Cal's chest tightened with each jostle from the anxious crowd. The murmur of confusion and fear served as a backdrop to his quickened pulse. He shouldered through, elbows nudging aside bodies that turned to him with fleeting glances of irritation. Sweat beaded on his brow, as he pieced together fragments of overheard conversation, none providing clarity.

"Let me through," he muttered, breath short. The press of people seemed endless, but determination set his jaw firm. His friends—were they safe? That single thought cut a path through the chaos.

A break in the crowd revealed the scene: Joe, hulking and sobbing, perched atop a lifeless form. Cal's eyes narrowed, taking in the incongruity of the cervidian’s broad shoulders shaking with sobs. His heart wrenched at the sight. The dead lay still, too still, under Joe’s grieving frame.

"Joe?" The name escaped his lips, almost a whisper drowned out by the cacophony of collective distress. A step forward—instinct drove him to offer solace. But something held him back: Joe's cries felt performative, discordant somehow.

"Hey, hey" — Cal's voice cracked, reaching out with words when his body hesitated. But even as he spoke, doubt scratched at the back of his mind, urging caution amidst the unfolding tragedy.

A hand clamped down on Cal's arm, halting his advance. He turned, met by Elena's violet eyes flashing a silent alarm. Her head gave a subtle but firm shake—stay back.

"Cal," she hissed, her voice barely audible over the din of the crowd.

His gaze followed her nod toward the periphery of the commotion. There, Jaxon stood, his chiseled features twisted in an expression of shock, his gray eyes scanning the scene with cold detachment.

"Didn't expect this, did you?" Elena whispered and pointed in the other direction.

Nearby, Jabor mirrored his leader's stance, but with a different energy. With muscles tensed he gripped his mace with white knuckles. His eyes darted, seeking out potential threats from among the faces in the crowd.

"Jabor…," Cal said, his tone low and steady.

"Stay out of this, Cal." Jabor's response was terse, his focus unyielding as he sized up each bystander with suspicion.

Elena tugged at Cal's sleeve, pulling his attention back. "We shouldn’t interfere," she murmured, her grip still tight.

Cal's head swiveled toward Elena, the confusion etching deep furrows in his brow. "What is happening here?" His voice was a low murmur, strained with the need for understanding.

Elena's fingers dug into Cal's arm, her violet eyes scanning the chaos surrounding them. "I don't know any more than you," she replied, her words quick and hushed. "But this... whatever it is, is no good."

The air shivered with Joe's wail, a raw and broken sound that clawed at the edges of the tense silence. He clung to the lifeless form beneath him, his large frame shuddering with sobs.

“Jeorg! What have they done to you! Jobin, Jay, Julian! You were too young.” Cal's chest tightened—grief was a heavy cloak, and Joe wore it openly, unabashedly.

"Temp, any idea what he's doing?" Cal whispered, not taking his eyes off the grieving cervidian.

The AI's voice, once devoid of inflection, now carried a hint of uncertainty. "Inconclusive. His emotional response appears genuine. However, the motive remains unknown – these were their enemies and now they are all dead."

Cal's jaw clenched. Puzzle pieces scattered, none fitting together. Every instinct screamed to act… or run… but the scene before him was a tapestry with too many threads, each one leading to a different peril.

Tobin boots crunched on gravel as he strode forward, his red hair a fiery contrast against the gloom. His eyes, aflame, fixated on the scene ahead. But Jabor was a wall of muscle, stepping before him with the unmistakable stance of one who would not yield.

"This is a cervidian affair," Jabor shot back, chin jutting out. "We have our rituals for the dead."

Tobin whispered something to his second, then turned around to the crowd. “Nothing to see here everyone, to those who wish to pay their respects, please do so quietly as respect to our fallen comrades.”

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He paused. “I am not an enforcer, and neither are any of you. I am certain we have no time to find the killer here. I’m sure everyone is lacking in extra trust, so we will keep our defense schedule, but please remain amongst your teammates.”

He turned to Jabor, “I am sorry friend, your comrades were valuable members of this community. I have sung songs with many of them and bled with many more. Please find me later, I can help.”

Jabor grunted, then they exchanged a conversation that was inaudible. Their words were brief, clipped. The tension between them rippled like a wave, threatening to crest.

Meanwhile, the crowd shifted, an organism of many bodies becoming separate entities. Eyes darted. Whispers passed like the wind through leaves.

"Can't trust 'em," someone muttered.

"Who's next?" another voice asked, barely louder than a breath.

"Keep close," a third commanded, pulling their companions into a huddle.

Cal watched, heart thumping. This community, once a united front, now stood splintered by doubt and fear. Allies turned strangers under the shadow of mistrust.

Cal's ears twitched as fractured voices sliced through the clamor—a fragmented symphony of fear and speculation. He and Elena were a separate island, much like the other teams.

"Vanished," one whispered, "like smoke."

"First Marta, then Brynn... now all of them?" another replied, voice tinged with disbelief.

"Whole teams don't just die off," a third concluded, their words hanging like fog in the charged air. “Wait till we get out of here, there’ll be blood.”

Cal turned, following a ruckus from behind.

The avians arrived spears raised to the air, with wings tucked away giving the appearance of coattails. They arrived with grace, talons clicking softly against the stone. Their eyes, sharp and discerning, scanned the chaos before them—surveyors of the macabre tableau.

A few locked eyes with Cal, with brief nods exchanged—a silent acknowledgment between warriors amidst the turmoil.

"Nothing here for us," the lead Avian declared, voice cutting through the silence. Their inspection was swift, efficient.

"Shouldn't we—" one began, only to be silenced by a curt gesture.

"Let them sort their own mess, we’ve already accomplished enough" another finished, and with that, they took flight.

The avian leader spoke once more, “Tobin, it’s always a pleasure, do take care. May we meet again on the outside.”

Tobin nodded, then walked towards Cal and Elena.

Tobin turned around once more to stare at Joe, then spoke. “Our team will join you in defense now that the avians are leaving.”

Cal nodded.

Wings beat against the heavy air, leaving whispers in their wake.

"Even they won't stay," someone murmured from the crowd, dread lacing each syllable.

"Who would?" another answered, voice laced with resignation.

Cal watched the avians retreat into the sky, their silhouettes shrinking against the backdrop. The weight of the unspoken hung heavy on his shoulders—the unease, palpable.

Cal felt a hand on his shoulder, firm and insistent. He turned to find Eugenio, the avian's plumage muted in the dim light, eyes alight with urgency. "A moment, if you will," Eugenio murmured, steering Cal away from Elena and Tobin.

"Speak," Cal said tersely, watching the avian's keen gaze dart about them.

Eugenio leaned closer, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "This may escalate swiftly into a witch hunt," he warned. "Your cervidian companions—they hold items of the deceased. Suspicion could easily twist towards them."

Cal's jaw tightened. The implications hung in the air like a guillotine's blade—swift, silent, deadly.

"Furthermore," Eugenio continued, his posture straightening with an air of self-importance, "We've resolved to depart. This trial has become... rather… chaotic."

"Leave?" Cal echoed, incredulity etching his features, “how?”

"Indeed." Eugenio's beak clicked faintly. "Our partnership—I would be remiss to not offer you safe passage with me. Teleportation, though I regret to inform you, the scarcity of mana crystals limits our numbers."

Cal's mind raced, the offer dangling before him like a lifeline amidst stormy seas. Disappointment knotted in his gut; the thought of leaving the others behind was bitter on his tongue.

"Consider it," Eugenio pressed, eyes locked onto Cal's. "Safety is not guaranteed for those who linger. Of that I am certain. Most of these teams are filled with uncivilized ruffians."

Cal's breath formed a ragged mist as he turned from Eugenio, the avian's offer echoing in his mind. His eyes scanned the faces of the crowd—strangers mostly, their eyes wide with fear and suspicion. They were a sea of potential threats, a tumultuous expanse where loyalty was the only anchor.

"Caliban," Eugenio's voice pierced through the din, a sharp reminder of the choice at hand.

Cal's gaze found Jabor, mace in hand, a steadfast guardian amidst chaos. Then Jaxon, whose surprise had settled into a grim acceptance and solemn ritual. And finally, Joe, whose cries still rent the air like jagged sobs.

"Safety is not guaranteed," Eugenio repeated, sensing hesitation.

"Nor is it desired over loyalty," Cal murmured, more to himself than to the avian. The words felt like a pledge, etching purpose into his resolve.

"Think of your own skin, my friend," Eugenio cautioned, his feathers bristling slightly—a telltale sign of impatience.

"Skin heals. A conscience does not." Cal's reply came swift and certain. His piercing blue eyes met Eugenio's golden ones.

Distant howl sliced through the night, a siren that spoke of untold horrors lurking beyond sight. Cal's muscles tensed, as did the crowd’s. But his decision solidified.

"I choose not to abandon those who trust me." Cal's voice was steel wrapped in velvet, a quiet strength that needed no further declaration.

Eugenio nodded, an aristocratic tilt of the head acknowledging Cal's stance. "Very well. May fate be kinder than the whispers, Caliban." He moved to leave but paused.

Turning back, he handed Cal a spatial bag. “I may be mistaken here, but if you survive, find me.”

With a silent flutter, Eugenio vanished as well following his comrades, leaving Cal amid the throng of wary souls. There was no turning back now.

“Fucking dinner parties.”