Time drifts unnoticed as Eska lies still on the cold, unforgiving ground.
The silence of the chamber is broken by a sudden flash of light piercing through the shadows above. Footsteps follow, echoing in the cavern as a group of figures descends, their gear glinting in the eerie glow of their strange devices.
The group spreads out, carefully navigating the rubble and examining the fallen wendigos.
Each person is equipped with a mix of leather and metal armor, weapons strapped to their sides.
"I think I found the girl!" One of them shouts back as they spot Eska. The others quickly gather, bringing medical supplies. Within minutes, they place her on a stretcher, securing her as others continue exploring the cavern.
A few figures stand out among the group.
A woman with long black hair in a charred black dress accented with white and gold details descends cautiously, her steps guided by a towering man in full metal armor.
His imposing figure looms over everyone present, the sheer bulk of his form making him an intimidating presence. The polished helmet conceals his face, but his head shifts as he surveys the collapsed room.
The woman, almost priestly in appearance, carries a staff ending with a sharp green crystal at the end. Her cyan eyes and immaculate black hair contrasting starkly with the rugged hunters around her.
She kneels beside Eska, her staff radiating a soft green glow as it bathes the space around them.
Meanwhile, a man enters through the door above, his glowing red eyes piercing the darkness.
"Report!" he shouts, his commanding voice echoing through the chamber and tunnels.
"Five more here, sir. Though one of them seems to have been taken out by the cave-in" one of the hunters responds.
The leader looks around, spotting Eska lying in a pool of her own blood and the priestly woman beside her.
"Is she alive?"
"Barely sir. She's lost a lot of blood and her wounds aren't minimal." The hunter asks.
The woman turns towards the red-eyed man. "She'll live but we need more than healing magic. We need to take her to the city soon."
"Understood." He says calmly, then shouts into the cave. "Ark! Take the wounded and your men out before we have any more surprises."
The armored man immediately turns towards the leader.
"Yes, Mr. Valen! Thank you for your assistance!" Ark responds cheerfully, his voice carrying a rich, warm timbre, like an old bard telling a favorite tale.
The group quickly finishes tending to Eska and begins to carry her upward, back through the facility. The priestly woman stays at her side, her calm demeanor reassuring, while the others form a protective wall around them.
They move quickly through the hallways, guided by flares marking the path, past the towering LATHROS units and out into the open air.
"Eska!" Oblea's familiar voice shouts.
She runs toward them with panic in her eyes. The priestly woman offers a soft smile, her presence immediately easing Oblea's visible distress.
"She's alive," the woman says gently, "but she's taken significant damage. It's a miracle she's made it through these past two days. I'll continue to do what I can, but we must get her to the city for proper medical attention."
Oblea's expression shifts to shock, her eyes widening as she whispers, "The city?" She glances downward, her disbelief palpable.
Yes," the woman replies firmly. "Don't worry. We'll take care of her. Before you know it, she'll be back on her feet."
Oblea hesitates, her hands clenching tightly at her sides before she forces them to relax. Her eyes dart briefly to Eska, then to the priestly woman, as if searching for signs of suspicion.
Swallowing hard, she nods and steps aside, her voice wavering slightly. "O-okay. Thank you, Ciel." She watches them pass, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her cloak, unable to completely hide her unease.
The group heads toward a much larger encampment than before, the surrounding trees cleared to make space for additional tents and people.
Eska is brought into one of the largest tents, accompanied by Ciel. Oblea follows close behind, her gaze darting around the crowded interior. Several cots line the space, some occupied by the wounded and others filled with resting figures covered in bandages.
Oblea stands inside the tent, by the entrance. Her arms are crossed as she watches Ciel tend to Eska.
Her gaze drifts outside the tent, scanning the bustling encampment. Hunters and uniformed soldiers move with purpose, their activities stirring a sense of nostalgia she hasn't felt in years. She exhales deeply as the empty stretcher is put away, drawing the attention of one of the injured men.
"Is that her?" the man asks, his voice tinged with disbelief.
Oblea turns to face him. He looks no older than thirty, with a well-worn eye patch covering his left eye and cropped brown hair. The expression on his face is a mix of shock and guilt.
"She's just a kid," he mutters, shaking his head as he looks toward Ciel.
"She'll live, Relon. I'll make sure of it," Ciel reassures him, her calm tone steadying the air.
Relon lowers his gaze to the ground, his voice heavy. "I don't think I could live with myself if she dies because of me."
Before Ciel can respond, Ark steps into the tent, his imposing frame taking up much of the space.
"If Ms. Ciel says she'll make it, then she'll make it," he says confidently, carrying his helmet under one arm.
His weathered face, framed by gray-streaked blond hair and a full beard, softens with a reassuring smile. "I trust her and so should you, Mr. Relon."
Relon sighs, running a hand over his face. "You're right, Ark. You're right."
Oblea quietly steps outside, her eyes drifting to the encampment illuminated by the pale light of the rising moon. She looks upward, her thoughts tangled in regret.
"Ms. Kea," Ark's voice breaks the silence, quieter now, almost gentle.
Turning, Oblea meets his gaze. He calls her by the name she had given them, the false name.
"She'll be okay. I trust Ms. Ciel," he says, his tone filled with conviction.
Oblea hesitates, her voice unsteady. "I know she'll make it. It's not her I doubt—it's myself. I let her come here. I waited too long. I should have gone with her." Her words spill out, tinged with frustration and guilt.
Ark listens quietly, then places a steady hand on her shoulder. "Regret can eat at you, especially when it's someone you love. You'll replay all the things you think you should've done differently. She's your daughter; you raised her."
He stops for a moment, allowing his words to settle before speaking again.
"But know this—your daughter saved lives today. She saved my people. You might feel guilt for her injuries, but you should also feel pride for her courage, for her strength." His words are firm, his smile kind, offering her a moment of solace.
Oblea feels tears brimming at the corners of her eyes. She closes them tightly, drawing in a deep, steadying breath. "Thank you, Ark," she says softly with a trembling but sincere voice.
From the cave entrance, a group emerges carrying boxes filled with papers and artifacts.
Among them is Valen, who spots Oblea and Ark in conversation. Handing his box to another man, he issues a brisk order. "Get everything ready to head out as soon as possible."
Without waiting for a response, he strides toward them.
Valen's appearance is sharp and commanding, his jet-black hair brushed neatly back and his pale complexion a stark contrast to his piercing red eyes.
His all-black attire, from the folded sleeves of his button-up shirt to his tailored dress pants and polished shoes, exudes an air of precision. The massive sword strapped to his back and the array of leather pouches at his waist hint at a readiness for battle.
"Ark. Ms.," Valen greets them with a slight bow of his head. His tone is formal but firm. "Ark, if you could excuse us. I need to speak with her privately."
"Of course, Mr. Valen!" Ark responds cheerily, laughing as he waves at Oblea. He walks off to assist the others with the cargo, his presence leaving a warmth in the air.
"If you would follow me," Valen says, gesturing toward his tent before turning to lead the way.
Oblea hesitates briefly, then follows him inside. They sit at a small table and Valen retrieves a bottle, pouring her a glass of amber liquid. "This should help you relax," he says, offering it to her with a calm demeanor.
Oblea shakes her head, attempting to refuse the drink. "Oh, please, I can't," she says, her voice unsteady.
Valen remains firm. "Oblea, please. I insist."
The sound of her name jolts her and she stands abruptly, eyes wide with shock. How does he know? She had gone to great lengths to conceal her identity, yet here he was, addressing her as though it was common knowledge.
"Please, don't be alarmed," Valen says, his tone calm but unwavering. "I've read the reports. My intention isn't to accuse, only to understand. Earlier, my priority was ensuring the survival of the expedition team and the girl. Now, I want answers."
Oblea hesitates, then slowly lowers herself back into her seat, finally accepting the drink.
Valen sits opposite her, his gaze sharp and cutting. "From what I've gathered, you took the child from Yaniyè nearly two decades ago. Possibly the only survivor. You raised her alone in the wilderness."
His piercing red eyes narrow.
"What I don't understand is why you chose solitude over the city, where you had every resource at your disposal. With your reputation, the city would have welcomed you."
Oblea places the empty glass down, taking a moment to think before replying.
"Raising a child isn't something one decides lightly. But raising a hunter? That takes a different kind of preparation. The forest provided more than the city ever could."
Valen straightens, his expression tightening. "We noticed something strange in the facility, Oblea. There wasn't much blood at the fight sites—none that seemed fresh. Except where she lay unconscious."
Oblea's heart sinks as the implication hits her.