The glow across the river remained steady.
Unmoving.
Too steady.
The scouts lingered in the shadows, peering through foliage and fractured light. None dared step onto the moss-covered bridge.
"It doesn't make sense," one muttered. "If the campfire's theirs, why does the trail end here? Why cross, when the orders were to observe from a safe distance?"
No one had an answer.
After a long pause, another Tarnak'hul scout spoke, his voice low and firm. "We'll send two back. Fast and light. The chief needs to know our brethren haven't reported in—and the scouts we left here are gone."
No one argued.
Two of the leanest quietly shed excess gear, rechecked blades and straps, then gave a silent nod before disappearing into the jungle behind them—ghostlike, swift, following the marked trail in reverse.
The rest of the group began clearing a space just off the riverbend, nestled between roots and stone. It wasn't a proper camp—just enough for cover, for fire.
A place to wait.
To watch.
Sid helped reinforce a partial barrier using woven branches, while Krixi moved silently around the perimeter like a green-shadowed sentinel.
Ethan split apart a fallen log, tossing dry fragments into a growing pile of kindling.
Dianna drove her massive broadsword into the ground and leaned back, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the opposite bank.
"That fire's still burning."
"And no one's tending it," Ethan said, crouched near the faint glow of the flames he coaxed to life. "Creepy."
"We should've seen movement by now," Dianna muttered. "Or at least a shadow."
A nearby scout grunted. "If they're still over there… they're either trapped—or they're not alive."
Sid stood at the water's edge, arms folded, eyes scanning the far bank. Threads drifted idly beside him, coiling like silver mist—almost thoughtful.
They had options. But only one real path forward.
The bridge.
Too exposed. Too quiet.
And without orders or backup, crossing it would mean gambling everything on what waited beyond.
"Any sign of thread markers?" Sid asked quietly.
The scout beside him shook his head. "Nothing new. Just the last one we left before the split. It's like the team ahead vanished."
Krixi tilted her head slightly, vents hissing as she released a slow breath of green mist.
Sid glanced toward her, then back across the water—watching.
Waiting.
Wondering what still lingered beyond the flickering orange light.
---
Later that evening, the group gathered closer around the makeshift camp. The fire crackled low, throwing flickering shadows against the bark and stone around them. Packs were laid out. Weapons within reach. No one truly rested.
They sat in a loose circle—silent at first, thoughts drawn toward the quiet fire across the river.
"Options?" one of the scouts finally asked, voice kept low, eyes never leaving the far bank.
No one offered anything immediate.
Then Sid spoke.
"I might be able to see through her."
Several heads turned toward him.
He nodded toward Krixi, who stood a short distance away beneath a twisted tree, mist curling gently from her vents as she kept watch.
"I don't mean puppeteer her—I mean share my vision. I've never tried it directly… but the connection's been stronger since the fight."
The Tarnak'hul scout leaned forward. "You think you could ride her senses?"
Sid hesitated, then nodded. "Maybe. If she goes ahead, I might be able to see what she sees. At least enough to scout the other side."
"She's immune to blades and arrows," another scout noted. "Not like she can be ambushed or killed outright."
Dianna raised an eyebrow. "Smart. But can she navigate without drawing attention?"
Ethan glanced toward her. "She doesn't exactly whisper when she moves."
"I can tell her to stay low," Sid replied. "Skim the river if needed."
The scouts exchanged glances, then nodded one by one.
Krixi, overhearing the exchange, tilted her head. Her vents hissed softly, a subtle pulse of vapor escaping like a sigh. She stepped forward—only a few paces—then paused again, uncertain.
She said nothing, but the faint twitch of her frame, the slow tilt of her head, the way her vents flared once—it wasn't aggression.
It was curiosity.
Willingness.
She wanted to contribute.
But the others still kept their distance. Not from fear—but caution. Her fog, after all, could poison even lungs trained for jungle air. She couldn't be near anyone except Sid.
Still, her gaze met his—cool, clear, and open.
Sid gave her a slight nod. "We'll be careful. Just watch. Just observe. No contact."
The scouts instinctively shifted their positions—giving her a path, a space of air untouched by breath.
She stepped past them slowly, delicately—like a creature that didn't want to disturb the forest it protected. Her long limbs moved without sound. The mist around her remained thin, controlled, trailing behind like silk in moonlight.
Then she approached the river.
Her body began to fold, shift, condense. She dropped low, nearly horizontal, limbs pulling in. Her head alone remained above the surface—venting slow streams of vapor as she eased herself into the current like a living ghost.
The water hissed faintly around her form, but she made no splash. Only ripples.
Sid stepped closer to the edge and placed his hand on the ground, threads flickering out to trace along her passage like signal lines through fog.
Then—he closed his eyes.
And the world shifted.
---
Sid inhaled slowly, fingers pressed to the soil.
And then—
He saw.
Not with his own eyes.
But through hers.
Krixi's vision bled into his mind—tinted entirely in shifting tones of green. Shapes pulsed with soft luminescence, heat and motion drawn as outlines of energy and thread-signatures. It was alien, yet clear. Focused. Efficient.
She moved through the undergrowth like vapor given purpose—limbs low, mist controlled, her body flickering at the edges. She was ghost-phase now—partially disconnected from the physical. Roots passed through her like mist through smoke. Branches bent around her without contact. She was there, but untouchable.
The river hissed behind her as she slipped deeper into the overgrown terrain. Sid could feel her gliding across a carpet of moss and soil, weaving between boulders swallowed by vines, navigating fallen trees and jagged debris blanketed in thick green.
Ahead, the campfire flickered steadily.
Too steady.
Unnaturally undisturbed.
Krixi circled the clearing wide, slipping into the foliage surrounding the hollowed camp. Through her vision, Sid spotted them.
Three of the scouts.
Each one chained to separate trees at the edge of the firelight.
Alive.
But barely.
Their armor was torn. Faces bloodied and bruised. Cuts ran along exposed arms. One had a dislocated shoulder, slumped awkwardly in his restraints. Another was still conscious—barely—head lolling from side to side, lips cracked and muttering something Sid couldn't hear.
Thick iron bindings anchored their limbs to roots and trunks, locking them in place like trophies abandoned by their captors.
But that was just it.
There were no captors.
The campfire crackled peacefully. No signs of movement. No enemies. No supplies. Just the three imprisoned scouts and a fire that shouldn't still be burning.
> "They're all here," Sid murmured aloud. "Three of them. Alive—but barely. No sign of the ones who set the fire."
A nearby scout stiffened. "None?"
"Nothing." Sid shook his head. "Just them. And the fire. It's like whoever did this… vanished."
In Krixi's spectral view, some parts of the clearing seemed wrong—patches of black heatlessness where warmth should've lingered. Cold zones. Hollow voids. Areas where the mist curled away instinctively, recoiling without instruction.
Her body passed near one—and she shuddered slightly. Not in pain, not from impact. But from sensation. Like a place memory refused to settle.
Sid narrowed his eyes.
The chains, the setup, the fire—this was intentional. A message. Or bait.
And beyond the trees…
He felt it.
Not seen. Not heard.
But sensed.
Something was watching.
Waiting.
Still unseen.
But very much present.