The canyon walls rose high, their rust-colored stone carved by centuries of decay. The party moved through the narrow passages in single file, their footsteps echoing too loudly in the silence. The red sky above was a distant ribbon of light, barely visible between the canyon's edges.
Nathan walked at the front, Moonlight in his grip. His three summons were in their small forms—Mirko on his shoulder, Kuro in his jacket, Shiro perched on his head. The mental link hummed with their collective alertness. They had been marching for two days through the canyon network, and the constant vigilance was wearing on everyone.
Smithy walked beside Nathan now, no longer relegated to the rear. The Void Eel drifted at his feet, its incorporeal body phasing through the loose stone. He had proven himself at the depot—fighting beside the party, sharing his knowledge, holding the line when the Reaver charged. It wasn't trust, not yet, but it was something close.
