The forest swallowed the last echo of the natives' retreat. Silence pressed down, broken only by the distant call of unseen beasts.
Elira stood rigid, fists clenched, eyes wide with fury. "They took everything. My research, my notes—months of preparation, gone! Do you understand what this means? That journal was my only proof!"
Ronan shrugged, though his jaw tightened. "Proof won't matter if you're dead. Be grateful they left you breathing."
"Breathing?!" Elira spun on him, her voice sharp with anger. "That book was my life's work! It was the one thing I had to show the academy—"
"Academy?" Ronan cut her off with a laugh that was more bitter than amused. "Newsflash, scholar: you're not writing essays anymore. You're on an island that chews people up and spits them out. Adapt, or end up bones in the dirt."
Edric raised a hand sharply, his voice firm. "Enough. Both of you."
Elira's voice shook with grief. "You don't understand. Those glyphs… they were knowledge no one else has seen in centuries. If we could learn from them—"
Edric turned to her, eyes hard. "And what good would your knowledge be to the men who died to get us here? Knowledge won't feed us. It won't arm us. It won't keep us alive against creatures that rip men apart like parchment."
Elira flinched, the weight of his words heavy.
Ronan snorted. "Finally, someone's talking sense. Scholar wants her book, you want a kingdom—me? I just want to live long enough to find a hole on this cursed rock where no one's chasing me. We're not the same, and we shouldn't pretend to be."
Edric's gaze snapped to him. "You'll get nowhere alone. None of us will. If we're to survive, we move together."
"Together?" Ronan's grin was sharp, wolfish. "I've seen men who swore loyalty slit throats for bread crusts. You think three strangers with nothing in common can trust each other?"
The words cut deep into the silence. For a moment, no one spoke.
A sudden shriek ripped through the treetops. The trio froze as a massive winged shape swept across the canopy, blotting out the light. Its shadow moved like a storm cloud, and the ground quivered as it passed.
The three instinctively crouched low, barely breathing until the sound faded.
Elira whispered, "What was that…?"
Ronan smirked faintly. "Something big enough to make even the natives hide."
Edric exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening. "Then it proves my point. Alone, we're nothing. Together, we might stand a chance."
Elira hugged herself, still shaking. "I… I just want my work back."
Ronan twirled a dagger between his fingers, eyes glinting. "Then maybe we take it back. You saw the look in their leader's eyes. They're not done with us. If they've read your little book, they'll come again."
Edric looked at them both, seeing the raw edges of their fears and goals. He felt the weight of his father's expectations pressing harder than ever. If he faltered now, they would scatter—and all would be lost.
"Listen to me," he said, voice iron. "We've lost crews, ships, journals, and men. But we haven't lost purpose. Elira, your knowledge is our key to understanding this land. Ronan, your survival instincts keep us alive when steel fails. And me—" He drew his sword, planting it into the earth. "I'll be the one to lead. We endure, or we die. Those are the only paths left."
For a moment, no one argued. The silence stretched between them, fragile but binding.
Finally, Elira sighed, her shoulders slumping. "Fine. I'll go on. But if I ever get the chance, I'm reclaiming my work."
Ronan sheathed his dagger with a shrug. "And if I ever get the chance, I'm finding a way off this cursed place."
Edric pulled his sword from the dirt, his voice cold but steady. "And I'll turn this cursed place into something worth bleeding for."
The three began walking deeper into the forest, their steps heavy but unified by necessity. Above, unseen in the canopy, golden eyes watched them with silent interest.
The Continent wasn't done testing them.
Not by far.