The moment we step beyond the walls of the Western Guard Camp, the tension eases—but it does not disappear.
Not entirely.
The weight of watchful eyes lingers behind us, like a hand hovering just above our shoulders, waiting, waiting for an excuse to tighten its grip.
Only when we reach the edge of the forested outskirts, hidden from sight, does Edan finally exhale sharply, shaking his head.
"That was close."
Elias scoffs, crossing his arms. "Was it?"
Edan shoots him a look. "Yes, it was. Grusha isn't stupid. He wanted to see me fumble, to see if there were any gaps in our story. If I had hesitated for even a second, he would have torn it apart."
I glance back toward the distant tents of the camp.
"Is he always like that?"
Edan hums thoughtfully. "Suspicious? Yes. But this was different."
His fingers drum against his arm, his mind already piecing together things we do not see.
"He thinks I'm hiding something. And he's right."
A pause.
Then—
"But for now, he has no proof."
——
We keep walking, following a narrow trail that leads toward a secluded glade, hidden between the rolling hills. The grass is damp from last night's dew, the earth soft beneath our boots.
Edan sighs, rolling his shoulders. "I've dealt with people like Grusha before."
Elias tilts his head. "Yeah?"
Edan nods. "I've spent years navigating between scholars, politicians, and mercenaries. When you dig into history, you're not just dealing with the past—you're dealing with people who want to control how it's remembered."
I frown. "That sounds exhausting."
Edan chuckles. "It is. But that's the price of knowledge. Truth is dangerous. And those who seek it must be prepared to be hunted for it."
Elias raises an eyebrow. "Sounds dramatic."
Edan gives him a pointed look. "Says the man who was almost erased by a ruin."
Elias shrugs, but there's a flicker of something in his gaze—something thoughtful.
——
We reach the glade, stopping near a fallen log where the morning sun filters through the canopy, dappling the ground with light.
Elias leans against a tree, his fingers tracing the worn grip of his weapon.
"You know," he murmurs, "I always thought game characters were… simple."
I glance at him, brows furrowing slightly.
He tilts his head, his gaze distant.
"When I played games back home, NPCs were predictable. They had their lines, their scripted responses. They weren't… real. Even the ones with complex backstories still had limits. They weren't capable of adapting, of scheming, of thinking ahead like—"
His voice trails off, his eyes flicking to Edan.
"—like you just did."
——
Edan raises an eyebrow. "Should I be flattered or concerned?"
Elias chuckles, shaking his head. "Both, maybe."
He exhales, rubbing his fingers together.
"I've been treating this world like it's still a game, like people should act within some kind of logical system. But they don't. They think. They adapt. They plot and counterplot. And it's not just you, Edan. It's Grusha. It's the entire damn camp."
A pause.
Then, softer—
"This world is too real."
——
I stare at him, feeling the weight of his words settle into my chest.
Because he is right.
These people—Edan, Grusha, Captain Cliff, Elgriffin—they are not scripted figures bound to a cycle of dialogue and pre-written responses.
They are alive.
They are aware.
And they will not sit idly by as we upset the fragile balance of their world.
——
Edan tilts his head, watching Elias curiously.
"You expected this world to be simple," he muses. "To follow rules you were familiar with."
Elias snorts. "Yeah. Turns out, I was wrong."
——
A breeze rustles through the trees, carrying the scent of morning earth and distant rain.
I glance between the two men beside me.
One, a scholar who has spent his life uncovering the past and shaping history through words.
The other, a man who was never meant to be here, who has only just begun to grasp the weight of his own existence.
And me?
I am somewhere in between.
A blade forged but never wielded.
A soul meant to be controlled but now free.
——
Edan finally sighs, rubbing his temple. "Well, congratulations, Elias. You've discovered that people are complicated."
Elias smirks. "Thanks. I'll be sure to write that down in my diary."
Edan rolls his eyes.
And for a moment—just a brief moment—
The tension fades.
The morning stretches before us, full of uncertainty, full of questions.
But at least, for now—
We are still standing.