The instant their feet met the earth, the phantom wind that had borne them through the air vanished abruptly and coldly, leaving behind only the echo of its chill in their bones.

For a time, none of them moved, the silence clinging tightly to their forms, broken only by the quiet rustle of leaves blown by a distant breeze. The wilderness around them was far less forgiving than the manicured grounds they had known.

Beneath their boots, the terrain was uneven — damp soil mixed with scattered stone, wild grass threading between cracks.

Then, without prompt or warning, the blindfolds came undone… released, as if the air itself had plucked the fabric from their eyes. The cloth drifted upward, carried by the wind and disappeared into the sky.

Ruvian blinked; the shadow and sudden dimmed light pressed into his pupils. His vision gradually returned — he stood there, adjusting to the murky palette of the world.

‘It feels like I've walked into a place where I’m not supposed to be.’

The land stretched outward, introducing the confrontation between two opposing lands — one brittle and sun-bleached, the other was a little bit darker. Underneath their feet, the earth lay split and crumbling, its surface marred with fractures due to heat and hunger.

Yet also here, life had not fully abandoned its claim — stubborn shrubs hunched low to the ground, coarse grass pushed up in tufts, and the occasional withered tree adhered to survival with roots driven deep into the reluctant soil.

A narrow river meandered through the deadened plain, its waters thick and slow, dragging itself between the cracked wasteland and the creeping edge of green that loomed ahead.

Farther on, where the terrain began to rise and fall in uneasy undulations, the vegetation grew thicker, and the air heavier. The way the trees here behaved was eerie, their twisted limbs clawing at the caliginous sky like a human's hands.

Above them was a dome of muted light. Its rays filtered weakly through the dense cloud that pirouetted in the sky, painting the world below in a dim, colorless pall, not quite day, and not quite night.

There was no true warmth to the light, no true shade either. Ruvian stood still beneath it all, eyes lifted and absorbed everything. Then, as if cutting through that heavy silence, Yerin’s voice came sharp.

“Alright, everyone. We have no time to waste. We secure the river first.” She rolled her shoulders once, steadying herself.

“Shima, Arlok — check the perimeter. Make sure we’re alone. Horren, Ruvian, with me.” The command was immediate, and without hesitation, the group began to move.

Shima stretched lazily, her shoulders rising in a slow roll as she adjusted the leather strap of her falchion. “Tch. If we run into anything nasty,” she muttered, eyes narrowing beneath her fringe, “I’m waking it up the hard way.”

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Arlok chuckled under his breath. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t hog all the fun,” he said, swinging his poleaxe in a loose arc. They shared no more words, and without pause they slipped into the terrain — footsteps softened by the brittle grass underneath, figures dissolving into the landscape.

Yerin said nothing more. She turned, leading the others. They drew closer to the river’s edge. The river moved, barely — a slow crawl of dark water, clouded and thick, but not dead. There was motion, giving a hint of the presence of a source far upstream, unseen and distant.

Horren stood just behind her, his eyes sweeping along the banks, then the treeline beyond — as the long-ranger of the squad, he was always on guard. “Isn't this water too dark? Is it safe to drink?” Horren asked.

Yerin crouched by the bank, boots sinking slightly into the water, and extended one hand, dipping her fingers into the surface carefully. The water met her skin coolly.

“The seniors and professors said most water sources here are safe despite their darkness. But we still have a way to make sure of it.”

From a pouch at her belt, Yerin retrieved a small vial and poured a thin stream of its contents into the river. The liquid curled as it touched the surface, shimmered for only a moment before fading, swallowed whole by the current.

A simple purification test.

She watched, then straightened slowly, wiping her hand against her cloak. “It’s fine. They’re drinkable.” She said, her voice low, steady, but not entirely relaxed.

“Good,” Ruvian murmured calmly, eyes already scanning the edges of their surroundings. “We won’t always be this lucky. Let’s mark the best access points and keep an alternative in mind, just in case the river turns on us.”

Before any reply came, the underbrush rustled faintly, and Shima stepped back into view, a lazy gait masking her alert posture as she tossed a small stone from hand to hand with idle fingers.

Arlok followed just behind, his poleaxe slung across his shoulders.

“No immediate threats,” Shima reported, eyes flicking toward the treeline.

“No signs of Voidspawn either. Looks like we’re the only squad here.” Arlok said.

Yerin gave a single nod. “Then we move forward with securing our position. We have the water. Now we scout deeper, map out high ground, and pick the spot we’ll defend if we’re forced to. We proceed with what we discussed on the vessel. The North Region. That's our goal."

Horren moved, slipping the strap of his pack off his shoulder. He knelt near the water’s edge and reached into the worn leather bag, retrieving a set of flasks — each one dark, weathered, and shaped for quick use. With a soft exhale, he uncorked one, lowered it into the water, and let the current flow in.

Yerin followed. She knelt beside him and filled her own flask. Arlok and Shima joined without a word as well. The liquid rippled as it flowed in, the earlier purification ensuring it was safe to drink.

Ruvian knelt last. He filled it slowly, capped it with a firm twist, then rolled it between both palms, testing for any cracks or leaks. Satisfied, he clipped it back to his belt.

“Three each for now,” Yerin instructed. “We’ll ration if necessary, but there’s no guarantee we’ll find another source this clean anytime soon.”

Shima wiped a stray droplet off her fingers before hooking one flask onto her belt and the other inside her backpack. “I hate drinking lukewarm water — especially with this dark texture, but I guess it can't be helped.”

“Let’s keep moving. We have water — now we need food.” Yerin said.

Without further delay, they secured the rest of their supplies and pressed on, leaving only the soft ripples of disturbed water behind. Yerin turned back to the group. Her eyes swept over each of them — brief, assessing, sharpened by urgency more than doubt.

“Like we discussed, our next priority is finding some Crestbeak Fowl.” She began, gaze narrowing slightly as the distant wind moved the grass around them.

She paused only long enough for the name to land.

“They move in flocks — quick, skittish things... but in this kind of terrain, open and even is exactly where they tend to roam. That makes this the best window we’ll get.”

PP= 4000

ME= 510