They noticed it because of the ground.
The forest thinned abruptly ahead of them, roots giving way to broad slabs of pale stone that broke through the soil like exposed bone. The transition wasn't gradual. One step was leaf litter and damp earth. The next was smooth rock etched with shallow grooves.
Damien slowed. The others followed without being told.
He crouched and ran his fingers along the edge where dirt met stone. Tracks ended there—boots, dragged feet, animal prints—all stopping at the same uneven line.
Not scattered.
Not turning back.
Just ending.
Chris frowned. "That's not right."
Damien didn't answer. He straightened and scanned ahead.
The open stone stretched for dozens of meters before the forest resumed on the far side. Nothing moved on it. No birds. No insects. Just empty space broken by low ridges and shallow cracks.
A snort cut through the quiet.
The boar stepped out from the trees.
It was the same one. Massive shoulders, plated hide, tusks catching the light. It didn't charge immediately. It paced along the forest edge, head low, eyes fixed on the group.
No one spoke.
The boar took a few heavy steps forward.
Then it stopped.
Not stumbling. Not recoiling.
It simply halted, hooves scraping stone, and stood there for a long second. It snorted again, shook its head, and backed up into the trees.
Silence followed.
Someone exhaled shakily.
"It didn't cross," Chris said.
Damien kept watching the empty space the boar had refused to enter.
Smaller shapes moved near the stone—deer-like creatures, lean and nervous. They grazed close to the slabs, lifting their heads often but never bolting.
Mark swallowed. "So… this works."
No one contradicted him.
They edged forward cautiously, testing the open ground with their eyes before their feet. Nothing reacted. No charge. No movement from the forest.
They crossed onto the stone.
Relief came fast.
Someone laughed, short and brittle. Another person sat down hard and rubbed their legs. Packs hit the ground. Weapons lowered.
"This is where we stop," someone said. "Right?"
Damien didn't say yes.
He walked a few steps farther in, stopping well short of the far treeline. He turned and looked back at the group.
"We don't know how wide this is," he said. "We should move a bit further. See if it still holds."
The response was immediate.
"Why?" Mark said. "You saw it. It stopped right there."
Another voice joined in. "Yeah. Why push it?"
"We already have ground that works," someone else said. "Why risk it?"
Damien looked around. Faces were tense, but not afraid. Not anymore.
"We tested it once," he said. "That doesn't mean—"
"That's enough," Mark cut in. "We don't need to tempt it."
A few people nodded. One person muttered, "No reason to fix what isn't broken."
Damien held their gaze for another second, then nodded.
"Alright," he said.
They took that as agreement.
Camp went up quickly after that. Not shelters—just organization. Packs stacked. A loose ring formed on the stone. Someone asked about fire and was immediately shut down.
"No smoke," Chris said. "Not yet."
Night fell without warning.
One moment the stone was visible under fading light. The next, darkness settled in cleanly, broken only by a faint sheen along the grooves in the rock. No flames. No argument about it.
Leon slept, breathing steady.
That helped.
Watches were discussed, then shortened. Fewer hands went up as the hours passed. People leaned closer together, backs to the open stone, eyes on the treeline.
Nothing came.
The forest stayed where it was.
Morning arrived the same way night had—quietly.
People woke slow. No one scrambled. No one reached for weapons right away. Someone stretched and groaned. Someone else laughed at a joke Damien didn't hear.
"We could stay here," a woman said.
Mark nodded immediately. "At least for a bit."
Damien didn't argue. Not yet.
They organized anyway.
Stone was stacked to mark the edge. Paths were worn unconsciously by repeated movement. The idea of staying settled in fast, growing roots without anyone naming it.
By evening, fewer people volunteered for watch.
Damien took one.
He stood at the same place where the boar had stopped the day before, eyes fixed on the forest beyond the stone.
A shadow shifted at the treeline. Not advancing. Not retreating.
Just there.
It didn't cross.
"See?" Mark said quietly behind him. "Still works."
Damien didn't answer.
He kept watching the empty space between stone and trees—the line they'd decided not to test any further.
They hadn't proven it was safe.
They'd just agreed it was enough.