After eating, Elion prepared for sleep. Tomorrow was going to be a long day. He lay his sleeping bag on the wooden floor of the cabin. Eshrod did the same with her own. Even Kellta chose the floor, since Farha was still unconscious and resting in her own bed.
When he awoke, he was once again haunted by the flickering memory of a dream. He focused hard, hoping to capture some detail—after all, last time, that vague impression had saved him from a Class V's claws.
This time, however, all he remembered was… talking to a well. And the well talking back.
That was it. No strange feeling. No looming dread. No cryptic warning. Just him, conversing with a well.
Am I going insane?
Everyone else was still asleep, so Elion stepped quietly outside, leaning against the rough wood of the cabin and gazing at the void above. One of the massive ribs of the skeletal titan jutted into the abyss, rising like an unstoppable monolith.
He sighed and looked down at his forearm, at the runes the Voice of God refused to translate.
If that's an enchantment… then what does it do?
The markings never shimmered gold like the runes Kellta drew. Does that mean they aren't activated?
His eyes drifted up to his Soul Integrity.
[Soul Integrity: 43%]
Elion gritted his teeth.
I'll need to kill something soon…
He was particularly unlucky in that regard. His ability didn't deal direct damage like Eshrod's or Kellta's, and he didn't have Farha's combat prowess either. That meant he'd either need to come up with another clever plan—immobilizing a creature like they did with the Faceless Class III—or find a new way to deal damage himself.
If Kellta agreed to accompany them in their search for the First Finger, it might make things easier. She had already proven herself to be a powerful ally.
But he also felt a little guilty.
He was giving her hope that her 'curse' could be lifted—but there was no telling how the First Finger would react to an Unlocked who didn't carry the Voice of God.
Still, she could be invaluable.
Creaking noises pulled him from his thoughts. The others were waking up.
He stepped back into the cabin.
Eshrod was rolling up her sleeping bag and tucking it into her pack. Kellta was stuffing the blankets she'd used into a shelf—though it ended up as a messy pile. She now wore a lighter set of black garments, crudely woven but clearly made with a practiced hand.
"Doran, vekul en thalar eshmek," she said, gesturing for them to approach a roughly drawn map on the table.
Elion raised an eyebrow.
"Uh… we can't understand you anymore."
Kellta blinked, then motioned for him to come closer. She pricked the same finger she used yesterday, and glanced at the book, still open to the correct page. She redrew the runes, and Elion's throat tingled with that strange, mouth-numbing sensation.
"Sorry about that—the runes don't last very long," she said, repeating the process for Eshrod.
"No problem," Elion replied, leaning in to inspect the map.
It was covered in red circles and unfamiliar symbols. Some landmarks he recognized—the river, the giant ribs protruding from the earth—but others were foreign. A house was marked further downriver, and a skull symbol had been drawn near the place where the ribs turned into a titanic neck.
Kellta traced a line with her finger.
"We'll travel between the remains of the titan and the river—stay close to neither. Both are home to dangerous creatures. The safest path is to follow the southern cliff all the way to Starlight."
She pointed to what looked like a lake fed by a branch of the river.
"After that, we climb the southern cliff and follow it from above until we reach the neck. From there, we make a straight line to the village."
"You know the place well," Eshrod remarked.
"I had to," Kellta replied. "Spent most of my life hunting here. If I hadn't learned the terrain, I'd be dead."
"So… you're coming with us?" Elion asked.
"Of course! You're telling me I can get rid of the curse and visit my father's homeland? Why wouldn't I go?"
That easy, huh…
A sly smile appeared on his face, though it was a little shaky.
Eshrod shot him a death glare—the kind that screamed:
How dare you swindle this innocent girl in your dirty schemes, you heartless bastard.
Elion waved a hand dismissively and looked away.
Truthfully, he did feel a bit bad. There was no guarantee they could help her. But hey—hope was a currency. He hadn't forced it on her—merely let her spend it freely.
Oblivious to their silent exchange, Kellta added,
"But I won't go into the village. I've got no desire to see them again."
Elion nodded, respecting her decision.
They finished prepping for the journey. The fire-wielding imp had packed a pale-hide backpack filled with a few tomes on golden runes and supplies for surviving the wilds. She also opted to wear her full black leather armor for the journey.
Elion was quietly distraught at leaving behind all those books and artifacts, but there was nothing to be done. At least Kellta had read them all—he could always ask her later.
He turned to Farha. The rune on her neck still pulsed faintly, but the glow was dimmer than yesterday.
He carefully picked her up, slinging her across his back. Eshrod carried their bags.
The four of them departed into the forest—Kellta in the lead, acting as an experienced guide.
She read the land like a second language, veering from paths to avoid threats, ignoring harmless noises, and interpreting every subtle tremor in the trees. They walked the line between the lower and upper plateaus—below them flowed the river, above loomed the skeleton of the ancient titan. The lip of the cliff curled just overhead.
The black stone forming the cliffs jutted like blades, serrated and sharp. Trees curved in high arches above, bearing faintly glowing fruit that bathed the upper plateau in a soft light.
But they didn't need natural light—Kellta's crimson flame illuminated everything.
Elion remembered a saying popular among Unlocked:
Pray for Light.
It made sense. Humans couldn't see in the dark and usually didn't have another way to sense their surroundings. The creatures of the Depths often didn't need sight to find prey and if they did, their eyes could pierce the shadows without any problem. In that sense, light was an ally.
He used to think that was nonsense. Light drew attention. It made you visible like a beaming beacon announcing their presence to every abomination lurking in the gloom.
But now, he understood the comfort of light.
Bioluminescence was fine—but real light? Like Kellta's flames? That was invaluable.
Another reason to mourn the loss of Bright Light. Aside from being a seasoned fighter, he could have made any expedition safer. Every group should have a Light Bearer. An external source of precious visibility was unpredictable. Abilities were not.
He looked at the crimson blaze in Kellta's palm.
"When did you first use those flames?" he asked.
She didn't turn to face him, her eyes focused on the darkness ahead.
"About four years ago, when I turned eighteen."
"Huh…"
That tracks.
"Were you still living in your village back then?"
"Yeah…" she answered dismissively so Elion didn't pry.
They managed to travel the entire day without encountering any threats. They took plenty of detours, but still—it was impressive.
That night, the four of them sat around a campfire. Farha was still unconscious. Eshrod had zipped her snugly into a sleeping bag to keep her warm. They ate food Kellta had brought, though Elion had prepared it this time using spices from his pack.
"What an odd combination of flavors," the fire-wielding imp said after a bite of meat. "Is this what Light-Walkers usually eat?"
"This is but one facet of the culinary experience the human world has to offer," Elion replied in a scholarly tone. "Though I admit, I'm still quite limited by available ingredients."
Kellta listened intently.
"Huh… my father once mentioned something called 'pizza.' Said it was his favorite food. Tried to recreate it here with the ingredients we had, but… let's just say his cooking wasn't great."
Pizza, of all things, as his favorite food? Didn't seem the most culinary inclined, indeed.
"Yes, pizza is quite good. Though it's generally considered unhealthy and… cheap."
Kellta tilted her head.
"Unhealthy? Like poison?"
Elion blinked.
Right… for people in a cruder civilization, the concept of 'unhealthy' might be closer to something inedible and poisonous… Not exactly wrong, though…
"Well, not quite. Some types are fine. Others aren't very nutritious for the body."
Eshrod, unusually quiet, finally spoke, loudly.
"What kind of conversation is this?! Food is food. If it tastes good, it's good. What more do you need?"
Elion stared at her.
"Didn't you claim to be a gourmet yesterday?"
"I am! I can tell what tastes good."
"…Okay. Good for you," Elion replied flatly, avoiding a fight against the stubborn Gremlin.
Kellta chuckled, amused by the exchange, and added another stick to the crimson fire. Her hands passed through the flames without harm. She couldn't be burned by her own fire, after all.
"Tomorrow, we'll need to hunt something," she said quietly, eyes fixed on the flames.
Elion and Eshrod both turned to listen.
"Using runes and keeping the flame going like this drains me. If I want to be safe, I need to kill something."
Her voice carried a faint bitterness.
Figures. The runes couldn't be free. Nothing is ever free. It must use the soul of the conjurer to take hold.