The day stretched on beneath the autumn canopy, the forest floor a carpet of dry leaves and knotted roots. The air was crisp and still, and the student group advanced without delay or incident. No traps, no mysterious sounds from the underbrush, no angry wildlife. Just the occasional call of a bird or the rustle of a curious harmless squirrel.

Silvea Eastramble, senior druid and reluctant expedition leader, walked at the rear, her staff lightly tapping the earth with each step. Her expression remained a mask of focus and fatigue. Twice during the morning march, a messenger falcon swooped down from the canopy to land on her extended arm. She whispered brief words to the creature and released it back into the trees.

The first message brought only a slight twitch of her brow. The second made her frown.

"Increased activity to the north," she muttered as Weylan passed close enough to overhear. "The rangers are stretched thin. Shielding us from major monster encounters isn't as easy as it was two days ago."

"And the south?" Weylan asked under his breath.

"Still quiet. Almost too quiet. Aside from the were-folk lands ahead, there's nothing obvious. But that doesn't mean we're safe."

They pressed on, pace steady, the weight of gear and tension starting to wear on the younger students. By midday, Silvea raised a hand, signaling a halt.

The group collapsed into a narrow clearing surrounded by leaning oaks and tall ferns.

"Lunch," Silvea said simply. "Make it happen."

Then she sat down and watched the enfolding chaos.

What followed was a half-hearted scramble. Rations were pulled from bags, dried meat and hard bread passed around with the resigned air of students who'd hoped for something better. Ulmenglanz tried to find some herbs or berries, but the immediate surrounding was bare of everything edible. Almost suspiciously so.

After some nagging from Mirabelle, Aldrich ignited a small fire with a spell, so she could heat water for tea.

Faya tried to feed Sir Cloverton a sprig of moss, humming a quiet song to him. The verdant hare blinked lazily and accepted it with all the grace of a woodland noble.

"This is barely a meal," Erik muttered, looking at his travel rations.

"Still better than dying to a goblin warband," Weylan offered dryly, tearing off a bit of jerky.

"Only just," Erik replied.

Silvea remained a little apart, crouched with one knee in the dirt, speaking again to a third falcon that had arrived mid-break. Her voice was low, her words inaudible, but the grim set of her mouth said enough. Whatever peace the south offered, it was fragile.

Weylan took her aside. "Anything we should know?"

She shook her head. "Not yet. When we planned this, the forest was as peaceful as ever, but now there's increasing monster activity on all sides. I don't believe our rangers triggered anything, so it's either coincidence and bad luck…"

"Or?" Weylan prompted.

"Or the goblins have sent scouts to poke at every monster nest they could find. That's what they did the last time we tried to cross the northern Wildewood. They don't know what we're doing and that we try to get something they want. We feared they would try to capture our target objective on the way back to avoid making any concessions while still getting what they want."

Weylan grimaced. "So, it's possible they're trying to stop us getting something they'd want, because they don't know what we're after?"

"Yes. There are a lot of alchemical ingredients we could be after for our war effort, so that's not unreasonable."

Weylan looked around to make sure they weren't overheard. "Are we in danger?"

"Hard to say. Our patrols are stopping anything coming from the north, but if the goblins manage to get a scout ahead of us…"

"Which they probably can, since we're not that fast…"

They both looked at the chaotic group, the sentry looking more at the camp than at the surrounding area and Mirabelle stomping at some embers that threatened to start a forest fire.

Silvea sighed. "We should have left their scout alone. If he'd watched us long enough, he'd known we're not up to something nefarious."

Weylan groaned inwardly. Did he mess that up? Well, how should he'd have known it would be better to let the scout go? He vowed to get trickier in the future.

* * *

After their rough attempt at lunch, mostly dry biscuits, a few bruised apples, jerky and tea, the group scattered loosely across a shaded glade. The sun filtered through layers of gold and green, and for the first time all day, no one was trudging, sweating, or arguing over who packed what.

Erik sat cross-legged near the crate, sharpening a shortsword with calm, practiced strokes.

Not far off, Alina was helping Faya pin back her hair with some carved combs.

Kane leaned against a tree, quietly taking notes from a small leather-bound journal, mostly tracking potion timings and dosage rates.

Even Darken, usually twitchy when idle, simply sat in the grass, absentmindedly pouring drops of a blue potion from a vial that was wet from condensing mist. The potion fell on a blade of grass which shimmered and frosted over. He touched it and it bent, instead of breaking into frozen fragments as he'd hoped. "The effect is not strong enough. I'll have to dilute it more… and maybe add some plant that died of frost."

Aldrich checked his rapier for knicks and rust, then polished it for good measure.

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Weylan, meanwhile, didn't bother maintaining his shortsword. Not because he was careless, but because the blade carried a quiet luxury of its own: a Self-Repair enchantment. Nicks vanished, polish returned on its own, and the edge never dulled.

Aldrich noticed, of course. And while he said nothing outright, the way his jaw tensed each time Weylan casually sheathed the pristine weapon spoke volumes.

"Must be nice," Aldrich muttered once, not quite under his breath. "Some of us still believe in proper maintenance."

Weylan only grinned. "Some of us also don't need to waste time pretending we're armorers."

Silvea walked into the middle of the group and looked around in mock surprise. "Did I by mistake announce some kind of holiday? We have quite some distance left for today. We're leaving on a count of thirty. One…"

Everyone scrambled to collect their equipment and, again, store it haphazardly into knapsacks and backpacks.

Kane heaved his huge rectangle of leather on his shoulders, rolled his muscles to get it into position, then grinned. "I remember they only had loose cloth bags before the heroes entered the land. One of the first things they did… according to legend…," he added not very convincing, "was instruct local craftsmen how to build their modern backpacks."

Mirabelle walked by and disagreed immediately. "They had a wide variety of baskets and wooden construction to carry big loads for ages before the first plague." She suppressed a yawn and her dark circles under her eyes were clearly visible.

The starting bickering over distant history stopped in its tracks as Ulmenglanz dropped her staff, fell to her knees and pressed her hands at the ground. Her supple tanned skin darkened and turned to wood and bark.

Weylan had his sword drawn and the grip extended to quarterstaff length before the others noticed anything.

Aldrich looked around, more confused than worried since his danger sense didn't trigger.

The priestesses fell into a defensive formation around the dryad, forming an equidistant triangle and covering all directions.

Silvea ran up to the dryad and waited for her to finish… whatever she did.

The dryad stood up. "The forest is… angry. But I can't say why. It's strange…"

Silvea looked around. "The trees are angry?"

Ulmenglanz slowly shook her head. "No, more like the animals. Or more like some animals." Her face took on a look of deep frustration, as she added, more for herself. "I'm no longer a priestess of the god of forests. In the past, I'd known exactly what was going on. Now I have to rely on vague racial instincts."

Everyone looked around. Faya was the first to spot an animal. A lone squirrel sitting on a branch high up in a tree, eating a nut. All eyes followed Faya's pointing finger. The squirrel noticed the attention and looked up. It's expression a mask of harmlessness. It seemed to say: "Me? No, I'm good."

Silvea used a spell, then shook her head. "Seems distant. We should carry on and look for a more defensible position for our camp."

They moved forward cautiously.

As they made their way deeper into the forest, the mood had changed. The laughter and light banter from earlier were gone, replaced by the steady rhythm of boots on moss and the occasional distant call of a bird or snap of a twig.

Weylan kept near the front of the group, eyes flicking between the underbrush and the treetops. He didn't draw his weapon again, but his hand rarely strayed far from the hilt. Behind him, Aldrich was quiet, though he occasionally muttered to himself while watching the path, as if mentally calculating something.

Erik caught up to them and walked alongside Weylan for a while. "So, what do you think? Something spooked the squirrel kingdom?"

Weylan smirked faintly. "Wouldn't be surprised if it's just the goblins again."

"That or the revenants up to something we don't know about." Erik's voice was too casual to be serious, but the glance he cast toward the back of the group was sharp. Kane and Lyriel were walking side by side again, whispering occasionally, then falling silent if anyone looked their way.

With most of his attention fixed on the forest, Weylan almost missed Mirabelle slipping away from the group of revenants. By the time he noticed, she was already striding back toward the main column with a bounce in her step and an oddly bright expression.

He tilted his head and gave a subtle wink to the trees. Selvara dropped from above, landing lightly on his shoulder.

"Did you catch what our favorite bookworm was doing with the revenants?" he murmured.

"Not really," Selvara replied, eyes scanning the path ahead. "I was busy watching for ambushes. She's definitely perked up, though. My guess? Either she borrowed a stamina potion or she got into Kane's coffee stash."

Weylan chuckled. "Not a bad idea. I'll ask him if he has any left."

Selvara gave his ear a pointed peck. "Don't get reliant on that sort of shortcut. Especially stamina potions. They're notorious for growing less effective over time. Or worse, wearing off at exactly the worst moment. Kane probably uses half a dozen feats and skills to prevent that."

Weylan nodded, thoughtful again.

Eventually, they reached a crossroads of animal trails where three faint paths crisscrossed between a group of moss-covered boulders. Silvea raised a hand to signal a halt.

"We'll have a five-minute break," she said curtly, eyes on the trees ahead.

Most students sank down against logs or leaned against trees, grateful for the pause.

Ulmenglanz knelt beside a mossy tree root, placing her palms flat on the forest floor. She had been checking in with the forest in regular intervals, but this time, the reaction was immediate. Her eyes snapped open, sharp with alarm. "Something's coming right at us from the east!"

The students leapt into action. Some scrambled up onto nearby boulders for elevation, while others spread out and took defensive positions around the clearing. Silvea raised her hands, muttering an incantation, and a man-high wall of loosely connected vines surged up around the camp, enclosing them in a living barrier.

Mirabelle darted to the center of the clearing and hastily arranged kindling and dry branches. She tried to spark a hearth-fire, but before the flame caught, the sound of heavy footfalls echoed through the trees. Branches cracked, and young saplings swayed violently as something large forced its way toward them.

Everyone readied weapons.

Then the creatures burst into view. Hulking, lumbering beasts the size of oxen, their shells broad and domed, mottled with deep green and sickly red. From beneath the armored ridges protruded serpentine heads with gaping jaws filled with curved, glistening teeth. Their tongues flicked madly, and strings of viscous, clear venom dripped from their fangs. Their bloodshot eyes locked onto the group with mindless fury.

Mirabelle's face drained of color. "Viper turtles! But they're known for not attacking humans unless provoked!"

Silvea's jaw tightened. "They look pretty damn provoked."

Aldrich raised a shortbow he'd prepared earlier, loosing a quick test arrow into the trees. "More like absolutely enraged." He snorted in annoyance. "And now my danger sense kicks in. That's a bit late."

"Mine too," Weylan said, finishing the crank on his light crossbow. He slid a bolt into place and scanned the treeline.

Ulmenglanz took up position beside them, quarterstaff leveled. "They're cloaked. Or warded. Something is suppressing magical detection. I can sense enemies in all directions. We're surrounded!"

Mirabelle abandoned the fire attempt and climbed onto a nearby rock for a better vantage point. Her eyes narrowed. "There are red glyphs painted on their shells. Could be warding runes. Probably to block divination."

Erik raised his hands and cast an Ice Spear. The shimmering lance shot through the air like a missile, striking one of the beasts square in the chest… and shattered uselessly against its shell.

Silvea muttered a sharp curse. "We're not equipped to fight viper turtles. Their shells are nearly impenetrable and their skulls are too thick for light crossbows or shortbows."

She turned to Aldrich with a meaningful look. "Don't even think about using that rapier for anything but blinding one. Their skin may be softer than their shells, but it's still comparable to leather armor. Go for piercing, not cutting."

The massive creatures forced their way through the trees, slowed but not deterred. Branches cracked under their weight, and bark flew from trunks scraped by their shells. The earth shook slightly under their relentless advance.

Silvea waited, breath held, until the first turtle emerged fully from the treeline. "Ranged fighters, fire now! Focus on the joints. Their feet, their necks. Only shoot for the head if you can hit the eyes. Don't waste your shots on the shells."

The clearing erupted with spellfire, arrows, and bolts. The battle had begun.

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