At Ashan's signal, everyone dropped into a crouch. Breath held. Hearts pounding against ribs.
Peering through the dense brush, they watched a group of twenty ganshka trudging along the trail ahead.
Their gnash, gnash! Cries punctuated each step, a dissonant rhythm that set teeth on edge.
Dris shifted, muscles coiling, eager to move.
Roderic's hand clamped down on his arm with bruising force.
"Idiot", Roderic's whisper was fierce. "Don't move."
Dris wrenched his arm free with a quiet "Hmph!" but stayed put.
The Ganshka moved further down the path, their greenish forms disappearing around a bend.
Ashan waited five heartbeats, then ten, and gestured for the group to follow.
Forty-seven figures moved as one—steps measured, eyes scanning, every sense stretched to its limit.
Team 7 led the way, the others mirroring their disciplined silence.
The forest held its breath with them.
Dris clicked his tongue in frustration, the sound barely audible.
"How long are we going to follow? Let's just kill them and take the vestiges."
"Quiet, you bastard." Roderic's hushed tone was sharp as a blade. "We need to see where they're leading us."
"Will you two shut up?" Helma hissed. "They'll hear you."
Dris chuckled softly. "The short one's getting feisty."
Helma's fists clenched. "You—!"
Damara laid a calming hand on her shoulder. "Ignore him. It's his nature. "A pause. "And please, be silent. All of you."
"You're all being too loud," Imla's voice was cool as she walked slightly ahead beside Ashan. "If they hear us, we lose our advantage."
Suddenly, Ashan froze.
Imla followed his gaze.
The Ganshka patrol had stopped.
Three larger figures emerged from the trees to meet them—wolf-like and muscular, their fur matted with the signs of hard travel.
Vrkuka.
Disperse.
Ashan's hand signal was barely a movement.
The group melted back into the forest, concealing themselves behind thick trunks.
Breathing slowed. Presence dimmed.
"What is it, Ashan?" Dris's whisper had lost its earlier impatience.
"Vrkuka." Ashan's eyes flickered with faint greyish-white as his siddhi enhanced his vision. "Three of them. Meeting with the Ganshka."
Roderic's tone was grim. "So the two species are at war or about to be."
"Or already are," Damara's counter was quiet. "But where's the battlefield? Where are they massing?"
According to the information I glimpsed from the key—from the visions—the war has already begun. Ashan's thoughts raced. The Vrkuka chief and his main force, along with their Ganshka conscripts, have entered the altar grounds. The Vyaghruga must be there too, marching to meet them.
"The war is happening now." Ashan pointed toward the dense, unnerving woodland where the Vrkuka stood guard. "It's starting in there."
Team 7 stared at the area. Even from this distance, it felt wrong—a place of dense, tangled trees that seemed to swallow light and sound.
An eerie silence emanated from it, as if the forest itself were holding its breath in anticipation.
Helma shuddered. "Do we have to go in there?"
Damara's voice was steady. "We do."
Ballio remained quiet, but his face was a map of tense worry.
His fists clenched at his sides.
Cloe. The thought was a prayer. I'm coming. Please be safe. Please be alive.
"What's the plan?" Imla's analytical gaze fixed on Ashan.
Behind her eyes, questions churned. Again, he knows more than he should. Again, he leads us toward something he hasn't explained. But what choice do we have?
"We follow", Ashan's voice was calm, certain. "Stealth is our weapon. The path is trapped—designed to kill anyone who doesn't know the way."
He moved back onto the trail once the Vrkuka and Ganshka had vanished into the gloom.
He signalled the others to regroup.
As they gathered, he observed their faces—a canvas of anxiety, fear, and desperation and, beneath it all, a flicker of something that might have been hope.
"Before we proceed, you need to know the situation."
His expression was neutral, hard—the face of a leader who couldn't afford to show uncertainty.
He pointed to the oppressive forest behind him. "That area contains the door. The way home."
A wave of relieved smiles and hopeful murmurs passed through the group.
Forty-seven faces lit with the first genuine hope they'd felt in weeks.
"But". Ashan's voice cut through the brief optimism like a blade.
His tone was grim.
"I am certain a war is raging inside between the Vrkuka and the Vyaghruga. It may have already started. It may be ending as we speak."
Their expressions fell. The word 'war' landed with the weight of a tombstone.
They were children—children who had been given power, yes, but children nonetheless.
Not soldiers. Not killers by trade.
"And one more thing." Ashan let the silence stretch. "The path to that door is littered with traps. Designed by the Order. Meant to kill."
A heavy, terrified silence descended.
A girl near the back broke first. She crouched on the ground, silent sobs racking her body.
"Why?" The word was a whimper, a child's cry in the darkness. "Why is this happening? Why us?"
If this were a story, Ashan thought, glancing at his team.
They stood firm—fear was present but mastered.
A hero would rise here.
He would speak inspiring words.
He would lift their spirits and lead them to victory.
But I am not that hero.
He walked over to the crying girl.
Crouched beside her. Waited.
When she looked up, tear-streaked and terrified, he spoke.
"Can you stand up?" His voice was neutral—not kind, not cruel. Just... present.
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips.
She sniffled. Wiped her eyes. Nodded.
He helped her to her feet, then walked back to the front. All eyes were upon him.
"I can't inspire you." His voice carried in the silence. "I can't force you. But I will say this before you decide."
He paused, letting the weight press down.
"Anyone who does not wish to go forward may leave now. You will not be harmed by me or my order. But know this."
His gaze swept over them.
"If you leave, you survive or die by your own skill alone. I take no responsibility for your fate."
The group shifted uneasily.
Glances were exchanged—fear and hope warring in each pair of eyes.
"I am going forward." Ashan's voice was calm and absolute.
"Even with a high chance of death, I will risk it. For a few more moments of life, I will fight."
The words were drilled into them.
"Remember what we are." His voice rose.
"We are Sadhakas. We defy nature itself.
We walk a path that would kill anyone else.
To fall and to rise—that is the way.
For eternal life, we struggle.
That struggle does not end."
He paused, letting the silence build.
"If you run, that is your choice.
If you fight with me and die, that is your choice.
And if you fight with me and live—" His voice sharpened.
"That, too, is your choice."
He raised his fist.
"We will die and live for a few more moments!"
Dris clicked his tongue, a wry grin spreading across his face. "So much for not being able to inspire us."
Roderic nodded slowly. "Right."
A current ran through the group.
Blood heated up.
Fear sublimated into something harder—desperate, defiant resolve.
Death was a certainty if they stayed here, paralysed by terror.
Death was a probability if they ran.
But this way—this way, they would meet it on their feet.
One by one, they clenched their fists and raised them.
"We will die and live for a few more moments!"
The chant began softly, a few voices trembling.
Then more joined.
Then more.
It grew into a unified, fervent whisper that rustled the leaves around them and that seemed to make the very trees lean in and listen.
The fear in their eyes was not gone. It would never be gone.
But it was overshadowed now—by something blazing, desperate, and necessary.
Hope.
Ashan listened to their chant. Watched their faces. Felt the shift in the air.
Hope.
The thought was detached and analytical.
A sweet, poisonous little thing.
The world turns on these four letters.
It clouds the mind and plants a seed that chips away at reason.
Fulfilled, it breeds greed. Denied, it breeds despair.
It is neither good nor evil. Merely a tool.
But to bet one's entire existence on it... that is to hand your life directly to the reaper.
He turned and led them into the darkness.