A faint buzz of Kaida pulsed from the hilt.

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.”

As they resumed, Elian's movements became more controlled, the reckless force giving way to a more focused, deliberate rhythm.

The clang of swords faded as the Warden stepped forward, signaling the sifters to halt.

Erith's muscles burned, the weight of the sword in his grip the only thing keeping him steady. He leaned heavily on it, forcing his breath to steady so he could catch what the Warden would say.

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

"Yes Warden," the crowd echoed once more, their voices strained, burdened by the weight of the Warden's words.

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

The Narrows… the very name carried an unshakable sense of foreboding within Erith.

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

Something had changed. Something was wrong.

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