The leaf boat slowed on its own.

No signal had been given. No command spoken. Yet the current shifted beneath them, easing its pull until the boat drifted naturally toward the riverbank. Within moments, the opal leaf grounded itself against smooth stone, rocking once before settling.

Five hours.

Earlier than expected.

The undercurrent here was stronger than anywhere they had passed before–layered, disciplined, no longer wild. It did not feel like wilderness anymore. It felt regulated.

No one spoke.

Since leaving the forest, no one had mentioned the nightmare. Not once. The silence was not avoidance–it was exhaustion. Whatever had followed them through the river had been faced and left behind without ceremony.

Hylisi was the first to move.

She stepped off the leaf and onto the riverbank, boots pressing into damp soil that was neither soft nor firm. She tested it once, then nodded to herself. Only after that did she turn back to the group.

"This is as far as the river takes us freely," she said. "Beyond this point, we walk under rules."

A few hunters straightened instinctively.

"Are we in danger?" someone asked.

"No," Hylisi replied immediately. "Not here."

She glanced upstream, then downstream, as if measuring invisible lines.

"This is the mainland's borderland," she continued. "We're safe standing here. The Association camp is about seven-tenths of a mile ahead. But don't misunderstand–safety ends the moment we step into their jurisdiction."

She let that sink in.

"If you're tired, rest here," Hylisi said. "Once we enter the Association grounds, time becomes expensive. Approval takes patience. Mistakes take longer."

One of the hunters frowned. "Approval for what?"

"For leaving the mainland," Hylisi answered. "And for who you claim to be."

She turned fully toward them now.

"From this point onward, you are not treasure hunters," she said flatly. "You are villagers."

A murmur passed through the group.

"Foreigners aren't allowed to pass freely," Hylisi continued. "If your accent slips, if your mannerisms stand out, if you answer questions too quickly or too confidently–they won't argue with you. They'll detain you."

Someone muttered under their breath.

"You'll take the identities of swamp cult members from the western region," Hylisi said. "They're insular, poorly documented, and expected to behave strangely. That gives you room to make mistakes without drawing attention."

One hunter grimaced. "Cultists?"

"Alive," Hylisi replied. "Which is more than what suspicion offers."

Her gaze shifted–briefly–to Kiaria and Diala.

"But not all of you will do this."

The group followed her eyes.

"Patron," Hylisi said evenly, "and Shade–you won't enter with them."

No surprise followed. Just tension.

"You both carry nimbus," she continued. "Visible authority. To the Association, that means one of two things: a god… or something close enough to make them nervous."

She looked back to the hunters.

"Gods are not welcome among villagers," Hylisi said. "Not because of hatred. Because of history. When gods appear, records change. Lives disappear. Blame follows."

One of the hunters glanced at Kiaria, then quickly away.

"You'll be allowed to enter and exit freely," Hylisi said to Kiaria and Diala. "Like it's your own home."

She paused.

"But you cannot speak for them."

Silence followed.

"A god's word does not simplify things here," Hylisi added. "It complicates them."

Another hunter finally spoke. "So… we walk in without protection."

Hylisi shook her head once.

"No," she said. "You walk in without shortcuts."

She let her gaze move across their faces.

"This place doesn't kill you for what you are," she continued. "It kills you for what it can't classify."

She stepped back toward the riverbank.

"So listen carefully," Hylisi said. "Rest while you can. Memorize your roles. When we cross that line–there will be no correcting first impressions."

She turned away.

"This is where preparation ends," she said quietly. "And consequences begin."

The leaf boat remained still behind them.

Ahead, the road waited.

The Chief did not wait for agreement.

"Since all of you are exhausted," he said, turning back to the group, "you will rest. Consume Golden Berry Beads–take them from Lady Hylisi."

No one argued.

"While you recover," he continued, "Hylisi, the Patron, the Shade, and I will gather materials. We need enough vines to prepare identity caskets for every one of you."

Several hunters shifted, attention sharpening.

"When we return," the Chief added, "you will assemble your own."

A pause.

"There will be no assistance each other, make caskets your own" he said evenly. "If you don't know how, watch those who do. Learn quickly."

The words landed harder than expected.

A younger hunter, still seated near the riverbank, muttered under his breath, just loud enough to hear himself.

"A few hours ago, you said we weren't alone," he whispered. "Now it's 'make your own' and 'don't seek help.' Chief… which side are you actually on?"

Silence followed.

Then–

"I heard you," the Chief said.

The youngster froze.

"You're inexperienced," the Chief continued without turning. "And that's why you don't understand yet."

He finally looked back.

"Not helping you here," he said calmly, "is exactly how I make sure you survive later."

No one spoke.

The Chief did not elaborate. He didn't need to.

He turned and stepped away from the group. Kiaria followed without comment. Diala moved beside him, and Hylisi brought up the rear, already scanning the terrain.

They walked a short distance before Hylisi stopped.

"This area is intentionally barren," she said. "No trees. No soft soil."

She crouched and pressed her palm against exposed stone. Thin, fibrous growth clung to the rock's surface–hard, twisted, resilient.

"Rock vines," she said. "They grow where nothing else can."

She straightened.

"This region was designed to prevent large-scale insect invasions," Hylisi continued. "Tree vines attract swarms. Rock vines don't. Also, no hideouts."

Kiaria nodded faintly.

"But there's a problem," Hylisi added. "Caskets woven directly from rock vines will raise suspicion. Swamp grows tree slippery vines."

She glanced back toward the resting hunters.

"If Association inspectors see rock vine fibers," she said, "they won't accuse you immediately. They'll simply ask where you came from."

Her lips thinned.

"And questions here are rarely asked once."

"So we change them," Kiaria said.

"Yes," Hylisi replied. "Rock vines can be altered to resemble tree vines–but only with swamp soil and spiritual spring water."

She paused.

"Unfortunately," she added dryly, "those are not things one usually carries while crossing borders."

A faint laugh escaped Kiaria before he could stop it.

"That might be less of a problem than you think."

Hylisi looked at him.

"I have spiritual spring water," Kiaria said simply. "Enough."

He glanced over his shoulder.

"And the twins carry preserved soil from the western swamps."

Diala tilted her head. "I have some as well."

Hylisi's brow lifted slightly.

"Research," Diala added. "Inherited knowledge has its… requirements."

For the first time since reaching the riverbank, Hylisi looked genuinely surprised.

She studied the three of them for a moment longer, then exhaled.

"Your group," she said, turning her gaze back toward the hunters, "is both impressive–and dangerously fortunate."

She met the Chief's eyes.

"But remember this," Hylisi continued quietly. "Luck does not protect you in the Borderland."

The Chief nodded once.

"Only preparation does."

They began gathering the rock vines.

Behind them, the hunters rested, unaware of the quiet precision unfolding ahead–unaware that the difference between passage and detention was already being decided in silence.

"We have what we need," Hylisi said at last. "Back to the riverbank."

No one questioned it.

The vines were not stored away. No spatial rings opened. No attempt was made to hide the materials. Each bundle was lifted onto shoulders or balanced across backs, carried openly through the brush and stone until the riverbank came back into view.

They dropped the vines in a rough pile near the leaf boat.

The hunters were still resting when they returned.

The Chief did not wake them all.

He walked straight to the twins and nudged them awake with the edge of his boot. Both stirred instantly, alert despite the exhaustion.

"Swamp soil," the Chief said quietly.

Without a word, the twins reached into their packs and produced sealed containers. The soil inside was dark, heavy, faintly damp–preserved carefully despite the journey.

Diala stepped forward next.

She transferred nearly two-thirds of her collected soil from void ring to Hylisi's hands. The remainder she sealed again without comment.

Hylisi thanked her.

She worked quickly.

Each vine was laid out in a shallow ring. Swamp soil was pressed along its length, packed deliberately against the fibrous surface. Only after every vine had been prepared did she straighten.

"Now," she said, turning to Kiaria.

Kiaria stepped forward and uncorked the vessel at his waist. He did not pour. He did not channel power.

He let a few drops fall.

That was enough.

The change was immediate.

The vines shuddered once, almost imperceptibly. Their outer bark split along natural seams, peeling away in brittle sheets. Beneath it, a new layer emerged–pale, tender, uneven in texture.

The swamp soil reacted violently.

What had been firm moments ago darkened and softened, spreading rapidly along the exposed surface. The vines remained rooted to the ground, yet their outer layer grew slick, slimy, and faintly warm to the touch.

The scent followed seconds later.

Heavy. Wet. Decayed.

Convincing.

Hylisi stepped back.

"Processing is complete," she said. "They'll pass inspection."

Mu Long stared at the pile, then let out a short laugh.

"You're joking," he said. "This is slippery as hell. How are we supposed to weave caskets from this–and quickly?"

Hylisi looked at him.

Then she smiled.

"Watch."

She stepped forward and planted one foot firmly against the ground. With the other, she pinned a vine in place. One hand remained tucked behind her back.

She used the other.

Her movements were precise, economical. She twisted, folded, locked–using tension instead of force. The vine responded, bending cleanly despite its slick surface. Within moments, a crude but functional casket took shape.

She tightened the final loop with her foot and released it.

The structure held.

No adornment. No elegance. Just believable craftsmanship.

"That hand stays clean," Hylisi said, flexing her fingers slightly. "Association inspectors notice that."

Silence followed.

Then movement.

One by one, the hunters stepped forward.

Some struggled. Some cursed under their breath. Slippery fibers resisted clumsy grips, forcing adjustments in stance and technique. Those who caught on faster worked without speaking. Those slower learned by watching.

No one asked for help.

Time passed.

Caskets began to form–uneven, imperfect, but usable. Each one different. Each one convincing enough to pass as something made by villagers under poor conditions.

By the time the last casket was finished, the sun had shifted.

Hylisi surveyed the results once.

"Good enough," she said.

The Chief nodded.

"Pack them," he ordered. "We move next."

No celebration followed.

The vines had been transformed. The caskets were ready.

Ahead waited the Borderland proper.

And this time, they would enter it as something far more dangerous than hunters–

They would enter it as ordinary people.

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