The air over the valley plains was filled with the smell of ozone, molten rock, and roasted meat. Night had fallen, and the only light came from the campfires of the survivors and the red glow of the Crimson Briar Patch still burning itself to cinders.

The raid had cleared two quests in a single brutal push, and exhaustion weighed on every survivor's shoulders.

The party was worn out in a way that went beyond physical fatigue. It was the bone-deep weariness that came from fighting monsters that could crush you with a single misstep.

The raid was victorious, but the mood was far from celebratory.

Fires dotted the makeshift camp. People gathered around them, eating whatever rations they had, drinking whatever alcohol had survived in their inventories, and mourning those who died.

They ate without tasting; the food was just fuel to keep moving. Each bite felt heavy, like swallowing stones. The weight of the dead hung over them all.

The number of casualties was small but not insignificant. Around ten people died in the two combined quests. Ten faces that would never see another sunrise. Ten voices silenced forever. Some people cared; others didn't since they didn't know them, but the respect was still there.

Helga stood near the largest fire, her warhammer resting against her shoulder. She raised a battered flask high.

"To the bastards who didn't make it," she said. The camp quieted, all eyes turning to her. "They died well. They fought monsters and died on their feet. A good death. May they find peace in whatever lies beyond this nightmare."

The survivors raised their drinks. Some had proper glasses or mugs. Others simply lifted waterskins. The gesture mattered more than the container.

Helga chugged down her drink in one long pull. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and turned away from the fire.

She walked through the camp, past clusters of survivors who were too worn out to do anything but stare at the flames. She spotted Reidar sitting alone, away from the others, staring into a small fire of his own.

He sat on a fallen log with his back to the celebration, if it could be called that. A bear rested nearby, the massive creature's eyes half-closed in something approaching sleep.

Reidar hadn't joined the main camp. He needed silence. He poked at the embers with a stick, his mind a thousand miles away from the valley.

He thought about his parents. They were alive, but not how Reidar would have hoped them to be.

His mother was in a coma; his father, Matthias, had been forced to amputate his foot to survive.

Reidar couldn't process that. How had his quiet, gentle father, a doctor, achieved a level that rivaled Seraphine's in just a few months, all while caring for an invalid?

Most survivors struggled to break past level 70, yet his father had somehow reached triple digits while caring for an unconscious woman. That spoke of either remarkable dedication or remarkable circumstances. Probably both.

Then he thought about his wife and son. He pictured their faces, their voices, a memory that felt dangerously thin, like old parchment.

Their laughter echoed in his mind, Marcus's small hands gripping his fingers as they walked through Creamont's streets before everything changed.

Martha and Marcus were in Kingsgate, far to the west.

He wondered if they were safe, if they had found shelter, if they had enough food. He tried to figure out how long it would take to reach Kingsgate using the crows to fly.

With the Feral Pack proficiency high enough to share, he could summon the massive birds to protect himself and his companions. That meant Kingsgate wasn't impossible to reach.

But the distance was vast, and flying monsters would be a constant threat. Months of travel, at minimum. Maybe years.

Then he thought about Lena. She was with Jake and Seraphine, who knew where, hopefully getting treatment from whoever this person Seraphine talked about was.

For sure, Reidar had to ask Kara once they were done with the quests.

He wondered if the woman would be okay. Had they stopped the cursed flower's poison in time? Would she wake up whole, or would the toxin leave scars—visible or not—that never fully healed?

Was she still breathing? Had the Spriggans gotten her to safety? But another worry kept nagging at Reidar: There were too many people to worry about. Too many directions pulling his attention.

"You know, summoner," she slurred, nudging him with her elbow. "I've been watching you mope. I finally figured out your problem."

The words came from behind Reidar. Helga's voice was slurred but steady enough that most wouldn't notice.

Reidar sighed. "What?"

"You're just jealous of your skeletons."

Reidar stared at her, confused. "Why?"

"Because at least they know how to get a bone!"

Helga observed Reidar's shocked, cringed, and confused face.

"I'm just saying to stop moping, or your face will freeze that way!"

He sighed. "What do you want, Helga?"

"Just to talk." Helga walked around the log and dropped down beside him with less grace than usual.

She smelled of sweat, blood, and the cheap, high-proof alcohol her group favored. Not different from the usual, but certainly the scent was stronger than before. There was something in the way she settled onto the log that told him she'd had more than a few drinks. The way her shoulders relaxed just a fraction too much. There was a slight delay before her eyes focused on his face.

They sat in silence for a moment. Helga pulled out her flask and took another drink. She didn't offer it to Reidar.

"You never said where your group is located," Reidar said. Small talk seemed safer than dwelling on his thoughts.

Helga grinned.

"Why? Do you want to take over the place, or would you prefer to pay me a private visit?" She said this while implying a certain type of private visit.

Reidar shot Helga a scowl of annoyance.

She gave him a dashing smile as a response. She was clearly amused by his reaction.

"I'm from Gravenport. It used to be a little town just outside Creamont. It was only a few minutes' drive away, back when cars still worked." She took another swig from her flask, gesturing loosely with it.

"Now? Roads are gone, there are monsters everywhere, and it takes about thirty minutes to reach Creamont from there. Not exactly next door, but not some distant wasteland either."

Reidar realized that meant the place fell within the area the system sent the raid quest to. Everyone within five hundred square kilometers had received the notification. Gravenport must have been on the edge of that radius.

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