At the rise of the sun—between the cold respite and the Crucible Hours—Derek led the survivors outside. The elf had insisted on finishing his prayers before anyone moved, and strangely, no one complained.
Given his usual arrogance, Derek had expected irritation. Yet as the elf sat quietly, waiting for the first eastern rays, even Derek found himself respecting the presence of dawn.
Regina looked no better than before, pale and hollow-eyed, while the cat-woman remained silent, her green eyes watchful.
Outside, the others set to work dissecting the creatures from last night—harvesting furs, teeth, claws, even their blood. The cat-woman lingered apart, her back to me, while I grilled strips of meat over the fire. Derek's men carried the fallen to a site for cremation, grimly efficient. Nothing of use was wasted.
By the time food was ready, the air stank of blood and smoke. Breakfast was roast pork and bread. Mésos watched the elf intently, her eyes sharp. The elf himself, though still missing a hand, bore tattoos etched in gold and silver across his skin. When his gaze met mine, I looked away.
"So—motive," Derek said finally, breaking the silence as he chewed. His voice was rough but steadier than yesterday. "Let's start with the easy one. What is a Sun Elf of the Syzygy doing in a place like this?"
"I was traveling," the elf replied coolly, his fingers brushing his gold-and-silver earrings. "I will not be your scapegoat for the Oddity."
"Interesting jewelry," Omega murmured, half-asleep.
Derek studied him for a long while, then turned his attention on us. His eyes fell heavy on me, sharp as if they could pierce into my chest.
"And you, girl. Alpha said you've lost parts of your memory."
A lump caught in my throat. I forced myself not to look away.
"And you?" Derek sneered suddenly at the cat-woman. "What are you, an adventurer?"
Her head tilted in that unnerving way of hers, ears twitching. "How did you know? Yes—I am an adventurer. You have good eyes."
As the Crucible Hours deepened, the heat became unbearable. The very air seemed to dry up, forcing us back inside. Regina leaned heavily against me as we walked past a strange collection site where water was gathered from the night's melting ice.
"They harvest what little remains of the frost," she whispered, her voice weak.
The day dragged on in a grinding monotony—salvaging monster parts, gathering wood and fruit, staving off boredom. Some worked, some slept, some distracted themselves with trifles. Lunch was salad and chilled yogurt soup.
By evening, the heat broke, and dinner was a warm beef and vegetable stew.
But peace never lasted long. A soldier's shout cut through the dusk: "Who goes there?!"
From the moonlight emerged a figure—a dark elf with hair like a waterfall of white, braided down her back. A scimitar gleamed in her hand.
"Jasmine," the sun elf called to her with relief. "You took your time."
Her violet eyes swept across us with cool indifference. Gold-and-silver earrings, like the elf's, marked her kinship to him. Her caramel skin glowed in the moonlight as she studied us.
"And who might you be?" Derek asked at last, his tone wary.
Her gaze slid to him, steady, and unreadable. The fire cracked, but no one else spoke. Even Regina and the sisters kept still.
The cat-woman's narrowed eyes were the only sign of unease.