They were dropped off in the middle of the night.
Not just night—the night. The kind where the moon hung above like a gaping wound, squirming with faint tendrils of light, as though it was trying to birth something it didn't understand. The trees were blackened husks, their arms reaching toward the sky like they'd died mid-scream. Smoke curled low over the ash-covered ground, clinging to Thierry's boots as though reluctant to let him pass.
No instructions. No farewell. Just tossed into a forgotten corner of the world like refuse the gods couldn't be bothered to bury.
Bastards.
Thierry leaned against a charred trunk, arms crossed, his shirt damp from sweat and soot. The silence didn't feel empty—it felt expectant, like the whole forest was holding its breath.
Emma lay nearby, her bone-white bow resting across her lap. She'd dozed off leaning against her pack, one arm half-curled over her chest like a child warding off a nightmare. There was a softness to her even in sleep. Fragile. Hopeful.
She's already sleeping? Just how?
He hadn't slept. Not properly. The ground was hard, jagged. And when he finally did drift off from sheer exhaustion, it wasn't rest—it was surrender.
Something wet hit the ground near the edge of their camp.
Thierry's hand snapped to the hilt of his shortsword.
A severed head stared up at him—glass-eyed, tongue slack, leaking black rot from the neck stump.
Esther stood behind it, spear lowered. Her golden eyes gleamed in the dark, unreadable.
"...Morning," she said.
Thierry didn't move his hand from the hilt. Gods. Give a man some warning next time, will you?
"You weren't sleeping," she said, as if that excused anything.
"That doesn't mean I want to wake up to a damn decapitation."
Her shrug was faint. Unapologetic.
Emma stirred from her slumber. Her eyes widened when they landed on the head.
"Is that… a monster?"
"An untethered half-Kin," Esther replied, crouching beside the body. "One and a half chain. Two anchors."
Thierry's gaze lingered on the head. Half-Kin meant it had nearly reached the second rank —two chains would've made it dangerous. One was still enough to tear someone in half if they slipped.
Veron strolled out of the woods like he'd just finished a nice nap, arms behind his head and a grin plastered on his face.
"I told her not to go off alone," he said cheerfully. "But our dear Esther never listens."
Bastard strolls in like it's a stage play.
Lee followed behind, silent and expressionless, twin axes sheathed on his back. He stood with the weight of a statue, staring down at the corpse without a flicker of reaction.
Veron clapped his hands together. "Well, since we're all up and cozy, how about we share chain types? We're a cohort now. Might as well know who's watching our backs!"
Esther said nothing.
Veron cleared his throat. "Right. I'll go first. My chain enhances my vision. I can track Flux residue, weak points, see through certain materials—pretty handy when someone sneaks off at dawn."
Of course you get the voyeur chain, you smug bastard.
Lee rumbled, "Mine's physical reinforcement. Real simple. Just bones, muscles, and speed."
That was the most Thierry had heard him say since they met.
Emma glanced at Thierry.
He shrugged. "No chain."
Veron looked at Esther. "And you?"
She didn't look up. "The monster had one. Never said I did."
Emma blinked. "Wait, really?"
"Really," Esther said. "Circumstances."
Everyone's walking around half-formed and I'm still stuck at zero.
Esther knelt and pried something from beneath the spine— a jagged black shard, faintly glowing from within. One of the anchors. Without hesitating, she placed it between her palms and crushed it.
The reaction was instant.
A burst of white light exploded outward, hissing into the air like it had been caged. The sparks didn't drift—they raced, funneling into Esther's arm, crawling up beneath her skin in twitching pulses until it reached her spine.
Thierry stepped back. Instinct.
"What the hell—?"
Esther winced, a sharp breath escaping. "Didn't work."
Emma gaped. "Wait, that was Flux?"
"Yeah," Veron said, now crouching beside them. "That's what it looks like when it escapes an anchor. Raw Flux. Comes straight from the Wellspring."
"And it goes into you?" Emma asked.
"If you have a chain," Veron said. "Otherwise, it tries to go anywhere it can. Bones or blood even your nerves. You drown in it."
Thierry's brow furrowed. "So if you don't have a chain…"
"You overload," Esther cut in. "Your body becomes a cracked bottle. And Flux doesn't forgive."
So the only way to survive touching this stuff is to already have a chain? What kind of method is that?
Veron nodded toward the cracked remains of the anchor. "Anchors act as conduits. They connect you to the Wellspring buried inside your soul. But that connection's messy without a chain. Think of Flux like molten glass. It needs a mould. Chains are that mould. Without one… it just burns its way through."
Thierry looked at the shard Esther hadn't crushed yet.
"And the way to get a chain is…?"
Veron grinned. "Best way's to kill a monster, take its anchor and shatter it then pray the Flux wants to stay."
Emma frowned. "That's it? That's all we can do?"
Esther stood. "Sometimes it happens on its own. In battle. Near death. Or just… randomly."
So either fate takes pity on you, or it chews you up and spits you out first.
Emma's eyes lingered on the second anchor.
"Could I—?"
Esther held it out. "I've no use for it."
Emma hesitated.
Thierry's fingers twitched.
She hesitated. That's enough.
"May I?" he asked, voice calm.
Esther tilted her head, studying him. There was no trust in that look—just curiosity. Then she tossed it to him. "Sure."
The anchor hit his palm with a weight far heavier than its size. Not physically—but in his chest. It pulsed faintly against his skin. Not warm. Not cold.
Alive.
His fingers curled around it.
Inside him, something shifted. The feeling was subtle—a string tugged somewhere deep inside his spine. Not enough to awaken anything.
He looked up. Veron was already rambling about tracking trails and movement patterns. Lee was sharpening his axe. Esther had resumed her quiet vigil beneath a tree. Emma glanced at him but said nothing.
Thierry stared down at the anchor.
Still no chain. Still weak.
Damn it.