They found the message buried in a courier's satchel, half-soaked from the morning fog. Ryall crouched by the fire, unfolding the thick parchment with care.
"To all recognized adventuring groups,the Shattered Verge anomaly has stabilized. Mass entry protocols open in eight days. Rewards are guaranteed. Sponsorships available. Signed under the Seal of the Crowned High Senate."
He read it twice, then again.
"Is it real?" Tessan asked, voice low and cautious.
Ryall nodded. "Stamped in Veyruun's ink. No forgeries. This is big."
The fire crackled between them. Drev stirred silently under his cloak, while Elira's eyes narrowed. They had all heard the rumors. An unstable ruin forming above a dead zone? That wasn't just dangerous it was a potential rewrite of power across the continent.
"A mass expedition means guilds, mercenaries, nobles," Ryall said. "A chance to move up… or get swallowed whole."
He looked at each of them in turn. "We go."
Kael stood alone a few yards from the camp, shirtless and soaked with sweat, dragging the blunted edge of his scythe through practiced arcs. His breathing was steady. Controlled. Not just stronger sharper.
Elira watched him from the tree line. She'd taught him a few blade patterns days ago. Nothing special basic footwork, pivot cuts, the kind any merc could learn.
But now… he was moving through her stances, not just repeating them refining them.
Tessan stepped up beside her, arms crossed. "He's doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"Learning by seeing," Tessan muttered. "He watches once, then it's his."
It wasn't just swordwork. Two nights ago, Ryall had demonstrated an aura-surge kick used by Veilborn fighters. A joke, really Kael wasn't Veilborn, not fully.
But now?
He was copying the form with near-perfect control. The aura wasn't stable but it responded.
Elira's throat tightened. "That's not normal."
"No. That's dangerous."
Later that day, they passed through the edge of a small settlement Draymark's Stop, a clustered outpost known more for trade than hospitality. Dusty streets. Barking vendors. Tired travelers.
Ryall wanted supplies. Elira and Tessan followed.
Kael? He wandered.
He hadn't meant to find the food stall. It found him.
A small, bright-eyed girl with copper hair waved him over. Her stall smelled of fried herbs and riverfish stew.
"You're the quiet one from the ruins, right?" she said, smiling.
He blinked. "I… what?"
"You helped me. At that collapsed bridge. You don't remember?"
He didn't. But the memory returned in shards a girl crying, trapped under rubble. A shadow breaking stone. His shadow.
"Thank you," she said simply, handing him a bowl. "On the house. You looked like you needed help then. And maybe now too."
Kael accepted it without words. The food was warm. Simple. Real.
She told him her name Lysa then ran off to serve others.
Something in Kael's chest stirred. Not a memory. A feeling.
That night, the party set up near the southern pass. Wind howled beyond the cliffs. The stars were quiet.
Ryall stood by the fire, watching Kael practice with slow, graceful precision.
"We'll move in two days," he said to the group. "The Verge waits."
Kael didn't speak. He just moved through another stance one that hadn't been shown to him. One he should not have known.
Elira and Tessan exchanged glances.
Something was happening inside him.
And whatever it was… it was still growing.