The campfire was little more than embers now, smoke curling weakly into the cold night. The wagons had been pulled into a tight semicircle, the beasts of burden tethered close and restless, their ears flicking at sounds from the tree line. Everyone knew what this meeting was about. The road ahead was too dangerous to walk without structure.

Selvara spread the map across a flat rock, pinning the corners with stones. The parchment was worn and patched with scribbled notes, but the ridges, rivers, and the looming shadow of the devil beast king's domain were still clear.

"We need to finalize roles," Selvara said, her calm voice cutting the hush. "No gaps. No improvisation." Her gaze swept the group, sharp and assessing. "We're past the village protections. Every position has to be filled, and filled correctly."

Cerys leaned on her spear, firelight flickering against her grin. "Scouts first. No point in walking blind."

Kael snorted. "Obviously." His knife twirled once between his fingers, catching the light before sliding back into its sheath. "Question is, who's fast enough to range ahead and smart enough not to get killed?" His eyes slid toward Rhyka, the smirk at his lips daring him to bristle.

Silence stretched.

Then Selvara's gaze shifted deliberately between Rhyka and Cerys. "You two. Scouts."

Cerys blinked, then her grin sharpened. "Lucky me. Guess I'll find out if our so-called weapon master can actually walk a trail without tripping."

Rhyka's smirk stayed fixed, though his golden eyes cooled. He didn't rise to it, not openly. But the intent behind the pairing was obvious. Of course they would put him with the one most eager to provoke him. Out front, where mistakes left blood on the ground. Another layer of the test.

"Fine by me," Rhyka said, his tone smooth and dismissive. "Just try not to fall behind. I'd hate to drag you out of a beast's jaws because you were too slow."

Cerys laughed, unbothered. "We'll see."

Selvara moved on, ignoring their sparring. "I'll hold midline for control. Kael covers the flanks and adjusts as needed. Doran anchors the formation as always."

The big man gave a single grunt, steady eyes lingering on Rhyka before shifting away.

Nero spoke last, his tone calm but carrying the weight of command. "I'll move between the vanguard and midline, coordinating with Selvara. If beasts break formation, I'll adjust the field. But the scouts decide how smooth this march will be." His gray eyes flicked toward Rhyka, then returned to the group. "If they do their job, surprises will be few."

The silence that followed was heavier than before. Selvara finally rolled the map and tucked it beneath her cloak.

"Scouts move at dawn," she said. "Rest while you can."

The mercenaries turned away, one by one. Nero returned to his notes, Cerys stretched before heading to her roll, Kael sharpened a knife by the fire.

Rhyka lingered, watching the last embers pulse red, golden eyes narrowing faintly as Cerys threw him one more grin before settling in.

Scouts, he thought, his smirk tugging faintly. Perfect. Let's see if you can keep up with me.

Dawn should have brought light. But under the choking canopy of the high mountain forest, the sky was a lie. Not a single sunray pierced through the layered mesh of branches. Everything was gray-green shadow, heavy mist curling low to the ground, clinging to boots, softening every sound. The air itself bit at the skin, sharp, thin, and cold enough to sting the lungs when drawn too deeply.

The forest swallowed the world.

Rhyka adjusted the grip on the weapon he had chosen that morning, a long spear. Its shaft gleamed faintly with oil, the point honed to a razor finish. The weight was perfect in his hands, balanced as though he had practiced with it for years. In truth, he hadn't. But his Martial Vision filled the gaps, every shift of his stance and angle of his grip calculated through the golden lines that danced behind his eyes.

When Cerys saw it, she didn't bother hiding her reaction.

A scoff escaped her lips, sharp in the fog, her grin amused but dismissive. "A spear? You really think you can master that too? Hilarious." She turned her back before he could respond, adjusting the strap on her own weapon, another spear, shorter than his, but worn, polished with years of use.

Rhyka's golden eyes narrowed faintly, but the smirk never left his face. He didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he let his Martial Vision unfurl.

At first, he only cast it near himself. Threads of light traced faint outlines of branches swaying in the mist, the subtle drift of moisture in the air, the movements of small creatures scuttling under the underbrush. Calm. Almost too calm.

Step by step, he extended it outward.

Bit by bit, the web of golden lines grew, spreading further into the mist. At first, it showed nothing, shapes of trees, the occasional bird shifting on a branch, nothing that screamed danger. But as the range stretched, something odd flickered at the edges.

Not a beast. Not even a sound.

It was absence.

Like the forest itself had a hollow pocket, a place where the normal signs of life had been erased. No motion. No intent. No threads of rhythm.

Rhyka's chest tightened faintly as he pushed his focus deeper. Martial Vision wasn't limitless, it strained him to extend too far, especially in this terrain, especially with the fog scattering movement. But the emptiness nagged at him. It wasn't right.

Beside him, Cerys walked with casual confidence, her own eyes sharp as she scanned the physical world. She hadn't noticed the hollow yet. To her, the forest was only what she could see and hear, mist, branches, cold silence.

Rhyka's spear twitched slightly in his hand, the golden lines of Martial Vision brightening as if whispering warning.

"Calm enough?" Cerys asked suddenly, her voice carrying easily in the stillness. Her grin was still there, though her eyes flicked at the mist warily.

Rhyka didn't answer immediately. He kept his gaze fixed on the unseen hollow in the golden threads.

"Calm," he said at last, his tone cool. But his grip tightened just slightly on the spear shaft.

The forest was lying. He could feel it.

And soon, it would stop pretending.

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