Chapter: "The Hero Registers"
Location: Sector Six, Outer Camp Border – Mid-July
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The golden hour light shimmered across the wooden path leading to Sector Six's main camp. Wind brushed the leaves, and somewhere in the distance, a chiming bell echoed as the forest trees made way for a new arrival—several, in fact.
At the forefront stood Milo, a young man no taller than 5'7", his short blonde hair rustled gently by the wind. Despite the heavy reputation that preceded him, he wore humble, grayish clothing, plain and soft with only a golden thread etched along the collar. He didn't shine, he didn't glow—no cape, no armor, no aura. But there was something else about him... something calmly undeniable.
Behind him stood his party—five companions with distinct, striking presences.
1. Pink-haired girl, freckles across her cheeks, eyes like starlight. Her class? Unclear. But the way she skipped with zero fear hinted at something dangerous beneath her cuteness.
2. A stoic rogue, tall with slick black hair, pale gray eyes, a sleek blade at their side, their motions unreadable. Their gaze swept the forest like a hawk.
3. Teenager with brown hair and glasses, holding a thick tome and a glowing orb on a necklace. He spoke quickly, clearly, his voice precise: "Milo's interested in joining this experimental civilization project. We've seen the projections, the system growth rate, and community development. It's ideal for our next objective."
4. A large muscular man, bald, tanned, and with arms thick as tree trunks. He grunted once, looked around, and cracked his neck. Clearly the frontline bruiser of the group.
5. And above them all—a massive skybird, with wings of iridescent silver and ocean-blue tips, landed behind them with a thunderous gust of wind. It lowered its head slightly in a silent bow before folding its wings. The group's transport.
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Standing at the front of the camp, clipboard in hand, was Riven. His black hair fluttered just slightly under his blue wool cap as he narrowed his eyes at the strange crew.
> "You're a bit younger than I expected," Riven muttered to Milo.
Milo smiled with polite ease, stepping forward.
> "Aren't we all just travelers until we find a reason to stop moving?"
Riven didn't respond—he just handed over a paper.
> "This experiment isn't for show. You sign this, and you become part of the society we're building. There's no undoing it."
The wind was still. No hesitation. Milo signed the form.
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Watching from above, perched quietly on the upper ridge of a nearby tree:
Garrick, his messy blond hair tied up in a band, whispered through his fingers. "Whoa, he's actually signing up... just like that..."
Beside him, Nico, tired-eyed and chewing a leaf, snorted. "Gray clothes. Small frame. Doesn't look like much. But they say he's got divine favor."
Not far from them, Oliver stood near the entry fence, arms crossed, still in his green hoodie. His earthy eyes narrowed, watching Milo closely. There was no aura, no pressure. Just ease. Which made it worse.
> "What's so special about this guy?" Oliver muttered under his breath.
Fern, standing beside him, gave no opinion. She watched with her usual stoicism, her staff planted at her side like a tree. She finally spoke:
> "Sometimes strength hides in still rivers. Milo's not ordinary. But neither are you."
Oliver didn't answer. He just kept watching.
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As Milo and his team were escorted further into the camp, whispers spread. Some hopeful. Some jealous. Some suspicious.
But for better or worse, the Hero had joined Riven's camp.
And change was inevitable.
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Scene: Unspoken Introductions
Location: Sector Six — Observation Ridge
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Oliver watched from the overlook as Milo and his party were welcomed into the sector's administrative side by Riven. The camp's noise buzzed below—Travelers talking, trades occurring, mystic smoke from potion stalls rising lazily in the summer heat.
He tilted his head slightly, curiosity bubbling.
> "Should we… introduce ourselves?" he asked under his breath.
Before he could even step forward, a soft but firm tug pulled him back.
Fern's fingers gripped the edge of his green hoodie, her gaze unmoved, fixed on the group below.
> "No."
That one word was enough.
Oliver blinked. Then sighed, nodding.
> "Yeah... I wasn't trying to be confrontational anyway."
He stepped back, posture relaxed now, letting Fern's silent logic guide him. Her calm was contagious, even grounding. Beside them, Sorrel, the river otter mage, peeked out from Oliver's backpack, blinking curiously. His nose twitched.
> "They sure don't look dangerous," Sorrel murmured, voice bubbly. "But then again, neither do I."
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Meanwhile, down below…
Milo looked around, his blonde hair catching glints of sunlight, sweat slightly forming near his neck. His expression was polite, quiet—but his mind was running.
> (First-person Milo inner thoughts)
"Okay. First real base. Riven signed us in. No dragons yet. No collapsing platforms. No cursed relics attacking my ribs. We're doing good."
"Still...everyone's watching us like we're some big deal. Maybe I should've worn something flashier. Or not brought the bird. No, the bird's cool. Bird stays."
"Where's the food tent again? And who's that guy staring in the green hoodie? Wait...is that a river otter in his backpack?"
Milo's eyes flicked up briefly—he saw Oliver, Fern, and Sorrel. His expression didn't change, but something passed in his thoughts.
> "They don't look like nobodies. They're trying not to be noticed. That means something."
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Up on the trees...
Garrick, lying on a thick branch like a lazy cat, dropped a piece of bread from his pocket and grumbled.
> "Ow—that stick hit my eye."
Nico, lounging beside him, arms behind his head, looked down at the party below with a slightly raised brow.
> "You think they're strong?" Garrick mumbled, eyes half-lidded.
Nico smirked, fire dancing across his fingertips lazily.
> "Yeah, probably."
> "You think they're stronger than you?" Garrick asked.
Nico let out a scoff so confident it echoed through the leaves.
> "I could take 'em. All of them. Easy."
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The camp continues on.
But in the shadows of trees and among unspoken glances, something subtle brews—
Curiosity. Rivalry. Future clash.
And none of them truly know:
The real trials haven't even begun yet.
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