Cal edged closer to Jaxon, fixed on the cervidian's cold, grey gaze. "Who exactly is Joren?" he asked, voice steady despite the tension simmering between them.
"Who cares about that fucker now?" Jabor cut in, muscles tensing beneath his skin like coiled springs ready to burst. He swept a dismissive hand through the air, his own eyes alight with urgency. "Bro.” Jabor stared at Cal pleadingly, “we've got bigger matters to deal with."
Cal shifted his weight, confusion knitting his brows together. "Sure, for later then," his tone betraying the curiosity that Jaxon’s reaction had sparked.
"Flares," Jabor said curtly, pointing towards the horizon where night had long since swallowed any trace of light. "Saw 'em about ten hours ago. We need a plan."
"Flares?" Cal echoed, the single word hanging between them as he tried to piece together their significance.
Jabor nodded, his usually flippant demeanor replaced by a rare seriousness. "Elena went to scout it out. Found a camp with hunter teams crawling all over the place – they’re grouping up." He paused, and then added in a lower voice, "Cervidians were there too."
Joe added, a grim note to his voice. "Ain't just us caught in this mess, bro."
"Time isn't on our side," Elena's voice sliced through the tension, as sharp and swift as an arrow. Her voice was hard. "The beasts won't stop coming. We've been lucky so far, but either our luck runs out or all the beasts kill each other for food."
Cal took in her stance, the slight quiver of her bowstring mirroring the quiver in his gut. He knew she was right; they'd danced with death enough already, and he expected the climax of this brutal game to still be in store.
"Every skirmish leaves us weaker," Jabor admitted. "As for the cervidians... we will have to figure out how to deal with them."
Elena nodded once, sharply, her black hair catching a stray beam of moonlight. "They complicate things. We don't know if they'll hinder us."
"Or hunt us," Cal added, and the thought hung between them like a dark promise.
"Jaxon?" Cal's voice cut through the stillness, a blade seeking truth. "What do you think?"
"Trouble," Jaxon grunted, his gray eyes scanning the horizon like a hawk. "They're not going to roll out any welcome mats, but we're sitting ducks here." He thumbed over his shoulder. "That camp might be our best shot."
"Better the devil you know," Cal muttered under his breath, shuddering slightly at the thought of Kristina, the spider queen.
He pulled out his spatial treasure and directed Temp to pull out water and snacks. The slosh of his canteen filled the silence as he distributed dried meat amongst the group.
"Well, I think it’s already decided then. Let’s snack, then we move," he declared, "How long of a walk is it to that encampment."
“Two hours.”
Their nods were curt, the tension palpable. With survival on the line, they could only hope that the gamble ahead was one worth taking.
Gravel soon crunched underfoot as the group trudged toward the encampment. Cal, alert for any sign of movement, remained lockstep with Elena, his hands loosely gripping his cracked dagger. The air was pungent with sulfur.
"Cal," Jabor's voice cut through the rhythm of their march, low and conspiratorial. "A word?"
Cal slowed, allowing the others to pass. They stood apart, two silhouettes against the pre-dawn grayness. Jabor's eyes darted around before settling on Cal.
"Joren…," he began, his tone laced with caution. "He's a legend among us. He raised our people from hardship after integration. We haven’t heard from him in a long time, but he rubs shoulders with the higher-ups on Hetar."
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Cal listened, his gaze steady.
Jabor shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "His rise... wasn't without dubious acts. Power struggles. Betrayals."
"Typical," Cal said, but his mind raced, connecting dots.
"Jaxon's his nephew," Jabor added, glancing back at the receding figure of Jaxon. "His father... well, no one knows how he really died."
"Goddess be damned," Cal noted, his voice a whisper lost to the wind.
"Exactly, bro," Jabor's agreement was quick, almost relieved.
"Thanks," Cal murmured, his thoughts churning with the implications of Jabor's revelations. A complicated web of loyalty and treachery presented itself.
"Stay sharp," Jabor replied, “he’s not a character you can trust.”
"Always," Cal said. He turned, fixing the cervidian with a soft look. "That case? It's closed, thankfully. I even suspect Joren helped us. But we're here, now. Let's focus on surviving this mess."
Jabor's shoulders, previously tensed like drawn bowstrings, loosened. A breath escaped him, fogging in the cool air. "Bro, I hope you're right." There was a weight to his words.
"Trust me," Cal asserted, the edges of his mouth tightening—not quite a smile, but an echo of reassurance for himself mostly. His headache was now mostly faded after snacking but also because he could feel that trust worked both ways. A relief, almost, that the cervidians were indeed not like humans.
"Speaking of trust," Jabor began, reaching into the folds of his jacket, and drew out a small, ornate ring. Its metal glinted with an inner light, even under the lava light around them and blue bioluminescence above. "This thing... I've been messing with it. Turns out, it can twist space around. Not sure for what reason, but it might be a way out."
"Twist space?" Cal arched an eyebrow, intrigue piquing.
"Yeah," Jabor rotated the ring between his fingers, a faint hum emanating from it as though it pulsed with life. "Could be useful, if we have no other choices."
"Or dangerous," Cal noted, eyes narrowing at the shimmering artifact. “Let's not rush to tricks just yet."
"Agreed, it will cost a lot of crystals. I’m not sure we have that many across all of us." Jabor nodded, passing the ring back to Cal, his gaze lingering on the horizon.
The path wound around the edge of the volcanic caldera, the thorny underbrush brushing against Cal's legs as they walked and caught up with their companions.
Cal continued to play with the ring, eyeing the now visible mana emanating from it. It had a particular scent. Scent was the wrong word – a feeling. Perhaps this was how Jabor was able to identify its use.
"Jabor told us about your fancy ring. From what I understand, we won’t have enough crystals across all of us," Elena spoke up. "Let’s see if people are willing to trade in the camp. I like crystals as much as the next gal, but we already cut it close."
Cal replied without looking back, his voice low and steady. "Yeah, but we can't predict what it will do, just that it opens up space somehow."
“If it opens up space, that means it’s an exit. Sometimes, that’s all you need. We can force our way out of here if we have to.”
"Agreed," Jaxon chimed in from the rear. "It’s a last resort, bro. But better to be prepared. We don’t need to feed it now."
They continued chatting about contingencies and plans for their approach to the encampment along the way. Cal was surprised by the depth of analysis from both Jabor and Elena on the nature of larger hunter groups. Some of the dynamics were familiar from back home. People would be people. But, it seemed that these impromptu gatherings were common in trials, they would band together to survive – and there was a whole culture and etiquette that was respected.
Elena warned that, while the encampment was considered a “safe zone,” when you leave the borders, fighting is fair game. Killing isn't uncommon. She continued to explain that dao-bound abilities, especially as people grow stronger can be extremely destructive to property. The damages would get you shunned by a group and taken down quickly. A bounty, she said, but not system enforced - just spite.
Cal also took note of the barter system that was common in these gatherings. Prices would be much higher here than in cities for basic items and consumables, but higher tier items would be far cheaper. Safety wasn’t assured, but it wasn’t as dire as Cal originally thought. Cal understood from the conversation that they would have to network and align themselves with groups early on to keep the peace.
Soon, they emerged from atop a hill, the encampment now in view—a haphazard collection of tents and fires that spoke of temporary alliances and tenuous safety. But before they could take another step, two imposing figures blocked their path. Broad-shouldered humans, with weathered faces and braided hair, the women bore the look of seasoned warriors.
"Zhere you are. You cervids found more? Bring zhem and we shall hunt!" one exclaimed, her accent thick, rolling the 't's like distant thunder.
"Zhey look weak, zheir muscles are itty bitty," the other one replied.
Jabor was about to speak, but Jaxon stopped him. “Let’s hunt, broskis!”
Elena smacked her forehead, but then drew her bow. “Yay… let’s hunt…”
“Zhere are zwenty direhogs due east. Zonite, we will eat!”
“Zhey are being hunted by many big Zholiks. You have fought, zholiks, no?”
“We have,” Jabor gestured at the cervidians, “just poke ‘em in the eye, bro.” He called out to Cal.
“What’s a zholik?”
“Just poke zhem in the eyes, easy peasy.”
Elena chuckled, then patted Jobe on the head, “easy peasy.”
[Escalation, stage 2: Survive the entrapment of hungry predators. Time limit: 181 hours]