As Dante and the group of fighters emerged from the battlefield to the main camp, they were greeted by a scene that was both heartening and sobering. The diverse group of survivors, ranging from the elderly to a small baby, worked together with quiet determination. Those who had fought bravely against the frog horde were now focused on tending to their injuries, while others worked tirelessly to rebuild their makeshift home.
The elderly and children, who had not participated in the fight, had taken it upon themselves to repair the damaged tents and fortifications. Utilizing salvaged materials and debris from the forest, they reinforced their fragile sanctuary. It was a testament to the camp’s resilience—a shared understanding that survival required effort from everyone.
Dante watched as an elderly woman guided a young boy, showing him how to weave sturdy ties for the barricades. Nearby, a teenager carried wooden planks to fortify a shelter, her face streaked with dirt but glowing with resolve.
Amidst the industrious atmosphere, Maya, the camp’s leader, moved with quiet efficiency. With 154 people under her care, every task and resource mattered. She offered words of encouragement, ensured fair distribution of food and water, and coordinated the recovery efforts.
Despite her composure, Dante noticed a flicker of worry in Maya’s expression as her gaze drifted toward the forest’s edge.
“They should’ve been back by now,” she murmured when Dante approached.
“Who?” Dante asked gently.
“My brother, Daniel,” Maya replied. “He left this morning with a group to scavenge for supplies. It’s always dangerous, but today feels... different. I can’t help but worry.”
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Dante placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “They’ll be back. They’ve made it through worse, haven’t they?”
Maya nodded, though the worry in her eyes remained.
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Later, in the privacy of her tent, Maya invited Dante and his group to sit with her. The dim light of a lantern illuminated her worn but resolute features. She offered them a weary smile, gratitude evident in her expression.
“You’ve seen it out there,” Maya began, gesturing toward the bustling camp. “This isn’t just a group of survivors. It’s a family—a real one. Most of us are related, either by blood or marriage. We were on a family picnic when everything changed.”
Natasha, Jack, and Nir listened intently as Maya recounted their story.
“It started with a chest,” she continued, tracing the water droplet symbol on her jacket. “My brother and I found it hidden deep in the woods. At first, we thought it was some kind of prank or treasure hunt. Inside, there was a book—ancient, glowing, and humming with energy.”
Her voice trembled slightly. “When I read from it, the book vanished, and I felt something... change. That’s how I gained the Water Arrow skill.”
Maya paused, her gaze distant. “At first, my family didn’t take it seriously. They thought it was a magic trick. But then the frogs came.”
She recounted the terrifying encounter. “The first Lesser Frog appeared out of nowhere. It killed one of my cousins before we even realized what was happening. I managed to kill it with Water Arrow, but the damage was already done. That’s when we understood—this wasn’t magic. This was survival.”
Her voice softened as she continued. “We had no weapons, no training. We used whatever we could find—kitchen knives, chairs, rocks. Some of us discovered abilities in the chaos, but it wasn’t enough to save everyone.”
Maya’s expression hardened. “Those of us who survived learned to fight. We became stronger, more resourceful. We turned this camp into our sanctuary. And through it all, we became a family, bound not just by blood, but by our shared will to live.”
Dante listened in silence, admiration for the survivors growing in his heart.
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