Elion had the rest of the day to prepare for tomorrow. They would depart early in the morning, accompanied by Bright Light and Yeri, both of whom were Second Fingers.
The number of Unlocked had grown since Elion arrived—there were now around two hundred. S33 wasn't the only base from which newly Unlocked would depart. There was another in Night, where the expeditions were overseen by members with affinities to Guidance and Direction, making it easier to navigate the Depths.
The first thing Elion did after the incident with Farha was take a shower. He was drenched in sweat and dust, so hot water running down his bruised body was going to work miracles. He made sure to especially savor it, knowing he'd be crawling in the mud for a month or two without such luxury very soon.
When he passed in front of the mirror, he stopped. He'd noticed his body changing ever since he started the physical training, but seeing his reflection now, he realized the extent of that transformation.
He was no longer the gaunt young man he'd been a couple of months ago. His physique wasn't muscular, but his silhouette was more chiseled. Powerful muscles rolled under his pale, bruised skin and his movements felt lighter—more natural.
A small smile cracked his face.
Looking good!
Elion dressed quickly and headed to his room. Plopping onto the gray sheets of his neatly made bed, he opened the manual to study the maps one last time before leaving.
Next, like every other day, he gave a try at translating the Terask language, hoping to understand the line written on his forearm—the one the Voice of God refused to translate, in case it was important. Much to his dismay, Elion was still not able to make a coherent translation. His first assertion was correct, this seemed to be a different language.
He let out a frustrated sigh, which drew some attention from his roommates, before walking toward the communal kitchen. He strolled casually yet kept an observant eye on his surroundings. He doubted Eshrod would attack him today, but with her, one could never be sure.
Inside the small kitchen, the gremlin was already waiting for him, reading a novel at the table. Farha was nowhere to be seen—odd, considering she was always the first one there.
"Have you seen the demon?" Elion asked, looking toward where she usually sat.
Eshrod flipped a page before setting the book aside.
"You mean Farha?"
He nodded.
"No, she might be feeling bad about what she did to you earlier," she said casually.
"Doubt it. That girl doesn't have an ounce of self-consciousness."
Eshrod chuckled.
"Maybe you've misread her…"
Elion's gaze lingered on her for a moment, thinking about what she said.
Have I?
He always thought he was good at understanding people and using them to his advantage, but what Eshrod said made him wonder if he had made a mistake.
Shaking his head, he focused on preparing food. He made enough for the mute girl in case she decided to join them later. She didn't.
Elion stared at his plate of beautifully cooked fish. Farha had said it came directly from the First River—which was quite a feat to procure in this lost hole. Yet, even with such a delicacy, it felt slightly empty, dulling the taste.
Why does it feel like this? It was her fault anyway. She's the one who lost control of her murderous impulses.
He gazed at the fish.
So why does it still taste wrong?
Elion forced himself to eat the food and went to bed early. He needed to be as rested as possible for tomorrow. Everyone else was doing the same, anyway.
When the horn blared in the morning, he rose slowly. Everyone had been handed a pack filled with rations and a sturdy set of camo gear. The harder you were to spot, the more likely you were to survive the Depths. The suit wasn't enchanted—that would've been too costly—but it offered solid protection for the knees and feet and was difficult to cut.
Elion added the remaining pouches of spices from his old box to the pack. No way was he eating bland food, even in the Depths.
Besides the rations, the pack contained a water bottle equipped with a filter that could turn almost any water drinkable. Designed right here in Goreth, it was a technical marvel: light, cheap, and extremely effective. There were also supplies to start a fire, a survival knife, an analog watch—since most technology became heavily compromised in the Depths—and a basic first-aid kit.
Even though they weren't expected to fight, every newly Unlocked had been issued a standard alloy straight sword. The staff said that if anything went wrong, they'd be glad to have it. Eshrod, of course, caused a scene about wanting a bigger one—but she was quickly shut down.
All in all, they were well-equipped… if such a thing meant anything when facing the horrors that awaited them. The silver lining, however, was their commanders: Bright Light had led many expeditions into the Depths and had rarely suffered losses. They were in good hands.
All the newly Unlocked gathered in the courtyard. Beyond the high alloy walls lay the edge of Goreth—hostile territory.
In front of the gate stood Bright Light and Yeri. Beside them, sixteen First Fingers stood in two neat rows, each of them looking seasoned and serious.
The new Unlocked lined up similarly, all clad in the issued gear with a sword hanging at the hips. Eshrod stood next to Elion. He scanned the crowd, trying to spot Farha among the mass of recruits, but couldn't find her.
He didn't know if he was worried about her or scared of her. Either way, he didn't exactly feel good about the fact that she didn't even come to eat yesterday.
Bright Light cleared his throat and raised his voice.
"Today, we descend into the Depths in search of the First Finger. I know some of you may be tense or afraid, but nothing will go wrong. I've commanded this expedition for fifteen years, and in all that time, I haven't failed once. If you follow orders and do your part, everything will go just fine."
Yeri stepped forward. Her usual cheerful demeanor was tempered into a more serious tone as she introduced the First Fingers and assigned the teams. They were drawn at random, but the groupings didn't mean much. The newly Unlocked weren't supposed to engage in battle unless absolutely necessary—it was mostly to facilitate logistics. If anything went wrong, your team leader was the person you'd report to.
Elion was assigned to someone named First Finger Mao. He was a proficient spear fighter who had clearly seen his fair share of battles. The man had medium-length brown hair falling messily across his head, and a light beard covering his chiseled jaw.
There were no familiar faces in Elion's team—except for Joart. The black-haired young man stood with his usual aloof expression, sword slung at his hip.
Of course I'm with the pretend noble…
Everyone introduced themselves and Mao laid out how the days would be structured.
There would be a lot of walking. Vehicles couldn't traverse the rough and narrow terrain of the Depths. Even if they could, outside of Nexus's influence, they would become useless within a day.
After a full day of marching, they would reach a base located at the very edge of Nexus's influence. From there, Yeri would take the lead as scout, with the expedition trailing behind her.
Everyone checked their packs one last time before the massive alloy gateway hissed open, revealing a dark expanse of caverns bathed in the fading orange glow of Goreth's sun.
They marched at a steady pace, stepping beyond the gate. The newly Unlocked wore tense, grim expressions. Joart looked as uncaring as ever and Elion masked his own fear beneath quiet fascination.
In a day, he would step outside of Nexus's influence. Even here, leaving the city, he could feel a shift. The shadows were pushed back by gas lamps, yet they remained suffocatingly thick. He didn't know if, within them, awaited salvation—or his doom…