The survivors' campsite was a modest affair. Tucked beneath an overhanging stretch of the mountain wall, worn leather canopies sagged above bedraggled fur blankets. Blackened pots and half-coal skewers hung over the remains of burned-out campfires, the charred wood beneath them crumbling into soot.

Havoc watched as the survivors moved with practised efficiency, replacing the charred wood with fresh, dry sticks. Each drifted toward their lodgings without a word, clearing debris with quick, tired motions before striking sparks over tinder to reignite their flames.

Set apart from the rows of makeshift shelters, a single tent stood alone. Though weathered and worn, it offered a fragile barrier against the bracing chill in the air—perhaps just enough to stave off frosting breaths and numbing fingers.

As the rest of the survivors settled into place, Havoc moved toward the tent alongside Aaron, Lucia, Annalise, and three others he had yet to properly meet. Around them, the camp stirred with weary motion—eyes drooping, shoulders slack, each person doubtlessly eager to slip beneath their humble bedding. Even so, he did not miss the stares and whispered remarks as his group passed. Though some gazes lingered on him, and others stabbed at Aaron and his fiancée, it was Annalise who drew the most attention. The survivors murmured her name reverently, as though holding a sacred object too fragile to touch.

Havoc tightened his jaw, the heavy crease of his brows weighing on his expression. He could understand their admiration for the Seer; her display of power was awe-inspiring. But the survivor's yearning expressions went beyond respect for a powerful Inheritor, veering toward veneration for a promised messiah.

Faith like that was dangerous. It dulled reason, replaced caution with blind, unwarranted trust. A man would give his life—or take another's—for a god in whom he truly believed. He had seen it before. The slums were rife with faith: in the Inheritors, in their Mother Aarth, in wise men and self-appointed prophets. Even salesmen, charlatans, and thieves found followers. Hope was currency in the slums, and it was often spent on lies. He had watched it destroy lives—men trading bread for promises, women forsaking their own instincts for the words of peddlers who preyed on their fears.

Even the true gods were unworthy—shattering the cosmos, they condemned countless souls to the unrelenting tribulations of the Dungeon. Annalise had power, and she had insight, but she was no god. That did not stop her from walking in their example. Only four could leave the Forest of Desire—one and all, the survivors were damned.

Guilt churned inn his stomach, rising to flush his cheeks and tighten his muscles. He bit the corner of his lower-lip, shoving down the sensation with a deep inhalation. He sympathised with the survivors, but he would not sacrifice for them.

Whatever fate Annalise has planned for them has nothing to do with me. I have my own goals to live for. I won't risk that for anyone—let alone people I barely know, he thought, smothering the last embers of his self-doubt with cold resolve.

He could not allow guilt to flare up and burn down his own hopes of survival. Clenching his fists, he straightened, forcing his focus back to what truly mattered: his own path forward.

Reaching the tent, a man clad in gold-plated armour lifted the hanging partition. He stood aside as Aaron walked inside, followed by Lucia and a robed man Havoc did not recognise. When only Havoc, Annalise, and a dark-skinned woman dressed in form-fitting leather armour remained at the entrance, the armoured man turned to Havoc.

'Wait out here,' the man said, his voice youthful but weathered, carrying an accent that spoke of unprivileged beginnings. 'If the Selenarian doesn't have any spare, we'll find you some bedding and a place to lay your head.'

'Nonsense!' Annalise said with a playful tone, patting Havoc's back. 'He's more than earned a seat at the table—you can trust me on that.'

Havoc swallowed his tongue, biting down on the ironic retort that no one should trust a word from Annalise's ruby lips.

'If it were up to me, I'd have you wait out here too,' the man growled, his eyes narrowing at the Seer.

At his remark, the dark-skinned woman stepped forward, resting her hand on a sheathed dagger.

'But I know this one wouldn't take that lying down,' the man added with a resigned sigh, lifting his palms in surrender toward the woman. 'And truthfully, I'm more than a little curious to hear what you have to say for yourself.'

'Watch yourself, Anton,' the woman warned, her voice low and sharp. 'My lady doesn't answer to you or anyone else here. Don't forget your place.'

Havoc considered volunteering to forgo the group's discussions, if only to escape the tension engulfing them like a viscous sludge. But he rejected the thought. After everything Annalise had put him through, he refused to be relegated to an observer—voiceless and ignorant, left to follow orders like a pawn on someone else's board.

'Respectfully,' Havoc started, his tone devoid of the respect he mockingly claimed. 'Anything decided that assumes my cooperation is going to have my input,' he concluded, brushing past the upheld flap and into the tent.

'You heard him,' Annalise said lightly, following him inside. Her lips curved into a faint smile, though her eyes gleamed with something sharper—approval, perhaps, or calculation.

Lanterns hung atop wooden poles, casting a warm, flickering glow across the tent's vast interior. At its centre lay a shallow firepit, ringed with smooth stones. The robed man raised his staff, the tip glowing faintly as he pointed it toward the pile of wood nestled in the dugout hole. A flaming bolt shot forth, igniting the logs with a crackling burst of light. The warmth spread quickly, the smoke curling upward and drifting through a small, carefully cut vent in the roof. Around the fire, the light danced on weathered faces, a warming reprieve from the chill outside.

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Fur bedding arranged in a half-ring encircled the firepit, their soft surfaces catching the flicking light. The robed man tucked one of the blankets into a tight roll and sat, his robes shimmering for a moment before vanishing to reveal a plain white tunic draped over his narrow shoulders and gaunt form. Following his lead, Aaron, Lucia, and Aaron did the same. Whereas the tanned-skinned woman walked to the corner of the tent, retrieving more bedding along with a scarlet pillow. With deliberate precision, she laid them down, completing the circle. She waited for Annalise to settle onto the pillow before taking her place by her side, then gestured for Havoc to follow suit.

For a moment, no one spoke, all present exchanging narrow glares and tight lips. Then, balling his fist before his mouth, Aaron sharply cleared his throat, cutting through the heavy quiet, pregnant with the unborn fruit of silent accusations.

'Without question, you have all endured more than I could have possibly intended or foreseen. It gratifies me to find so many of you alive and well even in such dire circumstances,' Aaron said, his tone slick with practised diplomacy.

'It is as my darling says, truly gratifying,' Lucia added, her words laced with teasing inflections.

'Shut it, lady muck!' Anton snapped, his voice cutting through the tent like a whip. Though he dismissed his golden armour into his Spirit Chain, his broad shoulders and toned biceps left him no less an intimidating presence than he was fully clad. 'I'd had enough of your nonsense before everything went to shit. Don't think you can waltz back in acting like nothing's changed.'

Lucia's lips curved into a small, knowing smile, though her eyes flashed with something sharper.

'Oh, Anton, I had almost forgotten your eloquence and charm,' Lucia chided, her voice lilting with mockery. 'But let me remind you of one thing: nothing has changed. You are still in our employ, and if you ever speak to me like that again, I shall have your skin flayed from your bones and wear it as a winter coat.'

Her lips curved into a cold smile as she watched him, daring him to respond. The firelight cast sharp shadows across her face, matching the edge in her voice.

'If you think you can…' Anton growled, his fist tightening at his sides.

'Care to find out?' she hissed, her smile planted firmly in place.

'Enough!' Aaron declared, his voice cutting through the mounting tension. 'These have been trying times for us all, yet we must not debase ourselves with futile squabbles!'

'He's right,' the gaunt man agreed, his tone coated in weary calm.

'My sincerest gratitude, Franklin,' Aaron said, inclining his head slightly. 'Now, shall we move on to more pressing matters.'

'Oh joy, I'm glad all that ugliness is behind us,' Annalise said, her tone rich with amusement.

'That's just great. Just what we needed—for the other she-devil to pitch in,' Anton sneered, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Hands planted on the soft fur matting, Havoc leaned back, a smile playing on his lips. It was rare for him to have such an instant fondness to a person. Their brief conflict aside, he imagined he and Anton would relate well with one another. Lucia's malignance was as clear as a cloudless sky, but anyone who could peer beyond the Seer's ruby-lipped, blushing façade deserved some recognition. Clarity of word and intention—he did not predict how rare a quality that would be among Inheritors.

'I warned you...' the dark-skinned woman spat, her tone cold enough to freeze the fire. Her hand moved toward the dagger resting at her side, her fingers brushing the leather strap on its hilt. 'Do not disrespect my lady.'

'It's nothing to be riled over, Shar. Given everything, his outbursts—while childish...' Annalise said, glancing toward Anton with the kind of indulgent smile one might expect from a long-suffering bride toward a frivolous husband, 'are completely understandable.'

Anton's jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his glare flicking between Annalise and Shar. The Seer's calm tone carried with it an unspoken authority, as if daring anyone to contradict her.

'Alright then, explain yourselves,' Anton said, his tone sharp and expectant, like a father waiting on the excuses of a disobedient child, weighing the punishment to come 'When you hired us—'

'I explained there were risks involved,' Aaron interrupted, raising a hand with measured calm to dissuade further questioning.

'Risks?' Anton spat, his nostrils flaring as though ready to spew fire. 'This place is Hell, and you three are the devils who dragged us here!' His finger jabbed toward Aaron, then Lucia, and finally Annalise, each accusation landing like a blow.

Aaron's hand lowered, his features composed, but his eyes gleamed with quiet resolve. Annalise simply tilted her head, a faint smile playing on her lips, while Lucia inspected her nails, her disinterest only seeming to stoke Anton's fury further.

'Do you have any idea what you've put us through—what you've cost us?' Anton shouted, his voice raw with anger, rising to a guttural roar that echoed through the tent.

'Anton raises a fair point,' Franklin cut in smoothly, his tone slick with ulterior motives. 'But before we get lost in recriminations, shouldn't we address more practical matters? We'll never get anywhere in our negotiations without first discussing equitable compensation.'

The firelight caught the edge of his smirk, and Havoc caught the way his gaze lingered on Aaron, measuring every flicker of his expression.

'I am not an unreasonable man,' Aaron started. 'I am more than willing to renegotiate the terms of—'

'Have you all lost your minds?' Havoc snapped, his tone sharp with exasperation, no longer amused by the group's quarrelling. 'Here's your "equitable compensation": you get to live longer than the next three days.' He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he glanced around the group. 'That thing is still out there and could appear at any moment. We don't have the luxury to sit here debating whose manhood weighs heaviest. I'll save you some time—its mine. So lets skip past that part and figure out where we need to go next.'

'Well said!' Annalise cheered, her smile radiant as she clapped her hands together.

'Who is this kid, and what is he talking about?' Anton growled, his eyes narrowing as he gestured toward Havoc. 'What does he mean, something's out there? What have you led to our camp?'

'About that...' Annalise hummed, her gaze flicking toward Anton. Her eyes gleamed, the light of the fire catching something wild and gleeful within them—a spark of perilous delight.

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