Luna lingered at the edge of the central meadow, unwilling to leave just yet.

  She hadn't expected this—the ache in her chest, the pull toward staying. Twenty-one years on Earth, and she'd never felt like she belonged anywhere. Not at school, where her silence made others uncomfortable. Not at work, where her beauty drew attention she didn't want. Not even in her own apartment, which had always felt more like a place to sleep than a home.

  The closest she'd come was on nature trips with Dad—long weekends in state parks, camping beneath stars, the quiet rhythm of hiking through wilderness that asked nothing of her except presence. Those moments had felt right in a way her ordinary life never did. She'd assumed it was simply preference, the introvert's love of solitude.

  Now she understood. Those glimpses of peace had been echoes of something deeper, her elven nature reaching toward the natural world even through the Aether-depleted void of Earth. Here, standing in the Grove with magic-rich air filling her lungs and the forest whispering at the edges of her awareness, the echo had become a symphony. The constant low-grade tension she'd carried her whole life—the sense of being slightly wrong, slightly misaligned with the world around her—was simply gone.

  This is what I was missing. This is what my body was starving for.

  If the goblins hadn't existed, she could have stayed. Hunted in the surrounding forest by day, returned to the Grove each night, let the Trial's days pass in this sanctuary until the System sent her home. Safe. Comfortable. Finally at peace.

  But there was a threat to this paradise, and fighting it meant gathering allies and putting her life on the line. And part of her was thrilled by that—a part that wanted to hunt, to stalk, to prey on her enemies. She didn't know if it was the elf in her, the Huntress, or something that had always lived behind her poker face, waiting for a world that would let it breathe.

  Luna turned from the meadow and found the guardians waiting near the hedge-line. Darkpaw sat beside Ursok, the great bear's bulk making even the panther seem small. Sythara had coiled nearby, her emerald scales catching the light. The three gorillas hung back slightly, watching Luna with expressions she couldn't quite read.

  "You're leaving," Ursok rumbled. It wasn't a question.

  "I have to find my friends. They don't know about the corruption, the totems, any of it. If I can reach them, convince them to help—"

  "More two-legs in the Grove." Krog's mental voice carried skepticism. "Because that always ends well."

  "Brother." Thessa's tone held warning.

  "What? I'm just saying. Every time furless ones get involved in forest business, something burns down or gets conquered or—"

  "Luna destroyed a Rot Totem," Darkpaw interrupted quietly. "And saved my life, asking for nothing in return. Astra herself entrusted her with the mission of saving the Grove."

  Krog subsided, though his expression remained doubtful.

  Sythara uncoiled slightly, her wedge-shaped head rising to Luna's eye level. "The panther speaks truth. And we cannot protect the Grove alone—not against the numbers the greenskins can muster. If the elf can bring allies..." Her tongue flickered. "We would be foolish to refuse."

  "Then we're agreed," Ursok said. "Luna seeks allies among the Trial participants. We continue our work here—scouting for totems, thinning goblin patrols when we find them, keeping the Grove's borders secure." His small eyes fixed on Luna. "When you return with those you trust, they will be welcome within our boundaries. But choose carefully. Not all who walk on two legs share your intentions."

  Luna nodded. "I understand."

  Darkpaw rose smoothly, his movements free of the pain that had hampered him since they'd met—Astra's healing had restored him completely. "I'll guide you to the Grove's edge. After that, you'll need to navigate human territory alone—my presence would only complicate things."

  A flash of crimson swooped down from the canopy, and Lord Grandwing landed on a low branch nearby with a theatrical flourish.

  "Farewell, lovely elf-creature!" The parrot puffed his chest feathers importantly. "Lord Grandwing must depart on his vital mission—scouting the greenskin movements, as Mistress Astra commanded. Very dangerous work, yes-yes. Only the bravest and most skilled could attempt it."

  "Try not to get eaten," Darkpaw said flatly.

  "Eaten? Eaten?! Lord Grandwing is far too clever to be eaten! Too fast, too graceful, too—" He stopped, tilting his head toward Luna. "When you return, lovely elf-creature, Lord Grandwing will give you the grand tour! Every beautiful vista—!"

  "You already said that," Darkpaw interrupted. "Word for word."

  "So he's still a parrot in the end," Luna muttered.

  Lord Grandwing's feathers ruffled with indignation—or embarrassment, it was hard to tell. Without another word, he launched himself into the air with a dramatic spiral, scattering golden light through the leaves as he wheeled into the trees. Within moments, the crimson shape had vanished beyond the canopy.

  Luna almost smiled despite the weight of everything ahead. She said her farewells to the other guardians—and then followed Darkpaw through the maze of the Grove's outer defenses. The path seemed shorter going out than it had coming in, the magic recognizing her as an ally and smoothing her passage.

  At the boundary, where the Grove's protection gave way to ordinary forest, the panther stopped.

  "Southeast," he said. "Perhaps four hours if you move quickly and avoid trouble. The Zone sits in a small valley. There are signal lights sent from there at intervals, from what I noticed."

  "Thank you. For everything."

  The panther's ears twitched. "Don't thank me yet. We haven't won anything—just delayed losing." He turned, then paused. "Luna. The humans gathered at the Safe Zones, not all of them will be what you hope. Choose your allies with care, for some of them may hide... shadows in their hearts."

  "I will."

  Darkpaw vanished into the underbrush without another word, shadow swallowing shadow until even Luna's enhanced senses couldn't track him.

  She stood alone at the forest's edge, the Grove's warmth fading behind her and the wild unknown stretching ahead. For a moment, she let herself feel the loss of that sanctuary—the brief, sharp grief of leaving something precious.

  Then she oriented herself southeast and began to move.

  The next few hours passed in a rhythm Luna was beginning to find familiar: jog, listen, assess, decide. The forest offered constant choices—paths that seemed easier but felt wrong, clearings that invited rest but provided no cover, game trails that might lead to prey or predators. Her sharpened instincts processed each option automatically, guiding her feet along routes that balanced speed with safety.

  She sensed monsters five times on her way. Her enhanced hearing caught the sounds from hundreds of feet away—the squelching movement of Shrums, the skittering of clawed feet, the rustle of creatures that didn't belong to the normal forest soundscape. Each time, she adjusted her course, circling wide around the source rather than investigating.

  None of them were worth the time. Even if the experience would push her toward Level 8, she had hours of travel ahead and friends to find.

  The sixth encounter, she had to face head-on.

  Luna heard them before she saw them—the faint rustling of something burrowing just beneath the surface, the wet breathing of creatures lying in wait. Two Maw Shrums, hidden in the soft earth on either side of the path she'd been following, their bodies buried with only their cap-mouths exposed like obscene flowers waiting for prey to pass between them.

  An ambush. If she'd been less attentive, less attuned to the forest's sounds, she might have walked right into their kill zone.

  Instead, she circled to higher ground, found a clear angle, and put arrows through both of them before they even knew she was there.

  [Maw Shrum (Iron) - Level 4 defeated]

  [Maw Shrum (Iron) - Level 5 defeated]

  The creatures thrashed as they died, tendrils flailing uselessly at empty air as they jumped out of their hiding spot with multiple arrows in their bodies. Luna watched them dissolve with clinical detachment. The experience barely registered—maybe a percent or two towards Level 8.

  Grinding weak monsters would take forever, she thought. I need bigger prey to progress.

  She was still thinking about this when she heard the crash.

  Wood splintering. A tree groaning, then snapping, the sound echoing through the forest from perhaps three hundred feet to the north. Luna froze mid-step, her ears tracking the source.

  Then came the scream.

  High-pitched, desperate, animal. Prey that knew it was about to die. The cry cut off abruptly, replaced by a wet crunching that made her stomach turn.

  Curiosity warred with caution—and curiosity won. She needed to understand what threats this forest held. Whatever had just killed that creature, she needed to know what it was, what it could do, how to avoid it.

  Luna angled toward the sound, moving in absolute silence, using every scrap of cover the forest provided. At two hundred feet, she could hear the feeding—thick, squelching sounds punctuated by the snap of bones. At one hundred feet, she found a position behind a massive grass-stalk and peered through the gaps in the foliage.

  Her breath caught.

  The creature stood twelve feet tall at least, its body a grotesque fusion of fungal growth and humanoid form. The Maw Shrums she'd killed had been monstrous enough—but this thing had evolved beyond them, twisted into something that walked upright on two trunk-thick legs. Its torso was a barrel of dense mushroom flesh, and its arms were burly, muscular things that ended in three-fingered hands large enough to crush an adult man's body. Under its crimson cap, it had what could pass for a face with bright yellow eyes, a mouth full of eerily human teeth.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  A stag hung limply in its grip—a magnificent creature, or it had been. Now it was barely recognizable. The monstrous Shrum fed without urgency, tearing chunks of flesh free and pushing them into its mouth with methodical efficiency, like a man eating jerky. Antlers snapped like twigs under those massive fingers. Fur and viscera dropped to the forest floor in a spreading pool.

  Luna had hunted. She'd killed cleanly, respected her prey, wasted nothing. This wasn't hunting. This was consumption, reducing something beautiful to meat and scraps.

  She activated Identify, her hands steady despite the revulsion crawling up her spine.

  [Ogre Shrum (Mithril) - Level 20]

  Mithril. She stared at the word, her mind racing. Bronze, Iron, Steel—those she knew. But Mithril was something new, a Rank she hadn't encountered until now. Was it one tier above Steel? Two? More? She had no way of knowing, no frame of reference. All she could be certain of was that this creature existed in a category beyond anything she'd faced—thirteen levels above her, radiating the kind of presence that made her instincts scream in warning.

  The creature finished its meal—or lost interest. It dropped the stag's mangled remains and turned, pushing through the forest with the same casual violence it had used to catch its prey. Trees bent and snapped where they blocked its path, the wood groaning under those three-fingered grips like dry kindling.

  Luna held perfectly still as it passed perhaps eighty feet from her position. She didn't breathe. Didn't blink. The Ogre Shrum moved with the ponderous inevitability of a landslide—slow, unstoppable, utterly unconcerned with anything smaller than itself, but she couldn't assume she'd outrun it if it gave chase.

  Only when the crashing sounds had faded beyond even her hearing did she allow herself to exhale, her heart hammering against her ribs.

  Mithril rank. Level twenty.

  Someday, she would face creatures like that. Not today, but somewhere between now and the Trial's end, she would grow strong enough to face that creature. Maybe not on her own, but still.

  The anticipation surprised her. Not the fear, which was sensible and appropriate, but the hunger beneath it. The part of her that looked at an enemy thirteen levels above her and thought: One day I'll hunt you down.

  Luna marked the creature's direction in her mental map and continued southeast, moving more carefully now. If one Ogre Shrum roamed these parts, there might be others. She needed to reach the Safe Zone before something found her that she couldn't outrun.

  An hour later, she heard human voices, raised in argument, carrying through the trees from perhaps five hundred feet ahead. Luna adjusted her course immediately, angling toward the sound with deliberate caution. Her footsteps remained silent on the forest floor as she closed the distance, stopping well short of a small clearing to assess the situation before revealing herself.

  Three figures stood there, their postures tense with conflict. The unmistakable armor of Class Forms marked them as Gifted—a Knight with sword and shield, a Mercenary in medium armor, and a Rogue woman in light leather. All were level 3, which wasn't terrible, all things considered. They stood in a rough triangle, facing inward, their attention fixed on something at their feet.

  Two bodies lay in the grass between them.

  Luna crept closer, using the undergrowth for cover, until she could see clearly—the right angle was all she needed from this distance, a hundred feet or ten making little difference to her eyes. The corpses wore civilian clothes—no Class Forms, just the ordinary garments they must have been wearing when the Integration began. A man and woman, both middle-aged, their faces frozen in expressions of terror.

  No Class Forms, Luna thought. But everyone in the Tutorial was supposed to be Gifted. The System only selected those with potential...

  Then she remembered the other deaths she had witnessed. Gifted who died lost their Class Forms—the magical armor and weapons dissolved, along with the connection to the System.

  The wounds drew her attention next. Deep slashes across their torsos, clean and precise. The kind of marks that might come from Slash Shrum scythes. Or from blades wielded by other hands.

  Monsters or murder? The question formed unbidden. She couldn't tell from the wounds alone. Slash Shrums attacked with wild sweeps, but these cuts showed precision. Then again, a skilled Shrum might strike with similar accuracy. And in the chaos of combat, defensive injuries could look identical regardless of the attacker.

  "—can't just leave them here," the woman was saying. Her voice carried genuine distress. "They were people. They deserve—"

  "They're dead," the Mercenary cut her off. His tone was flat, pragmatic. "Burying them wastes time and energy we can't afford. The forest will handle the remains."

  "That's disgusting. They have families, people who'll wonder what happened to them—"

  "And those families will never know either way. Unless you're planning to carry the bodies back to Earth somehow?" The Mercenary's laugh was harsh. "Face reality. We're in a survival trial. The dead don't matter anymore—only the living."

  The Knight stood slightly apart, his expression troubled but silent. He hadn't taken a side, hadn't offered an opinion, just watched the argument unfold with the discomfort of someone who didn't want to be involved.

  Luna made her decision. These three were heading to the same place she was—they had to, if they'd survived this long. Better to make contact now, on her terms, than to encounter them later in less controlled circumstances.

  She stepped out of the shadows.

  "The noise you're making will attract predators," Luna said calmly. "If you're going to argue, do it quietly—or not at all."

  Three heads snapped toward her. She saw their eyes unfocus for a split second—the telltale sign of Identify activating—and watched their expressions shift as the information registered.

  The Mercenary's hand flew to his sword, his face draining of color. The Knight raised his shield and stepped back rather than forward, positioning himself defensively. Even the woman, who'd seemed relieved a moment ago, went rigid with sudden wariness.

  They see it, Luna realized. Steel rank. Level 7. And a Race they've never encountered.

  "What are you?" The Mercenary's voice had lost its casual arrogance. "You're not human. Are you—are you one of the natives? Like the goblins?"

  "I'm a Tutorial participant. Same as you." Luna kept her bow lowered but ready, her posture deliberately non-threatening. "From Earth. Los Angeles, specifically."

  "Bullshit." The Mercenary hadn't relaxed. "Your Status says High Elf. Steel rank. We're Iron—everyone's Iron. And Level 7? We've been fighting for two days and barely hit Level 3."

  "The System labeled me as an elf when I got my Class. I don't know why—I thought I was human until the Integration." Luna met his eyes steadily. "And I've been hunting since I arrived. Alone. That's why my level is higher."

  The Knight spoke for the first time, his voice cautious but less hostile than the Mercenary's. "Steel rank, though. That's... the System said Iron was the default for humans. If you're really from Earth—"

  "Then either the System made a mistake, or I was never human to begin with." Luna shrugged. "I'm still figuring that out myself."

  Silence stretched between them. The three exchanged glances—calculating, uncertain. Luna understood their hesitation. From their perspective, she could be exactly what she claimed: a fellow participant with unusual circumstances. Or she could be something else entirely—a native creature, a trap, a threat disguised in humanoid form. Her level and rank advantage meant she could kill all three of them without much difficulty, and they knew it.

  The woman stepped forward first, though her movements were more tentative than before.

  "I'm Catherine," she said. "That's Thomas"—the Knight—"and Garrett." She gestured at the Mercenary, whose hand still hadn't left his sword. "If you're really from Earth... can you prove it? Tell us something only a human would know."

  Luna considered the question. "The System message mentioned eight billion humans and a seven percent selection rate. That's roughly five hundred million people selected worldwide."

  "That's just numbers," Garrett said. "The System could have told anyone that. Tell us something only someone growing up on Earth would know. Something cultural."

  "Like what?"

  "I don't know—who's your favorite Hollywood actor?"

  Luna's expression remained flat. "I don't watch movies."

  Garrett blinked. "You don't... okay, fine. Favorite TV show?"

  "I don't like those, either."

  This was one of the reasons Luna had always been out of touch with her peers—perhaps because of her enhanced perception, she just couldn't immerse herself in most media. She'd always be aware that nothing she saw was real, she'd feel and see her body just sitting there, staring at the screen. While others lost themselves in the flicker of a movie or the drama of a sitcom, she had remained uncomfortably anchored to reality.

  "What do you do for fun?" Catherine asked, genuinely curious now.

  "Archery. Feeding stray cats."

  An awkward silence followed. Thomas tried next. "Alright, what about music? What's your favorite band?"

  "Beethoven."

  "That's not a—" Thomas started, then stopped. "You know what, that actually makes you sound more human, not less. Only a real person would be this weird."

  "Thank you," Luna said, uncertain if it was meant as a compliment.

  Catherine let out a surprised laugh. "She's serious. Look at her face—she's completely serious." She turned to the others, her tension finally breaking. "I believe her. No goblin or monster would pretend to be this awkward."

  "Could still be a trick," Garrett muttered. "The System could have told her—"

  "About Beethoven?" Thomas interrupted. "Why would it care? Besides, if she wanted to kill us, she could have ambushed us. She's Level 7 against us three Level 3. We wouldn't have stood much of a chance."

  The logic seemed to settle the matter, at least partially. Garrett's hand finally dropped from his sword, though his posture remained tense.

  "Fine," he said flatly. "You're a participant." His eyes swept over Luna's unusual form. "So what do you want? Why reveal yourself to us?"

  "I'm heading to the Safe Zone," Luna said. "Same as you, I assume. Traveling together is safer than traveling alone. And besides, I think Catherine was right. We shouldn't leave the bodies exposed like that."

  Catherine's expression softened with gratitude. Even Garrett didn't argue—perhaps unwilling to challenge someone who could kill him without breaking a sweat.

  "We don't have shovels," Thomas said, but he was already looking at his shield with resignation. "I guess this'll have to do."

  The Knight's shield made a crude but serviceable digging tool. Thomas drove its edge into the soft forest earth while Luna and Catherine cleared away roots and stones. Garrett kept watch, his eyes scanning the treeline—more vigilant now than he'd been before Luna's arrival. The soil here was loamy and cooperative, thankfully, and Thomas's enhanced strength let him carve through it faster than any mundane digger could have managed.

  It still took the better part of an hour to make two graves deep enough to matter. Before they lowered the bodies, Luna knelt beside them one last time. She told herself it was to check for identification—something to bring back to Earth, some way to notify families. But her eyes lingered on the wounds.

  The slashes were a tad too clean. Slash Shrums attacked with wild, sweeping arcs—she'd seen the damage they left on trees and undergrowth. These cuts were precise, angled to slip between ribs, placed where they'd do the most damage with the least effort. The kind of wounds someone who knew anatomy might inflict.

  Or the kind a very skilled monster might leave. She couldn't be certain either way.

  Luna kept her expression neutral as she searched the bodies. The woman had nothing—no wallet, no phone, no identification of any kind. But the man's back pocket yielded a worn leather bifold, and inside it, a California driver's license.

  Nathan Crawford. DOB 06/22/1989. Brown eyes, black hair, 5'11". The address listed an apartment on Figueroa Street in Los Angeles.

  She stared at the small photo—a man smiling awkwardly at the DMV camera, probably annoyed at the wait, never imagining this little card would outlast him. He'd lived maybe twenty minutes from her.

  "Found something?" Catherine asked.

  Luna held up the license. "Nathan Crawford. If we make it back, someone should tell his family what happened."

  Catherine's face crumpled slightly. "God. He had a whole life. A home, probably a job, maybe kids—"

  "We can't think about that now," Garrett cut in, though his voice was less harsh than before. "Take the license, tell whoever you want after the Tutorial. But standing here mourning strangers won't keep us alive."

  For once, Luna agreed with him. She tucked the license into her Space Pouch and stood.

  They lowered the bodies in without further ceremony. Catherine murmured something under her breath that might have been a prayer. Luna helped push the dirt back into place, then gathered fallen branches and leaves to disguise the mounds.

  "It's not much," Catherine said quietly, looking down at the graves. "But it's something."

  Luna nodded. It was something. More than Nathan Crawford and his unknown companion would have received otherwise.

  "We should move," she said. "We've lost daylight."

  The group set out together, Luna taking point with her bow ready, while the others followed in loose formation. The Safe Zone waited ahead. And with it, hopefully, answers about where her friends had gone.