Elion didn't tell the others what had just happened to him. If his dream truly reflected reality, then this wasn't the first time he'd died—but it was the first time he remembered.
"Have we been… teleported?" Lumos muttered. "Fascinating."
Right… if everything happens as before, maybe I can change things.
"We should head into the forest. We know nothing about this place, and we're far too exposed out here," Elion said, trying to sound just as bewildered as the rest of the group.
His logic was sound, so no one questioned him. This time, they headed right—away from the camp.
Elion suspected the assassin wasn't targeting them specifically; she likely just killed anyone who entered her territory. If they avoided sighting the camp, Joart and Eshrod wouldn't split off from the group—and maybe they wouldn't die.
They walked through the meadow for quite some time. Joart kept casting Elion wary glances.
Does he know? No… that's impossible.
Eventually, they reached a clearing—and a macabre sight. A battlefield. Blood stained the vibrant grass, broken swords and… rifles? The weapons scattered across the ground looked unfamiliar.
Tracks from what appeared to be artillery vehicles crossed the terrain, mixed with trails where bodies had been dragged through the mud. Many trees had been snapped, the earth cratered from impacts. Scorched bones lay half-buried in the dirt. The remains weren't fresh—probably a week old.
"What happened here?!" Eshrod exclaimed, taking in the grisly scene.
Elion knelt beside one of the shattered rifles. It lacked a magazine and clearly didn't fire traditional bullets. The inner circuitry was intricate—far beyond anything the engineers back in Goreth could've designed.
Are we in the future?
No, that doesn't make sense. The surface wouldn't look like this.
He remembered his dream—it had felt deeply tied to the past.
This is earlier. Could this be during the Great Holy War?
There were contradictions, like the advanced technology and the floating islands in the sky. But the presence of the assassin—a Dweller of the Depths—confirmed it. They were back in the Third Age. Or in some echo of it.
How that was even possible remained a mystery. But if what he'd overheard in his dream was true, and the God of Memories and Time was involved, then logic didn't matter. Anything was possible when it came to gods.
"Looks like a war zone. I think we've somehow returned to the past," Elion finally said.
Everyone stared at him as if he'd spoken another language—except Lumos, who already seemed to be considering the possibility.
"Are you serious?" Joart said, skepticism heavy in his tone. "That sounds way too far-fetched."
Why is he so quick to discredit me?
Since arriving here, the pretend noble had been playing his own game. One that involved isolating Elion.
"It could be possible in theory," Lumos interjected. "I'm from the First River. There are texts about time phenomena—usually involving the God of Memories and Time and his disciples."
"If we really are in the past, how do we return to the present?" Talom asked.
"That's what we have to figure out," Elion murmured. "For now, we should keep moving. We don't know what dangers are out here."
The sun had already begun to set, shadows creeping across the meadow.
They pressed deeper into the field. Elion wanted to test whether space also looped here, like it had on the mountain. Eventually, they made camp.
Lumos continued tinkering with his amulet, his expression one of renewed surprise. He said nothing but studied the object with rapt attention.
This time, Elion didn't ask what it was for since he already knew.
After they ate, everyone went to sleep. Talom took first watch, then Joart, followed by Farha later in the night.
Elion had steered the group as far from the camp as possible, hoping to avoid another assassination.
At first, he struggled to sleep. The feeling of being watched never left him, though he chalked it up to the paranoia this place always gave him. The grassy meadow between trees felt comfier than the mountain's rocky slopes, but more exposed and dangerous.
A sharp pain assaulted his skull, then he woke up. Back at the beginning.
Huh?! What just happened? Why am I back here?
He touched the back of his head where the pain had been. There was nothing unusual.
Eshrod repeated her usual line, followed by Lumos's fascination.
"When did I die?" Elion muttered.
Had the assassin found us—even there?
That should not be possible. They were far from where she supposedly roamed.
"Eli?" Eshrod said, noticing his stunned expression.
He had been silent for too long. It might have seemed suspicious.
"I'm alright…"
Joart glared at him.
I'm fine, you bastard—stay out of it.
"We should head up the mountain," Elion said. "Try to figure out where we are."
This time, he would try to get the group to camp high up. Maybe that would keep them alive through the night. He had done it with Farha and Lumos in a previous loop—so he thought they should try, at least.
After a tough climb, they arrived at the plateau where Eshrod and Joart's group usually left for the camp in the distance.
"There's other people here?!" Eshrod said, surprised.
"We should go meet them," Joart added. That same hunger flickered in his eyes.
"No, we can't," Elion said, firmly.
"We finally found a semblance of civilization. They might know where we are. I say we go meet them first," the pretend noble argued.
His face revealed nothing—but the young cook could feel something was off.
"We should camp here first, it's getting late. We'll go tomorrow," he said, trying to stall.
"The longer we wait, the more danger we're in," Joart pressed.
Why is he so eager to go there? Does he know something?
"Well… I think it's better if we rest first," Talom said.
The others agreed—except Joart.
The pretend noble glared at Elion, resentment simmering behind his eyes, barely hidden. He sighed heavily.
"Alright…"
They made camp again. Lumos examined the amulet with that same astonishment, now tinged with fascination.
They slept… and again, a sharp pain in Elion's skull before he woke back up at the beginning.
This time, he immediately sat down, prompting confused looks from the others.
Was the killer attracted by the numbers? No, that doesn't make sense. Then what was it? What killed me?!
His eyes scanned his companions.
If the fatal strike was to the skull, wouldn't it have met resistance? Not killing me right on the spot. Skulls aren't that easy to pierce.
His gaze settled on Joart, who squirmed under the attention.
Don't tell me…
The man with the ability to render his blade impossibly sharp…
"Elion, what are you doing?" Talom asked.
"Let's go," the young cook said, standing back up.
"To where?"
"The forest."
Despite their confusion, the group followed him. They took the same route—past the battlefield—and made camp by nightfall.
Elion sat by the fire, tension in his jaw.
"You alright?" Eshrod asked, sitting beside him. "You don't seem like yourself today."
Farha stood nearby, waiting for a response.
"I'm fine…" he said, glancing behind to make sure Joart wasn't listening. "A lot has happened."
"What do you mean?" Eshrod asked, puzzled.
"I'll tell you tomorrow."
"As secretive as always," the gremlin scoffed. "Alright James Bond—if you're so set on keeping your lips shut, suit yourself, but don't keep important information from us. You can trust us you know?"
Trust you? I'm not so sure anymore.
When it was time to sleep, Elion laid on his side, pretending to be out cold.
Sure enough, sounds of footsteps approached him. They were light and well hidden, but nowhere near as silent as the killer close to the camp.
Murderous intent washed over him like a wave.
He rolled aside just as a sword plunged into the ground where his head had been.
He sprang up and grabbed his own weapon.
What he feared came true. Joart was standing over where he was sleeping, his sword still plunged in the earth. His eyes shone with a deep lust, like an addict denied his fix.
Elion didn't hesitate. He lunged, his blade slicing Joart's side and staining his jacket with crimson.
Fear overtook the pretend noble's face. He desperately scrambled to get away.
"Am I really that scary, you bastard?!" Elion shouted, chasing him into the forest.
His shout woke the others—but by then, he had already vanished into the darkness.
Branches whipped past his face as he ran after the murderer, but he was too fast—even injured. But at least he had driven him away.
When Elion returned, the others were waiting—silent, confused, and worried.
"What… did you do?" Talom asked.
"Your pathetic excuse for a leader just tried to murder me in my sleep—for the third time," Elion sneered bitterly.
"You mean Joart?"
He nodded.
Talom's eyes dropped to the blood on Elion's blade. His expression darkened.
"Did you… kill him?"
"No, the bastard was too fast for me and—"
"You're insane!" Talom cut him off. "Joart would never do that. I've known him since before S33—you must have tricked him!"
Joart's group looked horrified. His own team just looked stunned.
Elion's eye twitched.
"Me? Trick him?" he laughed bitterly. "That bastard tricked all of you—led you to your deaths. Multiple times even!"
"Shut up! You're not making sense!" Talom barked. "I knew you were unstable, but this—this is too much!"
He raised his weapon.
"Eli, what happened?" Lumos asked, trying to defuse the tension.
Talom wasn't listening.
"Out of the way, sorcerer!" he yelled, ready to attack.
Elion laughed.
"Oh, you want to kill me, huh? Well, I guess I'll need to make things right." He pressed his own sword against his throat.
"I'll kill myself now—and deal with the traitor first thing in the morning," he continued, smiling like a serial killer.
He really looked like he was about to do it. Muscles tensed in his arm—but before the blade could cut his own throat, someone grabbed him by the back, locking his movements while Eshrod dashed and snatched the sword from his hands.
"Eli! What the fuck are you doing?!" she shouted, panic in her voice.
And here's the other traitor…
At least she didn't deserve to die.
"Isn't it clear, I'm taking my own life," he said with heavy sarcasm.
"That's not funny!" Eshrod snapped, dropping the sword.
Farha, the one who had grabbed him, didn't release her grip.
"You want the whole truth?" Elion said, venom in his tone.
"Yes! Stop keeping us in the dark—especially if you're about to kill yourself!" Eshrod cried.
The young cook perked his face to look straight in her only eye.
"You're all fucking traitors," he whispered, wide-eyed.