"Let's find a place to sleep. We move again at first light."
Tarrin didn't argue, but the thought surfaced anyway. Why not just camp in the tunnel? It would've been smarter, warmer, safer. But he swallowed the complaint. Nicolas was testing them, probably trying to acclimate them to nights out in the wild—especially here, in this supposedly 'safe' part of the region.
Relatively safe, sure. But that didn't mean it didn't suck.
Comfort was behind them now. What waited ahead was pain—or something close enough to it that most people wouldn't know the difference.
Tarrin drifted closer to Nicolas, instinct telling him the Sergeant was the best shield in unknown territory.
Then someone shouldered past him.
Nick.
Of course it was Nick. Who else would try to establish dominance in the middle of a cursed forest?
Tarrin let him go ahead without a word, jaw clenched. No point getting worked up. Not over him. Not now.
Still… watching that stiff-backed swagger, Tarrin couldn't help but fantasize. One shove. That's all it'd take. Just a nudge, and gravity would do the rest.
He could already see it—Nick's body tumbling down the incline, gone in the dark before anyone could react.
He didn't do it.
But he thought about it.
Behind him, Celith followed in silence, her steps measured, steady. The rest trailed in a broken line, one after another like a tired serpent.
After a few more minutes descending the cliffside, they finally reached level ground.
The trees loomed ahead, massive and ancient. Tarrin had seen plenty of forests before, but these ones felt different. More alive. Less forgiving.
They made him feel small.
And that was without counting the things hiding inside them.
Nicolas turned to give the squad one last look. His face was calm, unreadable. But his eyes—sharp, tense, scanning every shadow—told a different story. He was alert. On edge. And if he was worried…
"Watch the trees for marks," the Sergeant said, then turned and headed into the brush.
They followed.
Slowly.
Painfully slowly. Tarrin couldn't help but think they were moving at the exact pace something would prefer to stalk prey.
Every snapped branch underfoot sounded like a flare in the dark.
But nothing came.
Maybe they were lucky.
Or maybe whatever lived here just wasn't hungry yet.
Only the gods knew.
They walked for nearly half an hour, the forest pressing tighter with every step. At some point, Tarrin started to wonder if they were even in danger at all. The quiet was oppressive. Not peaceful—taunting.
A part of him almost wished something would attack. The slow burn of anticipation was worse.
Then, finally, Nicolas's voice broke the tension.
"I think we're in the clear. No Bane should have a territory this close to the tunnel. And I didn't see any markings on the way in. We'll set up camp here."
Relief passed through the group like a breeze. No one said much, but the shift in posture was clear. Weapons came off shoulders. Packs hit the dirt. For now, they had a place to rest.
"You sure we shouldn't sleep up there, Sergeant?" Riko asked, gesturing toward the tree canopy.
Nicolas shook his head. "Anything native to this forest fights better in the trees than you ever will. And they sure as hell climb faster."
That settled it.
People started breaking off into groups. Patterns forming like water finding cracks.
Riko and Noah paired up, deep in conversation. Something about Noah's Gift, probably. Riko looked like a kid in a toy store—big brute type enamored by shiny new tools. Tarrin mentally labeled them The Brutes.
Then there were the talkers. Jayden, Lena, Olivia, and Klein huddled nearby, trading stories and speculating about the mission. Only Klein looked ready to pass out.
Tarrin dubbed that group the Softies.
Nick and his ever-loyal lackey found a tree and leaned against it, whispering low like they were cooking up some half-baked villain plan.
Which left only three people Tarrin actually trusted: himself, Celith, and Nicolas.
He stared into the black forest beyond their camp, mind buzzing with unwelcome thoughts. He kept imagining things—shapes—lurking just beyond the line of sight. Watching. Waiting.
Beside him, Nicolas stood like a statue, surveying the area in silence. Seemed like a good time to strike up a conversation. Tarrin had worked hard to earn even a sliver of the man's respect.
Might as well use it.
"You been here before, Sergeant?" Tarrin asked casually, voice low. Like it was just small talk, nothing more.
Nicolas turned, gave him a once-over. "In this particular forest? A few times, passing through. Not much to see here. Barely any Anchored this close to the main tunnel."
"I see. Mind if I ask something else?"
Nicolas didn't respond, but he didn't object either.
Tarrin took it as permission.
"You been stationed at the Thirty-First your whole service?"
Something flickered across Nicolas's face—like a shadow of a memory he'd rather leave buried.
"I've been here three years," he said slowly. "Transferred after a… disagreement with a superior."
Then his tone changed. Eyes narrowed slightly as he met Tarrin's gaze.
"Now my turn. Do you think you actually have it in you to lead this group if I fall? If I disappear or die, do you want that weight on your shoulders? Because if you say yes, there's no going back."
The words landed hard.
Tarrin's first instinct was to back away. Pretend he was just another recruit. A follower, not a leader.
But that would be a lie.
He felt it in his chest—the pull of it. The inevitability.
He exhaled slowly, unclenching his fists. A small smile tugged at his lips, this one honest.
He tilted his head back, eyes drifting to the stars through the gaps in the branches, like confessing to something greater.
"If I don't, who will? Celith's the only one I'd trust, but she's not a leader. She's a blade, not a shield. Riko's a meathead, Jayden's a coward. Lena underestimates herself too much. Noah, Klein, and Olivia? No drive. No fire. Nick's an arrogant child. Sabrina's still an unknown. So yeah. I don't have a choice. I have to lead."
For a moment, he worried he'd rambled too much. That he'd revealed too much.
But it felt good. Honest. Rare, for him.
Nicolas gave a small nod. "Well said, young man. You've got a good read on them—that's a skill most leaders lack. That's why I'm talking to you and not someone else."
Tarrin looked down, letting the weight of it all settle.
"Sergeant… do you really think we have a shot? At surviving this?"
Nicolas didn't answer immediately. He seemed to debate something—whether to lie or be brutally honest.
"I doubt a lie would work on you," he finally said. "No matter how good my poker face is."
Tarrin chuckled softly, nodding.
Nicolas looked toward the forest, his voice quieter now, almost like recalling a dream—or a nightmare.
"The Basin's no place for comfort. Tech doesn't work there. Most soldiers avoid it—and I'm not even allowed to say why. But I'll tell you this…"
He paused, then continued.
"Back when I was younger, I served on the front. That place is real war—bloody, unforgiving. And toward the end of my deployment, I got a mission like this one. Take out a Scarbane nest with a skeleton squad. Odds were stacked against us. Word was, they wanted us to weaken the nest first—soften it up before an elite squad rolled in."
Tarrin didn't interrupt. Just listened.
"We thought we were walking into a slaughter. But when we got there… the nest was already under attack. Some other pack had started tearing through them. We waited. Let them finish each other off. Then, when only stragglers were left, we moved in and cleaned house. Claimed a win that shouldn't have been ours."
He exhaled.
"That day, I think the gods smiled on us. Since then, I've learned to believe in long odds."
"You served on the front lines?" Tarrin asked, eyes narrowing with curiosity. "How was it really? I was never exactly sold on the posters and recruitment ads."
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Nicolas's mouth. "What do you think, kid? It was hell. The real kind. Nothing like this peaceful little patch of trees we're in now. But yeah… I saw a Scarlord fight. Up close."
Tarrin's eyes lit up, barely hiding the awe building behind them. He had never seen a Scarlord in the flesh—few had. In motion, even rarer.
Power-scaling vids were one thing, exaggerated simulations with flashy effects. But witnessing it live? That was something else entirely.
"You saw one fight?" Tarrin asked, trying to keep his tone steady, respectful. "What was it like?"
Nicolas gave him a long, level look. His voice lowered. "Terrifying."
He let that word hang in the air for a moment.
"There's nothing—nothing—that can prepare you for it. No documentary, no combat sim, no archived footage. When those monsters clash, it's like the laws of reality stop applying. The air shreds. The ground bends. Your ears ring for hours, even with dampeners on. And the worst part? You're not even in the fight—you're just there, close enough to die if you breathe wrong."
He went quiet for a beat, then added, voice tightening:
"And because of that, I'll give you this one warning. Be careful around the Sahrin princess. I wasn't there the day her Grandfather led the Thunder Armada, but I've heard enough stories to fill volumes. No one crosses that man and walks away. Not even now, when he's old and supposedly quiet."
Tarrin stayed silent for a moment, letting the weight of it all settle into his chest.
Scarlords, the front line, ancient warriors who could tear cities in half… This wasn't just some recruitment fair tale. It was real. And it was coming.