Sunlight pierced through the gaps in the bone ceiling, casting thin red shafts across Riven's face. He opened his eyes slowly, the violet glow behind his pupils adjusting to the morning brightness. For a moment, he simply lay there, savoring the unexpected comfort of crimson grass beneath his back and the relative safety of their makeshift shelter. His body still ached from yesterday's climb and the overextension of his Spatial Eyes, but the pain had dulled to a manageable throb.

  He allowed himself to linger, watching dust motes dance through the light beams above. The grass cushioned his body in a way that surprised him—soft yet resilient, nothing like the hard stone floors of the tunnels. The bone ceiling above curved like the ribcage of some ancient monster, and through the gaps, he could see patches of clear blue sky.

  Finally, reluctantly, he pushed himself up. The shelter wasn't tall enough to stand in, forcing him to remain crouched as he gathered his few possessions. Aron's massive form still lay sprawled across the entrance, his chest rising and falling in deep, steady breaths. Golden hair spilled across his face, catching the morning light. Riven picked his way carefully around the giant's body, sliding through the narrow gap between Aron's shoulder and the bone wall.

  The opening was barely large enough for him to squeeze through, designed that way intentionally to keep anything larger than a human from entering.

  Once outside, Riven straightened to his full height, extending his arms overhead in a long, satisfying stretch. His joints popped, muscles trembling slightly before relaxing. He tilted his head back, mouth opening in an extended yawn that seemed to pull from the depths of his being.

  The morning sun hung low on the horizon, bathing the Plain of Corrupted Hands in gentle light. At this hour, the heat hadn't yet built to its midday intensity—it was pleasant, the warmth soaking into his skin without scorching.

  "Finally awake?"

  Lya sat cross-legged a few paces away, her green cape spread beneath her. She looked surprisingly fresh, her green hair combed back from her face, eyes bright and alert.

  "Did you sleep okay?" she asked with a gentle smile. "I’ve been awake for hours, so I’m all set to go."

  "Yeah, better than expected," he admitted, rolling his shoulders. The grass had provided more comfort than he'd anticipated.

  Lya gestured toward their water flask, which sat beside her. "I saved some for washing up."

  The remainder of the morning passed in unhurried quiet. They took advantage of the endless supply from the enchanted flask, using the water freely to wash away the grime of the tunnels. Riven felt almost human again as the cool stream rinsed his face and neck, though his clothes remained stiff with dried sweat and blood.

  Aron emerged from the shelter not long after, ducking through the entrance that seemed too small for his frame.

  They gathered their meager belongings quickly, practiced in the efficiency of travel. Riven pulled the parchment from his pocket, unfolding it carefully to study the ink lines that traced their journey. The vegetation he and Lya had spotted the night before remained visible along the edge, offering hope of a change from the endless crimson plains.

  "This way," he said, pointing southeast where the map indicated the parchment continued beyond its torn edge. "Looks like we're close to the border of whatever this is."

  They had barely started walking when Riven felt an unpleasant twisting in his gut. His stomach contracted painfully, a growl rising from deep within.

  He'd been unconscious for a week, and only now was hunger making itself known.

  "How did you two manage while I was out?" he asked, the question emerging unexpectedly. "Food-wise, I mean."

  Lya glanced back at him. "We had the flask for water, which helped. For food, Aron went back to where we fought those creatures and salvaged what meat he could." Her nose wrinkled slightly at the memory. "We improvised a fire and cooked it. Not exactly gourmet, but hey, at least it was hot!"

  She tilted her head, studying him with curious eyes. "But I'm wondering how you're not starving right now. It's been over a week."

  "It's starting to hit me now," Riven admitted, pressing a hand against his empty stomach. "Before, it was like my body forgot it needed food."

  "I'm hungry too," Aron added, his calm voice belying the rumble that emerged from his midsection. "My stomach feels hollow."

  Lya's laugh was light and sudden, like a startled bird taking flight. "You should see how much Aron eats when we have food. I honestly don't know where he hides it all."

  The corner of Riven's mouth lifted in a half-smile. "Doesn't surprise me. I think half of Goldilocks' weight is just empty space in his stomach."

  Aron's brow furrowed as he leaned toward Riven. "Goldilocks? Seriously? My hair isn't even curly, it's just blond. Get your fairy tales right."

  "Goldilocks," Riven repeated, waving a dismissive hand through the air. “Blond, shiny, and way too much trouble. The name stays. “

  Aron's frown deepened, but there was no real anger behind it. Something almost like amusement flickered in his golden eyes, quickly hidden beneath his usual stoic expression.

  They continued walking, boots crunching softly against the crimson grass. Lya hummed as they moved, a quiet melody drifting through the air.

  After a long stretch of silence, Riven stopped mid-stride, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon. Something had changed—a subtle darkening along the edge where crimson plain met sky, a mass that hadn't been there before.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  He narrowed his eyes, violet pupils glowing faintly with concentration. "Look," he said, pointing ahead. "Is that what I think it is?"

  Lya shaded her eyes with one hand. "I see it too."

  They quickened their pace, anticipation building with each step. The distant blur finally resolved into something solid: trees. An entire forest stretched across the horizon, real and looming. It stretched across the horizon as far as they could see in either direction, a vast wall of verdant life rising from the crimson plain.

  "Finally," Riven breathed, the word carrying all his relief. Without conscious thought, his steps lengthened into a jog, then a run. The others followed, their footfalls drumming a rapid rhythm against the ground.

  His mind raced ahead, cataloging the possibilities this discovery offered. No more endless exposure under the merciless sun. No more scavenging for meager resources in the barren plains.

  Most of all, it meant change. Progress. They were leaving the Plain of Corrupted Hands behind, entering a new territory that might bring them closer to freedom, to safety, to whatever lay beyond this hellish place.

  Their eager progress carried them to the final rolling hill before the forest's edge, about five hundred meters from the treeline. Riven crested it first, his breathing slightly labored from the sprint.

  He stopped so suddenly that Lya nearly collided with his back.

  The eager smile died on his face. His hand moved reflexively to his sword hilt, fingers closing around it with practiced familiarity.

  Aron joined them a moment later, his golden eyes narrowing as he took in the scene below. His massive hands tightened around his spear, the gesture mirroring Riven's own instinctive response.

  "It's... a battle," Lya said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  "Was," Riven corrected grimly. "Come on. We need to see this."

  He started down the slope, his pace quickening as he neared the carnage. The others followed close behind.

  The battlefield spread before them in grotesque tableau. The edge of the forest was a graveyard of monsters and climbers alike. Their corpses were tangled together on the crimson earth, the silent remains of a brutal slaughter.

  The soil had been churned to mud by blood and viscera, the metallic stench rising to meet them even before they reached the first body.

  Riven stepped carefully around a fallen climber, his face frozen in a rictus of agony. Nearby lay the massive form of one of the feline predators they'd encountered before—its body nearly bisected by what must have been a devastating blow. The creature's spined back was split from shoulder to tail, black fluid congealing in the wound.

  He counted at least fifteen of the predator corpses, their twisted forms scattered like broken toys. The climbers had fared no better—twenty or more bodies in various states of destruction. Some had been partially consumed, limbs torn away, flesh stripped from bone. Others seemed almost peaceful in death, their wounds hidden beneath their bodies.

  The group moved among the dead, their reactions revealing the differences in their natures more clearly than words ever could.

  Lya knelt beside a climber who lay face-up, eyes open to the sky. She bent forward, her lips moving in silent words. Prayer, perhaps, or some other ritual of respect. Her hand hovered over the corpse's eyes before gently closing them. She repeated this with each body she passed, never touching them more than necessary, always whispering words too quiet for Riven to hear.

  Aron moved methodically through the battlefield, his golden eyes missing nothing. He produced a small leather-bound notebook from his pocket and made notations. Aron didn't even try to hide his grimace. He winced at every mangled body they passed, his jaw clenching so hard it looked like it might snap.

  For his own part, Riven approached the scene with pragmatic detachment. He activated his Spatial Eyes just enough to enhance his awareness without straining himself, scanning the bodies for anything useful—weapons, tools, supplies. No prayers. No hesitation. Just cold pragmatism.

  If the contrast bothered his companions, they said nothing. Maybe they understood. Maybe they just didn't want to watch.

  He was examining a climber's pack when he spotted something at the edge of the battlefield. A creature unlike any they'd encountered before. His breath caught as he approached it cautiously, sword drawn.

  The monster was enormous—easily five meters tall even in death. It resembled the tunneling creatures they'd fought underground, but vastly more developed, more specialized. Its exoskeleton gleamed with a metallic sheen, overlapping plates of chitinous armor that looked as impenetrable as forged steel. A massive stinger curled from its abdomen, dripping viscous venom that had scorched the grass beneath it. Most terrifying were its foremost limbs—curved like scythes, edges honed to cutting perfection, designed for nothing but tearing prey apart.

  This was no ordinary predator.

  Riven's grip tightened on his sword, a cold certainty settling in his stomach. Even with his newfound power, even with Aron's strength and Lya's abilities, they would have stood no chance against this monster. Maybe they could have scarred it. Maybe. But they still would've died right there on the dirt.

  Yet something had killed it. His eyes traced the creature's body, noting the precise cuts at the joint sections of its legs, the sword strikes along its torso. But what truly held his attention was the enormous pillar of ice that impaled the creature through its center mass.

  The ice was unlike any he had seen before—not the clear blue of a glacier but a deep, midnight blue that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. It glowed with subtle inner luminescence, and where it penetrated the monster's body, the flesh appeared to be eroding, consumed by the unnatural cold. The air around the corpse was noticeably colder, as if the ice radiated winter itself.

  Riven stepped back, surveying the entire battlefield with new eyes. Now he saw them—patches of normal ice alongside bursts of other elemental powers: scorched earth, shattered stone, twisted metal. Evidence of multiple Fragment users—Harmonized warriors fighting together.

  And they had all died anyway.

  The thought should have been sobering—a group of harmonized fighters, more powerful than them, slaughtered to the last. If they couldn't survive, what chance did Riven's group have?

  But dwelling on it wouldn't help. The dead didn't need their gear anymore.

  A glint of black metal caught his eye from the forest edge. He moved toward it, stepping beneath the first tall trees where the battlefield ended. Another climber lay there, his throat and face torn open by what must have been a devastating claw strike. But it wasn't the corpse that interested him—it was what the climber wore.

  Riven knelt beside the body, examining the outfit with growing excitement. A form-fitting tactical suit in matte black, reinforced with brushed metal plates at the shoulders, forearms, and hips. Boots of the same dark alloy. A black cape, somehow untouched by the blood that had soaked everything else.

  His Spatial Eyes detected the exceptional quality immediately—the density of the fabric, the precise craftsmanship of the metal components. Despite the armor plating, the entire ensemble seemed impossibly light. This was no ordinary clothing.

  He began to free the outfit from the corpse, carefully working it loose. His tattered slave shirt hung from his frame in rags, a constant reminder of where he had come from. This new garment represented something else entirely—a fighter, a warrior, someone with agency and power.

  As he pulled the final piece free, a strange sensation prickled at the back of his neck. His Spatial Eyes detected a mass shifting in the trees behind him—moving fast, with purpose.

  He had no time to fully react. Something slammed into him from behind with incredible force, driving him face-first into the ground. His arms were wrenched behind his back, a knee pressing painfully between his shoulder blades. A hand pushed his cheek hard against the earth, immobilizing his head completely.

  In the blink of an eye, Riven was pinned, unable to move.

  Shit. What's happening?

  He heard Aron and Lya shout in alarm, their footsteps pounding toward him. The cold touch of metal pressed against his throat—a blade, its edge precise and deadly.

  A woman's voice above him, cold and sharp. "One more step and I'll open his throat. Don't test—"

  The voice cut off abruptly. The weight on Riven's back suddenly increased as his attacker collapsed on top of him.