Hylisi did not head toward the open path.

Instead, she turned back toward the forest, following the narrow route that cut through old roots and sloping trunks. The canopy thickened overhead, sunlight breaking into fragments as leaves layered one above another.

"This is where it begins," she said without slowing.

"To reach the Mainland Guardian Association, we must first enter the forest stream you all crossed when you came here."

She stepped over a fallen branch and continued, her voice steady, practiced.

"There is no road to the ruins. No land route. The only path forward is water."

She glanced back briefly. "Rivers alone connect the mainland to what lies beyond."

The treasure hunters listened closely.

"All of you are martial practitioners," Hylisi continued. "From here onward, you move above ground. Jump branch to branch until you reach the stream rocks."

Her gaze sharpened.

"Do not walk the forest floor unless you want to crush Golden Berry Beads hidden beneath the soil. One careless step can destroy what the land spent years nurturing."

The group instinctively adjusted their footing.

"My son is already there," she added. "Waiting at the stream rock."

A brief pause followed.

"Oh?" the Chief said, unable to hide his curiosity. "You speak like someone who's guided groups before."

Hylisi did not slow.

"Of course I have," she replied. "My husband was once a member of the Association."

The forest seemed to quiet for half a breath.

She did not explain further.

"Cut your talk," Hylisi said shortly. "Save curiosity for later."

Her tone hardened just enough to end the discussion.

"Travel ahead won't be as pleasing as you imagine. When the time comes, I'll tell you what you need to know."

She leapt onto a low branch with clean precision.

"For now–focus on your footing."

Movement followed immediately.

Treasure hunters surged upward, boots striking bark and leaves as they leapt from branch to branch. Their motions were fluid, controlled–more experienced than monkeys, less reckless than birds.

Trunks bent slightly under passing weight, leaves shivering in their wake.

Princess Lainsa joined without hesitation.

She vaulted upward, landing lightly on a high limb, momentum carrying her forward in smooth arcs. Her balance never wavered, expression relaxed, almost amused.

Below them, the forest floor faded from relevance.

Kiaria did not jump.

He rose.

His feet left the ground without effort, body lifting into the air as though the forest itself refused to hold him. No sound followed–no displaced leaves, no broken twigs.

He drifted forward, unhurried.

Diala blinked, then laughed softly as he pulled her against him, one arm secure around her waist.

"Hey–" she began, then relaxed instantly.

Her cultivation was only at the third stage of the Golden Core Realm. Long, continuous movement would strain her spiritual balance. Kiaria felt it before she ever voiced it.

They floated together.

Branches passed beneath them. Leaves brushed the hem of Kiaria's robes but never caught. From above, the others looked like a moving current threading through green.

Diala glanced down, then up at him.

"You always take the easy way," she teased.

Kiaria smiled faintly. "Efficiency is not laziness."

Ahead, the sound of water began to change.

Not louder.

Deeper.

And somewhere between roots and stone, the stream waited.

They saw him from a distance.

Hylisi's son stood atop a polished stone in the middle of the stream, water rushing around it in violent arcs. The rock itself was unnaturally smooth, as though it had been worn not by time, but by insistence. He stood straight, feet steady, his presence calm despite the roaring current below.

In his hands rested a pair of leaves.

They were small, thin, and unmistakable–opal in color, translucent at the edges, catching light like frozen water. Even from afar, they radiated a faint buoyant aura, light yet resilient.

The treasure hunters moved instinctively.

One by one, they leapt down from branches to nearby rocks, boots striking stone with sharp, hollow sounds. Water surged between the gaps, crashing hard enough to remind them that a misstep here would not be forgiven gently.

Hylisi approached first.

Her son stepped forward without a word and placed the opal leaves into her hands. His fingers lingered only a moment, careful not to brush the stream's surface. Their eyes met briefly–no fear, no hesitation, only understanding.

Then he turned.

Without looking back, he leapt from stone to stone and disappeared toward the forest bank, moving upstream until trees swallowed his figure.

Diala watched him go.

"…He's brave," she murmured.

The group began moving.

Rocks rose and fell in irregular patterns, some wide enough for two feet, others demanding balance and precision. The current struck hard against ankles and calves, water clawing as though trying to pull them under.

The sound was constant.

Not loud–but relentless.

After several minutes, Diala tugged lightly at Kiaria's sleeve.

"Ghost," she said quietly. "I can walk from here myself."

He glanced at her.

"It'll be embarrassing if you keep carrying me," she added, half-smiling. "And… you know I need to strengthen myself. Spiritual stability doesn't grow by floating."

A pause.

"Fine," Kiaria replied. "As you wish."

He released her gently onto the nearest stone.

Diala landed cleanly, wobbling only slightly before finding her balance. She exhaled, satisfied, and stepped forward on her own.

They continued.

Stone to stone.

Step, leap, adjust.

Again and again.

The stream fought them the entire way.

Its current was no longer merely fast–it was violent. Water struck exposed skin like blunt force, numbing toes, dragging at robes. Several times, the hunters had to brace themselves together, linking arms briefly to regain footing.

Time stretched.

An hour passed.

Arms burned. Throats dried. Breath grew heavier with every leap.

At last, the stream widened.

Ahead, the water split and merged again, forming the joining point of a larger river. The sound deepened, echoing low and hollow, as though the river carried weight far beyond its surface.

They paused instinctively.

Sweat clung to skin. Lips cracked. Canteens felt suddenly too light.

One of the newer hunters swallowed hard.

Without thinking, he crouched and dipped his container toward the water.

"Halt–!"

Hylisi's voice cut through the roar like a blade.

She lunged forward and seized his wrist mid-motion, yanking it back with sharp force. The container slipped from his grasp and clattered harmlessly against stone.

"Do not touch the water," she said.

Her tone was absolute.

The man froze, eyes wide, confusion and thirst warring on his face.

Hylisi released him and straightened.

"From this point onward," she said, turning to face them all, "listen carefully. These are not suggestions."

Her gaze moved across each face.

"Do not drink the river water. Not a single drop."

"Do not wash your hands in it."

"Do not let it touch your lips."

A pause.

"Do not look at your reflection."

The words settled uneasily.

"And most importantly," she continued, voice steady but heavy, "do not stop talking for long periods. Silence invites things you do not want to hear."

The group stiffened.

"This river," Hylisi said, "flows above burial grounds from an ancestral era. Not this age. Not even the last."

She stepped closer to the water's edge–but did not touch it.

"Association records call it a remnant of the Gods' War. Folk rituals call it something else."

Her eyes darkened.

"They say it was formed from the merged tears of a God and a Goddess."

The current surged, as if in response.

"After leaving the merchant village," she continued, "a single drop of this water entering your body will give you nightmares that do not end. Hallucinations. Whispers."

Her voice lowered.

"Some attack others. Some jump into the river. Some turn their blades inward. The heart gives out long before the mind does."

Silence tried to creep in.

Hylisi cut it short immediately.

"That is why we talk," she said firmly. "Why we move. Why we stay awake."

She tapped the casket strapped at her side.

"And why I brought Golden Berry Beads."

Her gaze hardened.

"One bead allows three hours of safe sleep–no more. Anyone who feels drowsy takes one immediately."

She looked at them all, one last time.

"From here until sundown, curiosity will kill you faster than enemies."

The river roared on.

And no one reached for the water again.

"Isn't this too dangerous…?"

The words slipped out before anyone could stop them. Even among seasoned treasure hunters–men and women who had crossed cursed ruins and walked through killing grounds–the unease was visible. Hands tightened around straps. Eyes flicked toward the river, then away again, as though afraid the water might notice their attention.

A murmur threatened to rise.

"SILENCE."

The Chief's voice cut through it instantly.

It was not loud, but it was absolute. Years of command and failure sharpened it into something heavier than volume. The murmurs died where they stood.

"Restrain your words," he continued coldly. "Restrain your doubts. If you must explode, do it inside the river. Until then–follow her orders."

No one spoke again.

Hylisi did not thank him.

She reached into the cloth bundle at her side and withdrew one of the two leaves her son had given her earlier. Up close, the opal hue was more vivid–layers of pale blue and silver overlapping like frozen light.

"This," she said, holding it up, "is an Opal Duron Tree leaf."

She turned it slightly, letting the light pass through its veins.

"These leaves shed only once a year–during the transition between summer and winter. Outside that season, the tree will not release even a fragment."

Her fingers tightened briefly.

"And once such a leaf touches the ground… it burns to ash."

A few hunters stiffened.

"But in water," Hylisi continued, lowering her hand toward the river without touching it, "it expands."

She paused.

"Like a boat."

She straightened and looked at them all.

"Normal boats cannot survive this river. Not wood. Not metal. The current beneath is violent, layered, and filled with razor remnants from an era before ours. Any vessel with dipped regions creates shadows."

Her gaze sharpened.

"And shadows here do not remain empty."

She let that settle before continuing.

"This leaf has extreme buoyancy. It does not sink–not even a fraction–no matter the weight placed upon it. Even waterfalls cannot break it. It falls slowly. Steadily."

She met their eyes one by one.

"But do not misunderstand."

Her voice dropped.

"If you are careless. If you break the rules. You will still die."

A beat.

"And you may take others with you."

She lifted the leaf slightly.

"That is why only this leaf may be used."

Then she added, calmly, "Before we enter the river–drink."

Several brows furrowed.

"From the stream," she clarified. "Not the river."

Only then did they realize the difference. The water they had crossed earlier–the forest stream–still flowed behind them, clear and harmless.

They did not hesitate this time.

Canteens were opened. Hands scooped water hastily. Throats worked greedily, relief visible in the way shoulders loosened. No one spoke while drinking, but no one was silent either–breathing, movement, presence filled the space.

Only after everyone was done did Hylisi step forward.

She placed the opal leaf gently onto the river's surface.

The transformation was immediate.

The leaf expanded outward, veins thickening, edges stretching until it became broad enough to seat them all. Its surface remained perfectly dry, hovering atop the water as though refusing to acknowledge gravity.

Without hesitation, they jumped aboard.

The leaf did not dip.

Not even slightly.

They settled into position, adjusting packs, finding balance. The river pulled hard beneath them, but the leaf glided smoothly, carried forward as though guided by something older than current.

As they began to move, Mu Long's shoulders trembled.

Tears slid down his face without warning, without sound.

Images surfaced unbidden–Elder Mu Li's smile, his back as he walked away, his final expression frozen between hope and regret. His chest tightened, breath hitching as memories surged like a tide.

The Chief noticed instantly.

He shifted closer, placing a firm hand on Mu Long's shoulder.

"Breathe," he said quietly. "Not backward. Forward."

Mu Long nodded stiffly, wiping his face with his sleeve, forcing the tears back into motion instead of stagnation.

The leaf drifted onward.

"If anyone stops talking for too long," Hylisi said, her voice carrying clearly over the water, "you will begin to hear voices."

A ripple passed through the group.

"They will sound familiar," she continued. "Comforting. Accusing. Loving. It depends on you."

She did not look at the river.

"They are not real."

The current deepened.

"This river runs from the forest to the ruins without interruption. We cannot travel at night. When the sun sets, movement stops."

She reached for the casket again.

"For now, I want all of you to rest."

A pause.

"Three hours only. No more."

She opened the lid slightly, revealing rows of Golden Berry Beads.

"One bead per person," she said. "It will allow safe sleep. Your mind must be strong when we continue."

Her gaze hardened once more.

"We have a long journey ahead."

The leaf boat glided forward.

And beneath it, the dead listened.

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