The dawn broke sluggishly, its pale light struggling to pierce the dense canopy of the Wildlands. The air was cool and damp, carrying the faint scent of moss and distant rain. Ryn's boots crunched softly against the forest floor as he moved cautiously, his eyes scanning the surrounding trees for any signs of movement.
The Spirit Fox trotted beside him, its glowing fur casting faint blue light on the undergrowth. Its ears twitched at every sound, its movements tense and deliberate.
Ryn adjusted the straps of his pack, his thoughts replaying the journal's final words like a broken record. Beware the shadows. Beware the light. Two sides of the same coin.
"What does that even mean?" he muttered under his breath.
The Spirit Fox chirped softly, glancing up at him.
"Yeah, I know," Ryn said, sighing. "I'm overthinking it. But it's hard not to when everything keeps pointing to the Codex being broken—or worse."
The bond between them pulsed faintly, a reassuring warmth that steadied Ryn's nerves.
"Thanks," he said, offering the fox a small smile. "At least one of us has it together."
The fox let out a playful chirp, its tail swishing as it nudged his leg.
The forest began to thin as they climbed a gentle slope, the trees giving way to a rocky outcrop overlooking a sprawling valley. The view was breathtaking, with the morning light spilling over the distant hills and illuminating the mist that clung to the ground below.
Ryn stepped closer to the edge, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the valley. The landscape was dotted with patches of dense forest, jagged rock formations, and shimmering pools of water.
But what caught his attention was the faint plume of smoke rising from the valley floor.
"Another camp," Ryn murmured, his stomach twisting.
The Spirit Fox growled softly, its glowing eyes fixed on the distant smoke.
Ryn crouched, pulling out the journal he'd taken from the abandoned outpost. He flipped through the bloodstained pages, scanning for any mention of the valley.
There it was: a brief, hastily written note.
"Heading south to regroup. If we don't make it, follow the river to the valley. There's an old meeting point there—safe, for now."
Ryn frowned. "A meeting point? For tamers?"
The Spirit Fox tilted its head, chirping curiously.
"If there are tamers down there," Ryn said, closing the journal, "they might have answers—or supplies. Either way, we can't pass this up."
The fox chirped in agreement, its tail swishing as it stepped toward the slope.
Ryn stood, adjusting his pack and gripping the hilt of his knife. "Alright," he said. "Let's go. But stay sharp. We don't know what we're walking into."
The descent into the valley was slow and cautious. The rocky slope was treacherous, and more than once Ryn slipped, catching himself on jagged outcroppings to keep from tumbling down. The Spirit Fox moved with far more grace, leaping nimbly from rock to rock as it scouted ahead.
By the time they reached the valley floor, the sun had climbed higher, casting long shadows across the landscape. The air was warmer here, carrying the faint hum of insects and the occasional call of distant birds.
Ryn followed the river that wound through the valley, its clear waters glinting in the sunlight. The plume of smoke was closer now, rising from a dense cluster of trees on the other side of the river.
As they approached, the Spirit Fox froze, its ears flattening as it let out a low growl.
"What is it?" Ryn whispered, crouching beside the fox.
The bond pulsed faintly, a warning that sent a chill down his spine.
Ryn scanned the trees, his eyes narrowing as he spotted movement—a faint flash of metal, barely visible through the foliage.
"Someone's there," he murmured.
The Spirit Fox growled again, its glowing tail swishing nervously.
Ryn gripped his knife, his mind racing. Whoever was in the camp might be friendly—or they might not. Either way, he couldn't afford to walk in blind.
"Stay low," he whispered, motioning for the fox to follow as he crept closer.
The camp came into view as they slipped through the trees. It was larger than Ryn had expected, with three sturdy tents arranged around a central firepit. A handful of wooden crates were stacked nearby, along with a small rack of weapons—swords, bows, and spears.
Ryn's eyes flicked to the people in the camp. There were three of them, each wearing the distinctive armor of tamers. Two stood by the fire, their voices low as they spoke, while the third leaned against a crate, sharpening a blade.
"Tamers," Ryn muttered, his stomach twisting.
The Spirit Fox chirped softly, its ears twitching as it watched the camp.
Ryn hesitated, weighing his options. Approaching them openly was risky, but it might be his only chance to get answers—or supplies.
Before he could decide, one of the tamers by the fire glanced in his direction.
"Hey!" the tamer shouted, their hand going to the hilt of their sword. "Who's there?"
Ryn froze, his heart pounding.
The Spirit Fox growled, its fur bristling as it stepped protectively in front of him.
"Come out!" the tamer called, their voice sharp. "Now!"
Ryn stepped into the clearing, his hands raised to show he wasn't a threat. The Spirit Fox followed closely, its glowing eyes fixed on the tamers.
"I'm not looking for trouble," Ryn said, his voice steady.
The tamer who had called out narrowed their eyes, their grip on their sword tightening. "Who are you?"
"Ryn," he said. "Just... a tamer trying to survive."
The second tamer by the fire—a woman with short, dark hair—snorted. "You don't look like much," she said, her eyes flicking to the Spirit Fox. "And that's your beast? A little small for the Wildlands, isn't it?"
Ryn bristled but kept his tone calm. "It's gotten me this far."
The tamer with the blade stepped forward, their eyes narrowing as they studied Ryn. "What do you want?"
"Information," Ryn said honestly. "And maybe a little help."
The tamers exchanged wary glances, their postures tense.
"We don't have much to spare," the first tamer said. "But if you've got something to trade, we might be able to talk."
Ryn hesitated, his mind racing. The crystal shard in his pack pulsed faintly, as if responding to his unease.
"Alright," Ryn said, his jaw tightening. "Let's talk."