As the trio resud their trek, the forest swallowed the river’s roar behind them, replaced by the rustling of leaves and the crunch of boots on earth. Towan stretched his arms above his head, a satisfied smirk on his face.
—“You know,” he said, “I think that counts as our first engineering project.”
—“Yeah,” Elliot muttered, side-eyeing him. “We’ll call it Bridge of Anxiety and Poor Life Choices.”
Behind them, the river murmured ominously.
Just as they reached a small ridge that gave them one last glance back, a loud crack snapped through the air.
They turned in ti to see the makeshift bridge wobble dangerously. One of the planks split down the middle, and the tension in the ropes yanked the rest loose like a line of dominos falling in slow motion.
Then—splash. Their bridge collapsed into the river with an oddly theatrical finality.
—“…Well,” Elliot said, blinking. “There goes our legacy.”
—“It died as it lived,” Towan added, “barely holding itself together.”
Leon gave a quiet chuckle from ahead, but didn’t turn around. Instead, he kept walking, hands behind his back, eyes half-lidded in thought.
They’re already applying flow principles without being told, he mused. Even basic Essentia usage like distributing pressure across the feet requires internal sensing, subtle control… most students need weeks just to stop falling over.
He glanced back over his shoulder, briefly watching the two boys as they argued about who tied the worst knot. Their bickering had rhythm now. Less like a fight. More like a pattern.
They’re not just strong. They’re intuitive, Leon thought. Naturals, in their own ssy, chaotic way. If they keep pushing like this… they’ll surpass anything I can teach them from a textbook.
He smiled to himself, then turned forward once more.
—“Co on,” he called out. “We’ve got ground to cover before nightfall. And Towan—”
—“Yeah?”
—“If you ever suggest building another bridge, I’m making you carry Elliot across on your back.”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Towan groaned. Elliot imdiately grinned.
—“Oh, please do. That sounds like a team-building exercise I would enjoy.”
And just like that, their footsteps carried them deeper into the forest—one bridge broken behind them, and a hundred new steps ahead.
They kept walking without much trouble, the forest gradually dimming as the sun dipped below the horizon. When the sky burned orange, then purple, and finally sank into blue, Leon finally stopped.
—“All right, guys. Set up the tent—I'll handle the fire,” he said, already crouching by a patch of dry leaves and stones.
Towan groaned softly but moved with surprising efficiency. He and Elliot had set up the tent enough tis now that it felt like part of the routine. Pegs, canvas, a few mumbled complaints—done.
Soon, they were sitting around the crackling fire, warm flickers of light dancing on their tired faces. The scent of roasted herbs and simple stew filled the air, and for a mont, there was only peace. Just the occasional owl hoot in the distance, and the comforting rhythm of a spoon stirring in a pot.
Elliot stared into the fire, then glanced at Leon. His tone was casual, but curious.
—“Back in Lockeheart, you said Selene was covering for you at work. Wasn’t she the one who was tracking you? I thought she was... kinda shady."
Leon didn’t answer right away. He sprinkled a pinch of spice into the pot, gave it one final stir, then sat down cross-legged with a quiet exhale.
—“…Selene,” he repeated. His eyes flickered to the fire, shadows playing across his face.
Towan raised an eyebrow. “An old fla or sothing?”
Leon let out a soft, dry chuckle.
—“No, nothing like that. She’s… a scholar. Like I was.”
Elliot blinked. “Wait, you were a scholar?”
—“I didn’t always wander around travelling with a grumpy smile,” Leon smirked. “Years ago, I worked with Selene at the northern research division in Aeralis. We were trying to understand corruption—its patterns, its growth, maybe even how to stop it.”
Towan leaned forward. “You were studying the sa thing she’s into now?”
Leon nodded. His tone was calm, but there was sothing under it. Regret, maybe. Or a weight he'd carried for years.
—“Back then, we had theories. Big ones. But the more we studied, the more… dangerous it got. There were incidents. People changed. And Selene—she was willing to keep pushing no matter the cost.”
He stirred the fire absently with a stick, watching the embers swirl.
—“I walked away before it went too far. Told her I couldn’t help anymore.”
Elliot frowned. “And she tracked you anyway.”
Leon t his gaze. “Yeah. Because I’m one of the few people who survived one of the early outbreaks. I saw what corruption did, up close. And I think she believes that... if anyone can help her find a cure, it’s .”
Towan muttered, "Lucky us. We're traveling with a plague magnet."
Elliot might elbow him. "He's the plague repellent, genius."
Silence settled for a beat. Only the fire spoke, crackling quietly between them.
Towan broke it first, voice low. “Do you regret leaving?”
Leon didn’t answer right away.
Then: “Sotis. But so lines shouldn’t be crossed. Not even for knowledge.”
He stood up, walking over to check the pot. He served each of them a bowl of stew, his face unreadable once more.
—“Eat up,” he said. “We’ve got a long road ahead.”
The fire flickered brighter, casting long shadows behind them. And though the night was still and quiet, sothing unspoken hung in the air—questions of trust, past choices, and the weight of unfinished work.
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