The road to the Southern Crescent was a broken vein of stone and moss, half-reclaimed by the creeping wilds that pressed like a tide against Varnstead's thinning borderlines. Eryx walked just behind the lead cart, his new armor muted but responsive, the faint hum of the Echo Engine embedded within it like a second heartbeat. The others followed in loose formation, boots crunching old gravel and discarded bone.

  They moved without an escort, taking turns hauling the supplies. Apparently this resonant team were deemed “self-correcting,” a bureaucratic way of saying: if they couldn’t survive the journey, they weren’t ready for the mission.

  Jast, the clear leader of the group, gave them thier mission orders. They were to get a lay of the land, mark any potential resources deemed valuable and mark any potential roads connecting to the one they're currently on and said valuable resources. They were also to report any potentially dangerous creatures or dungeons in the area, if they existed.

  Jast kicked a fallen Echo Beacon husk as they passed it. The crystal at its center was dull, split open like a fractured egg. “Another one drained,” he muttered. “That makes, what, seven since the ridge?”

  Kiva gave it a glance, one hand already spinning a filament of latent energy between her fingers. “They don’t burn out like that on their own. Something’s pulling too much current.”

  “Echo-adjacent?” Eryx asked, still testing his voice within this new group. It came out quieter than he meant.

  “Possibly,” Kiva said. "Though they're exceedingly rare. These Beacons work a lot like the central resonance tower back in Varnstead, absorbing ambient mana. But unlike the resonance tower, which powers everything in the city, these put up large ward fields that, generally, keep the monsters away and the path safe. Unfortunately there are creatures with strong enough energies to simply move through the field, causing a short in the Beacon. While an echo adjacent monster would cause this, so could a normal, but seriously powerful creature."

  "Seriously powerful as in..?" Eryx questioned uneasily.

  "As in too powerful for us to handle." She said cool, clearly unperturbed by the thought of some giant awful monster killing them all with little effort.

  Calen appeared next to Eryx without warning, somehow already chewing on a roasted mushroom skewer. He offered one to no one in particular, then let it fall when no one took it.

  “Or,” Calen said, “we’re being hunted by an emotionally volatile wraith that feeds on ambient mana and failed expectations. Like my second ex.”

  Eryx blinked. “You were married?”

  “Don’t change the subject,” Calen said, pointing the half-eaten skewer at him. “Focus on the emotional volatility. That’s the real enemy.”

  He vanished just as quickly, reappearing by the cart, now wearing a wide-brimmed hat made of copper wire and feathers. Jast didn’t even flinch.

  “You get used to it,” he said dully.

  ———

  By the time the tree line thinned, giving way to the Southern Crescent’s curved sprawl of hills and shallow ravines, the sun was low and stretched long shadows across the field.

  Calen dragged a chair from what Eryx assumed was from the cart, flipped it once, then collapsed into it backward. “We camp here. I sense something deeply ominous about the terrain two clicks ahead. Probably cursed. Or full of old regrets.”

  Kiva muttered something under her breath and began drawing glyphs around the camp perimeter.

  "Mirror bind." With the glyphs in place in a wide circle around thier camp, the words created a shimmering barrier that would protect them.

  "That will last for 6 hours, block anything trying to rush in and return that energy at 40% efficiency. Anything walking will phase through but charging will get them knocked back. An arrow wouldn't feel good to an attacker, but it won't kill them."

  Kive seemed to have a habit of explaining things in great detail, asked or not. Eryx was appreciative of it though, she helped fill in gaps in his knowledge.

  Eryx found himself oddly comforted by the precision of her magic. It was clean, deliberate, structured. None of the flare and frills of most other magic types.

  He sat on the edge of the camp, staring toward the dark rim of the forest.

  Behind him, Calen was juggling three enchanted spoons and telling a story from his youth.

  "So there I was—trapped in a collapsing floor puzzle with a chronomancer who thought time magic meant always being late. We’re knee-deep in acid mist, and he tells me, ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got this.’ Guy rewinds us ten seconds… back into the trap. Three times. I lost a boot, my lunch, and most of my faith in humanity."

  ———

  The team had reached the end of the trail, standing at the threshold where the land between the two ridges fell away into the vast expanse of the Southern Crescent. The air was heavy, thick with the scent of salt and earth, and the sky above them was a washed-out gray, as if even the heavens had grown tired. The cart was left behind at the base of the pass, and now they stood ready to carry their packs on foot into the unknown.

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  Eryx adjusted the straps of his pack, trying to ignore the aching weight of it on his shoulders, his eyes scanning the horizon. He wasn’t sure what to expect in this barren stretch of land, but he was certain it would be more dangerous than anything they had encountered so far.

  The others were already moving, organizing their gear and prepping to head out.

  Calen, as usual, seemed unfazed by the new challenge. He was already fiddling with the contents of his pack, pulling out strange objects with little regard for practicality—a cracked mirror, an empty potion vial, and some odd metallic tools. Every now and then, he’d mutter to himself, half of the words making no sense at all.

  Eryx turned to him, his curiosity getting the better of him. “Hey, Calen,” he said, his voice cutting through the murmurs of the rest of the group. “What did you mean beforr at the contract office by... ‘emotionally 60 but chronologically 23’?”

  Calen slowed a bit as they walked, the others pulling slightly ahead.

  “Thats a bit of a long story,” he said after a beat.

  He clicked his tongue and reached into his satchel, fiddling with a copper spool as he talked. “Got trapped in a dungeon. One of the deep ones. Everyone else got out. I didn’t.”

  Eryx frowned. “How long?”

  Calen looked up at the sky for a second, then back at the road. “Forty-three years. For me.”

  The words landed like stones.

  “And outside?”

  Calen laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Eight days. Whole damn thing was time-dilated the other way. World barely blinked.”

  Eryx stopped. Calen kept walking.

  “You’re telling me... you lived four decades in there, came back, and everything was still... the same?”

  “Oh yeah. Same buildings. Same people. Same menu at the dumpling stall.” Calen’s voice was light, but something about the way he said it made Eryx’s stomach twist. “My brother still had that stupid haircut and he wasn’t even late for rent.”

  Eryx walked again, catching up beside him. “That’s... messed up.”

  Calen didn’t answer right away. His eyes were scanning the cliffs ahead, but his mind was somewhere far deeper.

  “I thought I was gone for good,” he finally said, voice lower now. “Grew a beard, lost the beard, got real good not dying though. Learned to read monster patterns, carved maps into cave walls, made friends with a lichen colony that grew in the shape of a dog. I named it Sorrel.”

  Eryx blinked. “You named fungus?”

  “Don’t be rude. Sorrel was a good boy.” Calen’s smile came back briefly. “Anyway, when I made it out... I expected statues. Or at least a small parade. Not every day someone returns from a dungeon after 43 years.”

  He kicked a rock off the trail and watched it tumble down into the ravine.

  “But it was like I’d just run to the corner store. People didn’t even ask where I’d been. They thought I wandered off. Said I must’ve hit my head. My brother offered me soup.”

  Eryx didn’t know what to say. He had never heard of someone being trapped in a dungeon that long. It was terrifying, a quiet, personal horror.

  “You ever feel like you didn’t really come back?” Eryx asked softly.

  “All the time,” Calen replied, without hesitation. “They didn't get back the same person they knew. That version of me died around year six. After that… I was just trying to hold on to whatever pieces were left.”

  They walked a few more paces in silence. The wind rushed up the pass behind them, carrying the last warmth of the trail with it.

  “You know what the worst part is?” Calen said.

  Eryx shook his head.

  “How nothing changed. I’d prepared myself for a world that had moved on. For people to be older, buildings to be ruins, tech to leap ahead. But instead...” He shook his head. “It was like the world refused to move. Like I was the only one who’d been gone. Like everything I went through didn’t even matter.”

  Eryx stared down the path ahead, the mist curling around the rocks like fingers.

  “Still think you’re handling it better than most would’ve,” he said quietly.

  Calen’s smirk returned—small, but real. “Nah. I’m just good at pretending. Jokes help.”

  Eryx arched an eyebrow. “That explains the slime girl obsession.”

  “Slime girls are eternal, Eryx. Dungeon trauma fades, but gelatin-based affection is forever.”

  The tension broke. Eryx laughed.

  Up ahead, Kiva called back. “You two planning to catch up, or should we start building a retirement home here?”

  “Don’t tempt me!” Calen shouted. “I already spent one lifetime in a death maze. I’m owed a hammock and a drink with an umbrella in it!”

  The group laughed, and the silence lifted.

  But as they stepped over the threshold and into the Southern Crescent proper, Eryx glanced at Calen one more time.

  Forty-three years alone in a dungeon. Eight days gone from the world.

  That kind of time didn’t just age you. It changed you.

  ———

  The Crescent’s lowlands weren’t as jagged as the pass. Wide fields of golden-bladed grass rolled gently under a sky streaked with thin, clouds. Large jagged boulders rose from the ground here and there, mostly in the distance along the foothills of the mountains. Trees grew in sparse, spiraled formations, like something had told them not to gather too close.

  The group moved in loose formation, not fully spread out but with enough room for reflexes. Calen wandered ahead, poking at stones with his cane like he was looking for buried treasure—or maybe just bored. Eryx hung back with the others.

  “So,” Kiva said, sidestepping a gnarled root with the grace of someone who’d clearly trained for all terrain. “How’s everyone feeling about today’s inevitable near-death experience?”

  Jast let out a low grunt. He’d been quiet most of the day, the metal of his gauntlets clicking faintly as he adjusted them. “Long as we get a warm-up first. Hate going straight into a fight cold.”

  Eryx chuckled. “That really your main concern out here?”

  Jast shrugged, dark eyes scanning the horizon. “Worse things than monsters. Rust. Sand, its coarse and gets everywhere. Bad footwork. You die sloppy, you die stupid.”

  “Poetic,” Kiva said dryly.

  “True,” Jast countered.

  Eryx turned slightly to glance at Kiva. “You always this calm on recon?”

  She smirked. “You haven’t seen me panic yet. That’s when the real fun starts.”

  Eryx raised a brow. “You weave spells. Crowd control, right?”

  “Yeah,” Kiva said. “Binding fields, tethers, dissonance loops. I keep them from swarming us so muscle-heads like Jast can smash them without dying.”

  “‘Muscle-heads’?” Jast said with mock offense.

  She ignored him. “My last squad kept calling me ‘Threadwitch.’ I hated it.”

  Eryx snorted. “Sounds kind of badass.”

  “I like precision,” Kiva said. “I set traps. Direct motion. If something gets past me, it’s because it had to.”

  Eryx nodded. “That’s... a good kind of control.”

  She gave him a look. “You saying that like you wish you had it.”

  “I’ve had some trouble with mine,” Eryx admitted. “Still adjusting.”

  “Yeah?” Jast said, watching him. " So what is it that you can do exactly?”

  "Well, I'm kind of still figuring that out." He wasn't exactly sure how much he should tell them. He didn't really know them after all.

  Jast gave him a questioning look that told Eryx he should give him more than that.

  Kiva broke the tension. “Well, you’re here now. Which means you didn’t melt or lose your mind. Yet.”

  “That’s the bar?” Eryx asked.

  “In this job? Absolutely.”

  A set of broken ruins jutted from the grass like the ribs of a long-dead beast. Eryx slowed, eyes tracing the half-buried symbols.

  “Looks like old Resonant work,” Kiva muttered, running fingers over the carvings. "Like, old old. These sigils are from a language no one even knows any more."

  "No one but you?" Eryx teased, but she winked at him.

  "Naturally. They're a form of warding glyphs. A nasty one too, instant third degree burns to anything that made contact with these walls.

  Jast knelt by a fractured stone. “Smells like flux residue. Someone fought here. Or tried to.”

  “Recently?” Eryx asked.

  Jast rubbed something dark between his fingers, then flicked it away. “Too dry. At least a week.”

  “Then we’re late to the party,” Kiva said.

  “Or the party never left,” Calen called from a small hill above them. “Just waiting for us to show up with dessert.”

  They all looked up.

  “Sorry,” Calen added pinching the bridge of his nose. “I meant ‘die-sert.’ Because we’re going to die. It’s a pun. Laugh, cowards.”

  Kiva groaned. “He’s been workshopping that one, hasn’t he?”

  “Obviously,” Jast muttered.

  As they moved on, Eryx glanced at the two beside him. Kiva’s gaze was always calculating—tactical, distant—but not cold. She cared. She just refused to show it the way others might. Jast, meanwhile, carried the quiet steadiness of someone who didn’t talk unless it mattered, but you could feel it when it did.

  Both of them knew what it was like to survive out here. Both of them were still standing.

  Eryx just hoped he could keep up.