The purple vines shot past the target, then dipped down, coiling around the black-haired figure. Caught them. A second vine burst from the ground, providing extra support, wrapping around their unexpected arrival and drawing them closer.

Recognition slammed into Mirae's chest.

Nyx.

Her face dropped. What was she doing here? Where had she even fallen from? Mirae's head craned back, searching the sky as Harry murmured something unintelligible.

The questions lined up in her mind like her puppets awaiting orders. How had Nyx gotten here? Why had she been above them? What did this mean for Emela's situation?

The vines lowered Nyx onto the path gently. Mirae's mana hummed beneath her skin, waiting for direction, while her mind raced through the implications of Nyx's arrival.

"Oh my, by the Great Lake," Mrs Strongmail said, reaching a hand out as the vines guided Nyx onto the narrow path.

Wide blue eyes stared out from Nyx's pale face, wild with terror. Mirae stepped forward, and those eyes found hers—the fear draining away in an instant. The purple vines slunk back into the earth, retreating like serpents to their den. Nyx scrambled to her feet.

"I have to head back. Emela's in danger."

The words struck Mirae like a physical blow. Her gaze snapped upward, searching the darkness above for another falling body, another friend plummeting toward death. Nothing. Only empty air and the ravine's shadowed heights stretched endlessly overhead.

Nyx was already moving along the path, but stopped just where the puppet-light gave way to darkness. The sun hung low now, casting the world in amber and shadow. Beyond the thin circle of illumination, only the ravine's hungry blackness waited. Nyx turned back.

Mirae shook her head.

"Nyx, I need you to calm down and explain what's going on. What's happened to Emela?"

She understood the urgency thrumming through Nyx's body, the desperate need to rush back and help. But caution demanded otherwise. The distance Nyx had fallen—Mirae couldn't even see where it began.

They stood deep in the ravine now, and without Mirae's intervention, Nyx's body would lie shattered on the stones below. Racing back up to some unknown location would devour precious time and accomplish nothing but exhaustion.

"It's her brother." Nyx released a shaking breath. "Her brother, Drion, and her sister captured her. They plan to use her and others to challenge a guardian. Emela protested—and her brother threw me off for it."

"Well, he doesn't sound like a very good brother," Mrs Strongmail said.

Nyx shot her a look but said nothing.

"Who is her brother?"

"Drion," Mirae murmured as if tasting the name.

The name tugged at a memory, recognition blooming before Pippa gasped. "Isn't he related to that Brom person we just met?"

Nyx's eyes flew wide. "Brom was here." She surged forward, shoes ringing sharply against stone. The puppet-light caught in her shimmering eyes as she stopped before Pippa. "Where is he? When did you see him?"

Pippa scratched at her sideburns, turning toward Mirae. "I'm not really sure."

"About an hour ago, maybe slightly more," Mirae said. She couldn't pin down the exact time, and the man had revealed nothing about his cultivation level—if he possessed one at all. He could be miles away by now.

"If he's here, there's hope. He can provide a voice of reason."

Doubt coiled in Mirae's chest. She'd realised something about Brom during their encounter—he'd stood among the figures in her vision. The ones surrounding Emela. Specifically, he'd been the one who looked away as the older man hurt her. That was her family. They'd abused her before, and now they planned to sacrifice her for their own ends.

"Emela's going to be alright," Mirae said.

"How can you know?" Nyx asked, her breathing slowing as their gazes locked. Wind rushed through the ravine, tossing Mirae's hair across her face. She smoothed it down, turning her head slightly.

"I just know. Call it a gut feeling."

Hector's warning echoed in her mind—don't reveal this Talent to our friends. A secret between them, one he wasn't sure the others would understand. He worried they might blame her for disasters she couldn't prevent, for warnings she couldn't give because the visions answered to no schedule but their own.

"I need more than a gut feeling. Please, can you help me get back to her?"

Pippa had moved to the door, raising the crystal beside Mirae's puppet. Light washed across the ancient surface. The door shuddered, then slid backwards, before rushing into the ground with a crash that echoed through the ravine. Mirae nodded.

"We'll help you get back to Emela. Nyx, I promise you she's safe. But first, you need to come with us."

Nyx's gaze travelled from Mirae to the newly opened passage. A question formed on her lips, but Mirae raised a finger.

"Ask later. Right now, I'd rather get off this narrow ridge first."

"All right." Nyx nodded, black hair swaying.

Mirae ordered her puppet forward, and they followed moments later. Time to discover what the next phase of Pippa's quest held—and hopefully find a path to Emela before the worst unfolded.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

—- —- —- —-

Sharp purple leaves thunked into wood, embedding themselves in the tree trunk several paces away. Hector lowered his arm, breath escaping in a harsh exhale.

Why had Mirae taken such a risk? Why venture so far beyond his protection? The questions circled like the crows in Middlec's dump, feeding on the knot of anxiety in his chest.

No, that was fear speaking, nothing more. Mirae commanded her puppets with surprising ease. Most cultivators twice her age probably couldn't do it if they were in her situation. Mrs Strongmail would provide steady guidance. Harry and Pippa—neither of them was a fool. They'd survive.

They had to.

His shoulders sagged as his gaze climbed skyward. The sun drifted east in its lazy, merciless arc. Hours had passed since they'd left the sanctuary. Late afternoon crept closer with each breath. They'd camp tonight, probably without word from his sister.

A bush rustled behind him. Hector spun as Jodie emerged, plucking leaves from her hair with one hand while the other gripped a fruit bread—the pastry stuffed thick with jam-like filling. Hector hated admitting how much he craved the treat. How the sweetness could cut through worry like a knife through cake.

Jodie extended the bread as she approached. "You look stressed."

"That obvious?" he asked, taking the baked good as the mantle on his shoulders retreated, leaves sliding beneath his clothes with a whisper of movement.

"How do you do that anyway?" Jodie lowered herself onto a tree stump beside him.

He shrugged, biting into the fruit bread. Dough compressed under his teeth, jelly-like flavour flooding his mouth. He chewed and then swallowed. "From the seed my parents gave me."

"Hmm." Jodie's attention drifted toward the bushes. Silence stretched between them, comfortable but weighted.

Hector continued eating, though guilt pricked at him. Fruit bread was eighteen points more expensive than hardtack. A waste. But their group wasn't starving for points—not yet, anyway.

"Why did you buy this?" he asked after several minutes, having finished the last bite.

Jodie turned, wiping crumbs from her mouth. "You've been down lately. It's kind of annoying, you know?"

The frown came automatically. This was her idea of comfort?

She waved him off, catching the shift in his expression. "Not like that. I mean, it's not you. Look, I get it—you're worried about Mirae. But she's strong. Sometimes I think she's stronger than all of us combined. You don't need to baby her the way you do. Give her some credit, Hector."

The words landed like fists. She was right. He did baby Mirae. But what else could he do? She was his last family member—if he counted his mother, which he didn't, not really. That woman existed as a biological fact, a faded memory, nothing more. Not close. Not a mother in any way that mattered.

"I have to worry about her, Jodie. I'm the only one—"

Pain flared across his nose as Jodie flicked it, then settled back onto her stump. "Wrong, Hector. You're not the only one who worries about her, who cares about her. We all do. Me, Pippa, Mrs Strongmail, Marcus, Delworth—by the great lake, even Lincoln cares a little."

Truth again. They all cared for each other. Family, in the way that mattered more than blood.

"Anyway." Jodie raised her arm, prodding the air above her bracelet. "The Indigo should be around here, but we haven't found any trail. It flies, but it has to rest somewhere, right?."

Hector straightened, grateful for the topic shift. A bush rattled to his side, drawing his focus. One of the few food sources a creature like their target would consume. According to the quest details, the Indigo was omnivorous, though small prey had grown scarce this deep into the Mossdeep forest.

"We'll find it." He slipped a hand into his pocket. "I'm more concerned about what happens when we do."

"You mean bringing it down?"

He nodded. "We have to go for the wings first. Once it's grounded, we keep it pinned. That's the only way we have a chance."

Jodie nodded.

A C-rank mission, lower tier. Nothing like the Shadow Wyrm—that nightmare existed in a whole category of its own, especially given its habitat. But the Indigo presented unique challenges. The way a flying target could only.

Silence settled between them again, heavy with tactical calculations. Then Jodie spoke, her words cutting from an unexpected angle.

"Are you going to talk to Lincoln?"

Hector's brow rose. Where was this coming from?

"I'm worried he'll break during the hunt," Jodie continued. "Not a breakdown—though probably that too, if he has a heart. I mean, he'll run."

Hector frowned, Lincoln's pattern as of late plain in his mind. Taking the back seat during hunts, hiding behind Marcus as an excuse. This time, Marcus wasn't here. Everyone needed to pull their weight. Anything less meant risk—the deadly kind.

"I've been thinking about it. Just not sure how to approach him."

"Not sure?" Jodie leaned back, incredulous.

"I don't want to push him further into himself. Call him a coward outright, and he might cement that identity."

Jodie scoffed, shaking her head. "Hector, you're talking around it. What you need to do is walk up to Lincoln and tell him you're done. Done with his cowardice, his lack of support, his disregard for his role. We haven't explicitly assigned positions, but his Talents lean toward support—keeping us protected, hidden behind his walls. Yet he can't even manage that."

"I hear you. I'll talk to him."

"Good." Jodie combed back a strand of ginger hair. Wind swept through the clearing, rattling leaves overhead. Hector sighed.

A moment or so later, footsteps crunched through undergrowth. Lincoln pushed through the bushes, glancing between them. "Did I miss something?"

Jodie shot Hector a pointed look. Now. The perfect moment.

Courage gathered in Hector's chest, slow but building. Then Lincoln shook his head, having not received an answer.

"Anyway, I found something. Think I did, at least."

"What do you mean?" Relief and frustration warred in Hector's chest. A distraction. Cowardice of his own.

"A few short paces back, I stumbled upon this massive rabbit. Its insides—something grabbed them out. Pulled it apart. Guts everywhere. Even its spine was broken."

Hector's throat tightened. They didn't know exactly what the Indigo looked like. All they got this time was a vague description.

Spider-like, with wings. Flesh instead of an exoskeleton. Jodie had joked it resembled a flying hand—an image that still made Hector's skin crawl. But if the rabbit died the way Lincoln described—torn apart and shattered—then they'd found their prey's hunting ground.

Or their prey had found them.

Jodie pushed off the stump, dusting down her leather pants. A sigh escaped her lips. She read him too well—recognised Hector's retreat into distraction—but only shrugged in response.

"Let's go then. Let's catch ourselves some flying hands."

Lincoln's "short few paces away" translated to a climb up one hill, a descent into a valley, and finally the discovery itself. The rabbit sprawled across the forest floor, its once-pristine white fur now a canvas of crimson. Blood dribbled from the wound, painting the dirt in dark streaks. Intestines traced a path along the ground leading back to the body like twisted rope pulled from flesh, thick and glistening.

Hector's mind catalogued the details with clinical precision. Predator attack. Violent. Messy. The Indigo didn't kill for sustenance alone—it tore prey apart with methodical savagery.

Beside him, Jodie covered her mouth, gagging.

Hector's brow rose. Odd, considering everything they'd faced together. The insect massacre outside the Shade Forest had been much worse than this.

She caught his expression and waved him off. "It's just—you don't expect something so cute to look so disgusting."

"Definitely not how anyone should see a bunny." Hector shook his head, though his gaze never left the corpse. The kill was fresh. Hours old at most. Blood still wet enough to seep rather than crust. Which meant the Indigo hadn't travelled far. He turned back to Jodie. "Not one this fluffy, anyway."

His assessment overlaid the gruesome scene. Flying predator. Ambush hunter. Strong enough to tear a creature this size apart without tools or claws—just raw grip strength. The way the spine had broken suggested the Indigo dropped from above, struck with its full weight, then fed while the prey still twitched.

"Did you find any tracks?"

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