Deep inside the great forest of monsters, a small campfire flickered to life.
The scent of simmering broth drifted through the trees, faint but warm, cutting through the usual damp smell of moss and bark.
On a flat stone she had painstakingly chipped down into a makeshift cutting board, a young girl with short violet hair carefully sliced an onion.
Each cut was neat and measured, almost too precise for someone her age.
Beside her, another flat slab of stone had been hollowed out in the center, where wood burned and snapped beneath a pot of boiling water.
Inside, vegetables and strips of meat bubbled together into what looked like a simple but hearty stew.
"Athy?" a voice called out.
She looked up. "Hm?"
"Are you done cutting the onions?"
"Yes!" she answered, brushing a bit of juice from her hands.
"Good, then help Andre set up the camp."
"Sure," she replied without hesitation, setting down the knife.
Her name was Athy Lors—first year, Class A.
