It was the first true breath of autumn, the kind that carried a bite of frost even as the sun struggled to climb higher in the sky. Party 5's caravan rumbled northward, wheels creaking along the worn dirt of the Wild Veins Route. The road bent and curved through craggy slopes before opening into wide ridges, every turn bringing them closer to the Heinirirc Route—their first major hurdle on the journey to Dungeon #89J.
Their path would take them far: from the Wild Veins into the Heinirirc ridge, then along the Jullio Route, leaving behind the Alpinato Region entirely.
Ahead lay the Yuneseppi Region, seat of House Yuneseppe, one of the three great royal families of the Elynthian Monarchy. Richer, some whispered, than the ruling House of Elynth itself.
For Tropico Guild, the Yuneseppi Region was friendly ground. Nearly a quarter of the guild's branches operated there, tied by lucrative trade deals and personal favors woven with House Yuneseppe's wealth. For Party 5, it meant fewer rivals and fewer surprises—no other guild or faction would dare contest their claim once they were within reach of Dungeon #89J.
But before all that, there was Heinirirc.
The caravan pulled to a halt at the border between Wild Veins and the Heinirirc Route. The ridge loomed before them: a wall of snow-crowned stone ridges, their jagged edges like the spines of some ancient beast, clouds rolling lazily around their peaks. The wind carried a sharper cold here, promising harsher climbs ahead.
Trevus raised a hand to signal a break. The wagons drew off to a flattened stretch of land by the border stones, the horses stamping their hooves into frosted grass. A light camp was made—nothing elaborate, just enough to settle for a short rest. Bread, dried meats, and a skin of warm broth passed around as the party gathered near the fire.
When all had eaten enough to soften the morning chill, Trevus stood, stool in hand, as always preferring the same posture of command. His voice carried over the crackling wood:
"Before us lies the Heinirirc ridge. Two choices: take the constructed slope road, straight up through the snow-line, or circle east and skirt the ridges entirely. The first route is faster but exposed—rockslides, storms, and the occasional monster lair make it risky. The second route is longer, safer for the caravan, but costs us at least a day and a half."
He looked at each of them in turn, eyes steady, weighing their silence.
"The decision isn't mine alone. We vote as a party. Speak your minds."
The fire popped. Snowflakes drifted in the air, caught between routes yet to be chosen.
Mina and Ashe sat shoulder to shoulder on a crate beside the wagon, chewing through the last halves of their tuna-cheese sandwiches. From where they perched, the entire party's debate unfolded like theater before them, the firelight painting everyone in restless shades of orange.
Harlen swigged from a flask of cider before slapping his knee. "We take the slope. Straight through Heinirirc. No point wasting time when the road's already carved."
Camylle nodded in agreement, brushing crumbs from her lap. "Exactly. It's autumn—half the monsters'll be curling up in their burrows, prepping for the cold. Cleaner climb, quicker trip."
Lotha frowned sharply, folding her arms across her polished cuirass. "Autumn only just started. That means the opposite—they'll be desperate, scavenging before they shut themselves in. Wandering predators are at their hungriest right now."
Nira leaned lazily against the wagon wheel beside her, sipping mushroom bisque from a canteen. "She's right. Don't underestimate hungry beasts. And don't forget—cold makes monsters slower, not less dangerous."
Harlen scoffed, rolling his shoulders. "Party 5's minus-A ranked. Practically A-rank without the stamp. If anything jumps us, we cut it down. And we've got Illusory boy here—cloak the caravan, problem solved."
Ashe nearly choked on his sandwich, straightening. "That only hides us from sight. Our scent stays. A monster with half a nose will track us easy."
"Details, details," Harlen snapped back with a toothy grin. "Point is, it's doable. And better than circling like cowards for two extra days."
Mina bit into her sandwich, watching Ashe bristle, lips twitching as if holding back a laugh at his frustration.
But before the quarrel could grow teeth, Nira's tone sharpened. "You're forgetting something else. Heinirirc's ridge falls under Dototore Fakshyun. Their banners are carved into half the waymarkers. You think crossing their ground won't stir up trouble?"
The fire popped, silence rippling for a breath.
Harlen waved the concern off, leaning back with a smirk. "Those clowns? Their main force squats down in Ghillie, far below the ridge. As if they'd waste men freezing on the upper paths just to glare at travelers. They've got better things to do than babysit snow."
Ashe leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. "Better hope you're right."
Trevus, seated on his small wooden stool, listened in silence. His gaze flicked between them all, weighing not just the words but the tempers behind them.
By the time their meal was finished, the air had grown sharper, the cold autumn breeze carrying hints of snow from the ridge ahead. Trevus finally rose from his stool, brushing the frost from his cloak.
"All right," he said, voice calm but firm. "Show of hands. Slope route—eight hours, and we're across Heinirirc by nightfall. Who's in?"
One by one, hands went up. Harlen, Camylle, Nira, even Mina's, followed by Ashe's reluctant lift. Only Lotha's arms remained folded across her chest, her stern eyes fixed on the fire's dying embers.
"So be it," Trevus concluded with a nod. "We climb."
Lotha exhaled slowly, shoulders easing but not her frown. "I'll go with it. But mark me—if trouble finds us, don't say I didn't warn you."
Nira smirked at her side, tipping her canteen of bisque in mock salute. "That paladin training of yours will kick in, won't it?"
Lotha shot her a sidelong glare, lips tugging into the faintest smirk. "You'll see soon enough."
The party broke into motion, packing away their lunch remnants. Mina and Ashe worked side by side, tightening straps, checking wheels, and loading the lighter crates. When everything was secure, Mina caught Ashe's wrist, tugging him up into the wagon's front seat. He stumbled, cheeks puffing with half-buried annoyance, but Mina only grinned, settling herself comfortably beside him.
Beck and Betty snorted eagerly, stamping their hooves against the frosted dirt. The twin draft horses seemed to sense the challenge ahead, their ears perked and breath steaming in the cold. Trevus moved to them with quiet care, draping thick coats across their broad backs before swinging himself up onto the wagon.
"All set," he murmured.
Mina gathered the long reins in her gloved hands. With a sharp flick, Beck and Betty surged forward, the caravan rolling into steady motion. The wheels crunched over frozen earth as the trees thinned, the looming white crown of Heinirirc rising higher with every turn of the path.
Ahead waited the ridge, the slope, and whatever else the mountain cared to throw their way.
The wagon creaked and groaned as it rolled upward, the slope of Heinirirc Ridge growing steeper with every turn. By the time Ashe flicked open his pocketwatch, the hands pointed toward two o'clock. He snapped it shut with a click, gloved fingers tucking it back into his coat as he shivered, rubbing his arms against the biting autumn chill. Snowflakes drifted lazily down from the pale sky, already collecting in the ridges and cracks of the high path.
Inside the cabin, the air was warmer but no less tense. Trevus sat along the side bench in nothing but his blue undercoat, posture straight, a small stack of reports pulled from his satchel. He flipped through them with a soldier's discipline, though his eyes narrowed at one particular notice.
"A fugitive," he muttered. "Unnamed. Spotted somewhere in Yuneseppi. And they expect us to take this seriously without a description?" He sighed, folding the paper with more force than necessary. "Waste of ink. How can people stay wary if they don't even know what to look for?"
Harlen, leaning back in his orange doublet, gave a dismissive chuckle. "Then it's nothing to worry about. Just another one of those 'shadow on the road' stories the Guild loves tossing around."
His amusement faltered when he flipped the parchment and caught sight of the assessment line. His jaw went slack. "S++ threat level? That's Arch Mage class!"
Trevus shook his head, lips pressed thin. "That report also says the man's lived for over a century. If he's managed to avoid the grave this long, chances are he's some old hermit. Frail, cautious, probably more bark than bite now."
That earned a relieved exhale from Harlen, who stretched his arms behind his head. "Hah! Good. Means if he ever shows his wrinkled face, he'll crumble to dust before I even unsheathe my sword."
Camylle, wrapped snug in a thick Tropico Guild overcoat, sat across from them with her arms crossed tight against her chest, shoulders hunched against the cold. She spared Harlen a glance before looking away with a small scoff.
Nira, lounging comfortably beside her with one leg kicked over the other, leaned in close to whisper with a sly grin. "Seriously, what do you even see in him?"
Camylle turned her head just enough to let the teasing smirk spread across her lips. Her voice came sing-song, a mockery laced with a hint of truth.
"Handsome trash~."
The cabin burst into quiet laughter, Harlen most of all, while the snow outside thickened and the ridge's long climb loomed higher still.
The wagon wheels crunched over snow and stone as the slope bent sharply left. From the front, Mina narrowed her eyes, catching sight of a squat shack ahead, half-buried into the ridge wall. A pair of lanterns flickered weakly in the autumn wind, their flames casting long shadows across the road. Three figures stood at the checkpoint, shapes hard and unyielding against the snow.
Mina dipped her head into the cabin, her breath curling in the cold. "Checkpoint up ahead."
That was enough to draw every gaze. Trevus lowered his reports, Harlen straightened with a frown, and both Camylle and Nira leaned toward the narrow window. Even Lotha shifted from her quiet posture, eyes narrowing. Ashe, sitting near the front, stiffened as though the air had turned sharper.
Harlen's jaw clenched at the sight of the red-and-silver banners snapping above the shack. "Dototore Fakshyun. Of course." His irritation hissed through his teeth.
As the wagon rolled closer, Trevus rose and stepped forward. Ashe moved aside reluctantly, sliding into the front seat beside Mina. He kept his gaze down, hands tight in his lap, while Trevus positioned himself in plain sight.
The three men ahead were unmistakable: olive long coats trimmed with angry streaks of orange fading to red, the uniform of Dototore enforcers. Their faces were weathered, middle-aged, and etched with the kind of boredom that came from being assigned to guard duty in the cold. Yet their eyes sharpened the moment they recognized who approached.
"Well, well," one of them said, his voice slick with mockery. "If it isn't Trevus Regulus. The little foreigner from the Legion."
Another sneered. "Didn't think you'd crawl this far west. What happened? Tired of your post? Or was the quiet life more tempting than real duty?"
Mina felt Ashe stiffen beside her, his gloved hand twitching toward his coat. Trevus, however, kept his expression neutral, though the set of his jaw revealed restraint.
"We're passing through," Trevus said evenly, his voice carrying a soldier's calm authority. "No more, no less."
The guards exchanged smirks before one stepped closer, extending a gloved hand. "If you're guild associates, then you know the rule. Toll."
Trevus nodded without argument and reached for his pouch. "What's the rate?"
The man's smirk deepened. "Ninety-nine notes."
The silence that followed was heavy. Even the snow seemed to fall slower.
Ashe's eyes widened, his breath caught in disbelief. "Ninety-nine—?" he whispered.
Inside the cabin, Camylle hissed through her teeth, while Nira leaned closer to the window, eyebrows raised. Lotha frowned, but said nothing. Harlen's fingers tightened over the hilt of his arming sword, the sound of leather creaking sharp in the tense air.
Trevus inhaled slowly, weighing his response. "That's… absurd. Most tolls run ten to twenty at most." He tilted his head slightly. "Surely there's room to negotiate. Is there a lower price?"
The guard's grin only widened, as though the absurdity was half the fun. The other two shifted slightly, hands brushing the hilts of their weapons, their posture turning sharper.
The tension pressed thick against the wagon. Harlen's jaw twitched, his thumb sliding just above the guard of his blade. The cabin had grown quiet, save for the faint creak of Beck and Betty stamping their hooves against the cold earth.
The tension at the ridge was sliced apart by an unexpected voice.
"There's no point in being unreasonable, you old dogs!"
The three middle-aged guards stiffened, spines snapping upright as though a commander had barked orders. From the shack, a younger man emerged, tall and lean, his posture confident in a way the others lacked. A thick fur coat draped over his shoulders, its silver fastenings gleaming in the snow. The Dototore insignia was stitched boldly on the breast.
Trevus's eyes narrowed. He's the one in charge?
The man brushed back his short, swept hair, eyes sharp and black as coal. His tone was smooth, almost playful. "I apologize for their behavior. They were once apart of the royal army—the real deal—but let's say their glory days are… behind them. Fallen out of grace."
His smirk curved wider. "I'm sure we can work something out. Especially considering you're Trevus Regulus."
The air inside the wagon shifted. Mina glanced quickly at Ashe, who sat rigid beside her.
The man folded his arms, studying Trevus like a man flipping through a ledger.
"Yeah, I've heard of you. The most humble leader out of the twelve units at Western III."
That comment struck deep. Trevus felt a faint chill that had nothing to do with the snow.
How does he know that?Only those inside Tropico leadership would know Western III's composition. And with twelve units, they were already vastly outnumbered by Dototore—ten to two, optimally.
The young officer raised his chin.
"As for your past? I don't care. What matters is your cargo. The toll depends on what you're carrying. So…"
His hand gestured casually toward the wagon. "…if you may, I'll take a look."
Reluctantly, Trevus gave the nod.
The young Dototore walked with a measured stride, the three older guards trailing behind. At the back, he pulled the door open and peered inside. The cold wind slipped into the cabin, stirring cloaks and hair. His gaze swept over supplies—barely enough for a week—and then over the armed adventurers within.
His eyes lingered longest on Harlen, whose hand already gripped his arming sword, though it remained sheathed.
The young man's lips curled. "Hey there, handsome. No need for nerves. We've no plans to fight you here. Not right now, anyway."
The tease was laced with something sharper than humor. Then, with a dismissive chuckle, he shut the door and returned to the front.
"Well then." His voice carried easily as he stood in the road again. "Now that I know you six—" he paused deliberately, "—no, seven are headed for a dungeon run, the toll will be…" He held up three fingers. "Thirty-five notes. Twenty for the guild rate. Fifteen as a donation."
His smirk turned mocking, eyes flicking to the three older guards. "A donation for these old dogs."
The veterans held their silence, jaws tight, their posture stiffened under the humiliation.
Trevus gave a curt nod, drawing from his pouch. "Fine." He pressed thirty-six notes into the officer's hand.
The young man raised a brow. "Opps— you've overpaid." He flipped a single note back with two fingers, the gesture both courteous and taunting.
With that, the checkpoint parted. The three guards stepped aside, and the wagon lurched forward once again. Beck and Betty's hooves crunched into the snow, pulling the caravan steadily upward.
Inside, relief mingled with unease. Ashe quietly exhaled. Mina glanced back at the shack, her instincts prickling.
Behind them, once the caravan disappeared from sight, the young officer's expression shifted. His polite mask fell into a grin edged with cruelty.
"Head down to Ghillie," he ordered the older guards. "Report a caravan belonging to the Tropico Guild had passed through. Let's see what the higher-ups want done with it."
Snow fell harder across the ridge, muffling the sound of his laugh.
The wagon groaned as it pressed onward through the snow, the checkpoint fading behind them until it was nothing more than a crooked speck in the ridge's curve. Trevus settled himself back inside the cabin, tugging his coat tighter as the cold bit deeper. Ashe and Mina remained on the driver's bench, the reins snug in Mina's hands, Beck and Betty puffing warm breath into the air.
Inside, however, the mood had shifted.
Nira leaned back against the bench with a sly grin, her voice slicing through the quiet.
"You know, Harlen… I swear I saw you blush back there. When that young officer called you handsome."
Harlen's head snapped around. "I did not—!" His tone cracked more defensive than he intended.
Nira chuckled, wicked amusement in her eyes. "Oh, you totally did. Your ears were red. Clear as the sunrise."
Camylle jumped in before he could retort, her lips curling into a playful smirk. She tilted her head sweetly toward him.
"Hey now, Harlen, are you cheating on me? And with a man, no less?" She let the tease drip with mock hurt, a hand clutching her chest. "Shame, shame~"
The cabin burst into laughter, even Lotha cracking a reluctant smile. Harlen groaned, running a hand over his face. "Gods above, I can't stand you people."
"Don't worry," Camylle added, her eyes glinting. "You're still my handsome trash."
The laughter ebbed, leaving a quieter air. Trevus, however, did not laugh. He sat with his arms folded, expression darkening.
"That fellow…" Trevus began, voice low, "He seemed reasonable at first glance. Polite, even. But he knows far too much about Western III. More than any simple checkpoint officer should."
The others straightened, their amusement cooling into unease.
"That knowledge isn't harmless. I'd wager he'll report our caravan down to Ghillie. And if Dototore's higher-ups catch wind, we might not stay as invisible as we'd hoped."
A silence fell, heavier than the snow tapping against the cabin walls.
Harlen was the one to break it. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "Then what are we looking at, Trevus? Potential Ambush?"
The question hung. Even Mina and Ashe, perched at the front, twisted slightly, their voices drifting back through the small window between bench and cabin.
"Would it really come to that…?" Mina asked, unease in her tone.
"…If it does," Ashe muttered, "then what's our plan?"
For a moment, Trevus said nothing. His gaze had gone distant, weighing possibilities against the cold inevitabilities of the ridge. Finally, he spoke.
"It might come to that, yes." His tone was grave but steady. "The Dototore aren't fools. If they see us as a threat—or worse, as an opportunity—they'll test us. And I don't want that conflict. Not here. Not now."
His eyes sharpened, cutting across each face in turn. "But if they do come for us, I expect every one of you to give your all. Not to win. Not to chase them down. Just to defend the caravan. We hold the line until we're through Heinirirc, and no further."
The firelight in the cabin flickered, throwing long shadows.
Camylle pulled her coat tighter. Lotha's hand brushed over the head of her mace, silent but resolute. Harlen gave a single nod, his jaw set tight. Nira leaned back again, her grin dimmed but not gone.
And outside, Mina's knuckles whitened on the reins as Ashe sat stiff beside her, his pocketwatch cold in his hand.
The Heinirirc wind howled across the ridge, as though mocking the promise of quiet.
Snow crunched beneath wagon wheels as the caravan finally crested the highest slope of the Heinirirc Ridges. The horses slowed, their breath pluming like smoke in the thinning air. When the road flattened into a broad shelf of stone—a traveler's rest platform carved into the mountain—Trevus raised his hand.
"Hold."
The caravan eased to a stop. For a long moment, no one spoke. Party 5 stepped down one by one, the wind tugging at coats and hair as they took in the view. The world below sprawled in whites and greys, ridges fading into mist. It was beautiful in its way, yet biting, endless.
Nira hopped down first. Without ceremony, she lifted her right arm. Black lines surfaced across her wrist like ink bleeding under skin. Then, with a sound like parchment tearing, her hand dissolved into black sludge. The liquid writhed before peeling itself away entirely, reforming into the sleek body of a crow. Its wings flared, scattering shadows as it took to the air.
Harlen arched a brow, unimpressed and amused. "You've still got that little parlor trick, huh? What'd you even call it again? 'Crow-hand'? 'Fingers-with-feathers'?"
Nira shot him a side glance, her grin sharp. "Shadow Crow. Simple, memorable, effective."
Harlen gave a chuckle, shaking his head. "That's the best you could come up with? Should've gone with something dramatic. 'Harbinger of Feathers,' maybe."
"Keep flapping your mouth and I'll send it to pluck out your eyes." Her tone was light, but the crow's caw carried an edge that made Harlen shift his weight.
Still, curiosity got the better of Camylle. She leaned forward, studying Nira's wrist, now nothing more than a smooth, shadowy stump. "You really gave up your whole hand for that? A bit… extreme, isn't it?"
Nira shrugged, eyes following the crow as it cut against the pale sky. "Give and take. The pact lets me share its vision across miles. I lose the shape of my hand when I summon it, but I gain sight no scout can match."
"Genius," Camylle admitted, though her nose wrinkled. "But gross. I'll stick with my own hands, thanks. I don't need flaws screwing up my style."
"That's because your style is flawed," Nira shot back with a grin.
Camylle rolled her eyes, but there was no heat in it.
While they bantered, Trevus stepped forward, boots crunching across frost as he scanned the ridge. His gaze was thoughtful, measuring. "Enough chatter. Mina, Ashe—you've held the reins long enough. Rest at the back for now. Nira and I will take the lead from here."
Mina opened her mouth to protest, but Trevus cut her off with a look that brokered no argument. "We're entering descent territory. If anyone tries to shadow us, better the front is guided by those with scouting magic. Nira's crow for the sky, my tracking spells for the ground."
Nira flexed her darkened wrist, smirking. "You heard the man. Time for the professionals."
Ashe slid down from the driver's bench, rubbing warmth back into his stiff fingers. Mina followed, rolling her shoulders with a reluctant sigh. They traded places with Trevus and Nira, who climbed to the front, the reins falling into their hands.
The crow circled above, its shadow skimming the snow as Trevus whispered low and steady, threads of mana gathering in his palm. The faint outline of symbols etched into the air before fading again, his tracking spell casting its invisible net ahead.
For the moment, the ridge was still. But with every gust of wind, every shifting snowbank, came the reminder: silence on Heinirirc never lasted long.
The wind gnawed colder at the ridge. Trevus crouched low, his fur cloak spread over the frost as he unfurled a creased map of the Heinirirc Route. The parchment fluttered with every gust, its lines of winding paths and red markers half obscured by his gloved hand.
He traced two fingers along the main descent, lips pursed. "This slope bends too close to Ghilie patrol lines… and this one—" He tapped a thinner path etched in faded ink. "—slower, but safer. At least in theory."
A shadow fell across the map. Ashe approached quietly, hesitant, holding something in his hand.
"Trevus," he said, kneeling down. "I've been working on these." He opened his palm to reveal four slips of pale paper, each inscribed with faint silver ink and runic swirls. Their mana shimmered when the light caught them, subtle, but there.
Trevus blinked, then gave a short, surprised chuckle. "Seals? From you?"
Ashe nodded, suddenly self-conscious. "Illusory technique. Tenfold Veil. I… thought they might help."
The older man plucked one up, studying the delicate craft with a soldier's skepticism. "Well, well. You've been hiding tricks again. Why not mention this yesterday? Or—hell—even before we set out?"
Ashe faltered. His lips opened, closed, then pressed into a thin line.
Trevus sighed, shaking his head, though his smile softened. "Typical Ashe. Too shy or too forgetful." He placed the seal back in the boy's hand, patting his shoulder. "Still—this is no small thing."
Ashe cleared his throat, explaining quickly, almost defensively. "One seal covers everything within six meters. Full circle. They'll hold for about thirty minutes each… so, with four, that's two hours at best."
"Two hours of breathing room is two hours more than I expected." Trevus folded the map, tucking it away. He rose to his feet, voice steady now. "Keep them close. When we descend, I want you seated at the front benches inside the cabin. Centered enough to cover both Beck and Betty within your veil. That way, if we're ambushed, the wagon itself becomes harder to pin down."
Ashe blinked, then nodded firmly. "Understood."
Trevus gave a rare grin. "Good lad. You're sharper than you give yourself credit for. Let's hope we won't need them—but if we do…" He looked out over the mist-drowned slopes. "…we'll be glad for your foresight."
The Shadow Crow wheeled overhead, a dark speck against pale skies, as the caravan braced for the next leg of the descent.
The caravan creaked and swayed as it began its long descent. Six more hours, Trevus guessed, before they would leave the snow and steep ridges behind and finally reach the Jullio Route. The slope was narrow but steady, the wheels crunching across packed frost as the air grew sharper, thinner.
Nira sat bundled in the front with a mana-insulated blanket strapped across her shoulders. Her right arm ended abruptly in a shifting, tar-like bulge where her hand should have been. The stump pulsed faintly, threads of blackness flowing upward as her Shadow Crow circled high above.
Trevus's eyes flicked to her, his mouth tightening. He had seen this before. Nira's head lolled slightly, a thin strand of drool escaping her lips, her pupils unfocused. Her body sat in the wagon seat, but her spirit was somewhere else—half tethered to that inky bird soaring on unseen winds.
"She's doing it again," Trevus muttered under his breath. He tapped the reins lightly, coaxing the horses forward, but his attention stayed on Nira. Too focused. Too far gone.
If she poured too much of herself into that pact, one day she might not return. Her body could remain here, motionless—a husk—while her mind and soul slipped entirely into the Shadow Crow. An adventurer's nightmare: to become trapped in a form not their own.
Camylle, sitting inside the cabin, noticed too. She leaned toward the open flap, eyes narrowing. "She's drooling again, isn't she?"
"She's flying," Trevus said evenly. "But she's flying too deep."
Camylle clicked her tongue, sitting back with arms crossed. "One day she's going to get stuck like that. I've told her before—pacts demand balance. You give too much, you don't always get it back."
Harlen grunted from his corner, polishing the edge of his sword with a strip of leather. "As long as she spots danger before it bites us, I'll take her creepy bird over silence."
Nira's lips twitched at that—whether from hearing him, or simply some reflex leaking through her vacant trance, no one could tell.
Above them, the crow shrieked once and spiraled downward, black wings slicing through the frosted wind. Its sharp call carried across the ridge, echoing like a warning.
Trevus straightened at once. His instincts told him the bird had seen something.
The crow's cry still lingered faintly above the ridges when Trevus's voice broke the silence inside the cabin. His tone wasn't sharp or commanding—it was almost contemplative, like he was talking more to himself than to anyone else.
"Tell me something," he said, eyes still fixed on the reins as Beck and Betty snorted into the frosty air.
"Do you think I should indulge in one of those give-and-take pacts?"
The suddenness of it made Harlen look up from his sword. Camylle tilted her head, brows lifting.
"You!?" Harlen barked out a short laugh. "Captain straight-laced Trevus, trading blood for firepower? Thought you hated that sort of thing."
"I don't hate it," Trevus replied, steady and thoughtful. "I've just seen too many good men ruin themselves chasing power they didn't understand. But the world's shifting. Pacts are getting more… common. Refined. People are carving away pieces of themselves to reach higher peaks, and sometimes I wonder if I'm falling behind by staying whole."
Camylle rested her chin against her knuckles, her breath fogging the windowpane. "Depends on what you'd sacrifice. Your sight? Your voice? Your discipline? You'd have to carve something meaningful. The stronger the offering, the stronger the boon. But once you give it, it's gone."
Harlen gave a lopsided grin. "Bah. I say it's a fool's game. Why trade away what makes you you? If you're not enough as you are, no cursed pact is going to make you better. You'll just end up a cripple with a fancy trick."
Camylle shot him a glance. "Easy to say when you've never been tempted. Some pacts are clever—sacrifice a minor casting sense for physical fortitude, trade away pain for sharper reflexes… it's not always tragic. If you're disciplined, you can bargain wisely."
"And if you're not?" Harlen jabbed back. "You end up like those husks in the east. Empty shells that can swing a blade but can't remember their own names."
The cabin fell quiet again except for the creak of the wheels and the wind pressing against the canvas. Trevus finally exhaled, his gaze still far ahead.
"I don't intend to cripple myself," he said softly. "But Nira's proof these pacts can be useful. I just wonder how much longer I can rely on discipline alone when others are willing to pay higher prices for strength."
He didn't look at either of them as he said it. Outside, the crow shrieked again—closer this time, sharper, carrying an edge of urgency.
The quiet tension inside the cabin was broken by a ragged cough. Nira hunched forward, her blackened wrist twitching as wisps of shadow retreated back into her arm. With a shudder, the crow above dissolved into a trail of smoke.
Harlen smirked, leaning slightly in her direction. "Back from your birdbath, eh? Thought you'd get stuck flapping around forever."
Nira waved him off, her breaths uneven as she steadied her voice. "Save it. I've seen movement—north slope, parallel to the main road. Not wolves. Not adventurers. People." She lifted her head, eyes narrowing. "Too far for details, just dots against the snow. But they're keeping distance from the trail."
The words cast a shadow across the cabin. Trevus's jaw tightened. "Dototore Fakshyun." His voice was heavy, almost certain.
Harlen's hand shifted toward his scabbard again, knuckles brushing the hilt. "If it's them, they've laid something ahead. Trap, barricade, gods know what."
Trevus's gaze flicked toward the back of the wagon, where Ashe sat clutching the folded slips of his seals as if they might vanish. The boy looked up, startled by the sudden weight of his captain's eyes.
"Ashe," Trevus asked carefully, "your Tenfold Veil—does it only bend sight? Or can it cover sound as well?"
The cabin went still. The wind howled against the canvas, and the horses' breath steamed in the frigid air as everyone waited for Ashe's answer.