Much to the annoyance of professor Kaelthorne, the unprepared students took much longer to collect their equipment than she'd expected. They finally left shortly after the ninth' bell under an overcast sky.

The outer Wildewood loomed ahead like a wall of autumn colors. Ancient, dense, and heavy with waiting silence. The air was thick with the scent of moss, loam, and something sweeter underneath, like overripe fruit just past harvest.

The path wound through the forest like a ribbon of gold and rust, littered with fallen leaves that crunched beneath their boots. Shafts of sunlight pierced the canopy, casting warm orange glows and deep, shifting shadows on the ground. Despite the beauty, the mood remained tense.

The first-year students, about three dozen students, marched in loose formation down the winding trail. More gear floated behind them in an enchanted crate, controlled by Silvea Eastramble. Since the group was supposed to solve problems mostly themselves, she walked at the rear and didn't interfere unless she had to.

No one spoke much after the first hour. Even Faya, who had started the trip humming some kind of priestess melody about "marching toward the light," had fallen silent.

Weylan and Ulmenglanz walked at the front of the procession, their eyes scanning for danger. Birds chirped overhead, but here and there came stranger noises. A low, rhythmic thrum like distant drums, the rustling of undergrowth that stopped when heads turned to investigate, or the faint chitter of unseen critters flitting between branches.

The breeze carried the scent of moss and damp bark. He kept his weapon ready. So did most of the others.

Behind him, Faya skipped lightly over tree roots, keeping pace with surprising ease despite Sir Cloverton tucked in a pouch at her side. The verdant hare seemed quite content, blinking at the world with slow, sleepy eyes.

Alina marched using her quarterstaff as a walking staff, her eyes scanning the forest, eager for battle.

Mirabelle was huffing behind. She mostly ignored her position as a team leader, but kept an eye out for problems.

Weylan kept his eyes on the forest, until he heard Faya's delighted squeal from behind. "Oh, look at that! Isn't it adorable?"

Several heads turned. Slithering along a mossy log just off the trail was a creature unlike any they'd seen. A long, sinuous snake, covered in downy red fur, with little tufts that made it look more like a plush toy than a predator. Its tiny black eyes blinked curiously.

Faya crouched. "Hey there, little buddy. Don't be scared..."

"Faya!" Ulmenglanz hissed, hand frozen halfway through a protective gesture. "Don't!"

But it was too late. Faya's fingers had already brushed the creature's head. The snake coiled gently, then stretched out along the log, apparently enjoying the attention. Faya giggled and gave it a few more slow, gentle pats, stroking its soft fur. The snake let out a faint, contented trill, curled itself once around her wrist, and only then uncoiled and slithered off into the underbrush, vanishing in the underbrush.

Faya stood and turned with a satisfied smile… Only to be met by a ring of horror-struck faces.

Silvea, the druid-ranger senior student, rushed forward, face pale. "Do you know what you just touched?!"

Faya blinked. "A very good snake?"

"That was a bearbelt viper," Silvea said, voice flat. "Its venom paralyzes instantly. Then the heart stops. If it hadn't enjoyed the petting... you'd be dead. I'm don't think the standard antivenom we carry would work at all."

Faya's smile faltered. "But it liked it."

"Yeah," Weylan muttered, stepping in to steady her. "This time."

Mirabelle clutched her head. "I thought I was going to throw up."

Faya looked down at her hands. "It was really soft."

"New rule," Silvea said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "No petting the wildlife. I don't care how adorable or fuzzy or sleepy it looks. We're not here to start a petting zoo."

Weylan nodded. "Right. No touching anything that slithers. Or purrs. Or has more than the usual number of eyes."

Erik whispered from the back, "She petted a bearbelt and lived. That's legendary."

Silvea turned and glared. "Try that, and you'll be legendary in the memorial hall."

They marched on, the mood shifting from awe to anxiety. The forest, though beautiful, seemed to lean in around them, shadows crowding just outside the reach of the light. Strange silhouettes moved between the trees, too quick to be identified, always just at the corner of vision.

A short time later, the path led them to a narrow stone bridge spanning a steep ravine. The bridge looked solid at a glance, but heavy rain had loosened the stonework on one side since they. When Erik, marching in the middle of the formation, stepped too far to the left, a stone gave way and crumbled beneath his foot.

He flailed but caught himself. A loud crack echoed as part of the sidewall collapsed into the ravine. Everyone froze.

Silvea held up a hand. "No more walking single file. We cross only one at a time."

They formed a tight circle at the bridge entrance, tempers flaring as fatigue and stress mounted. Kane suggested going around. Ulmenglanz offered to grow a vine bridge. Faya insisted she could jump it. Alina and Mirabelle began bickering if a divine blessing would increase the structural integrity.

Weylan raised his voice. "Wait… let's tie a rope alongside the bridge. Anchored apart from it and pulled tight. That way, whoever crosses can grab on if the stones shift again. No one would be in danger of dropping if the bridge collapses. If it doesn't, we've crossed. If it does, we can still think of a new solution to cross."

Silvea nodded. "Do it."

She provided a long enough rope from the floating crate. Weylan, sure his danger sense would warn him of a collapse and certain in his ability to cross fast enough even if it did, went to the other side and tied the rope to a sturdy tree. Kane did the same on the their side, after pulling it tight.

Kaelthorne, notably absent in person, remained silent. True to her word, the students were on their own.

Everyone crossed safely. Even the floating crate followed, gliding slowly over the ravine.

When the last of them reached the other side, Silvea gave the bridge one long look. "Too many stones shifted, and the load cracks are spreading. We won't use it again. On the way back, we take the long route. The academy will have to send a team of craftsmen to repair the bridge."

They continued.

When she finally stopped near a low ridge beside a ring of moss-covered standing stones, she turned and pointed.

"We make camp here. Set up warding rods. Rotate watch in pairs. I'll be patrolling directly at the campsite. Anything dangerous getting near enough that I need to step in, will result in point reductions for the patrol team.

They got to work. The floating box contained the tents they had to assemble.

The academy had provided sleek, efficient tents, lightweight and enchanted for water resistance. Each was designed to fit a single person and its backpack. Most of the nobles looked at the collapsible rods and fabric sheets as if they'd been handed a puzzle box without instructions.

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Weylan, who had helped his father pitch tents and shelter tarps during hillside storms since he was seven, got to work without comment. Within minutes, his tent stood perfectly upright, tied down at smart angles and the seams tight.

Mirabelle was glaring at a snapped support rod, then at the scroll with detailed assembly instructions she'd procured right before they'd left.

Alina had trapped herself inside her own half-assembled canvas and was swearing like a sailor she'd listened too long at the fish-market.

Faya had managed to connect the rods, but all of her sheets were waving gently in the wind.

Erik stared at the instructions, then at Weylan's already-completed tent. "I'm just going to copy whatever you did."

Ulmenglanz, to her credit, had assembled hers almost silently and was now braiding some nearby ivy vines over the entrance for decoration. She didn't look smug about it. Which somehow made it worse.

Selvara, still in raven form, landed on a nearby branch and tilted her head, watching the progress.

"They're hopeless," she said privately to Weylan.

"They'll figure it out," Weylan murmured under his breath, pulling a second rope taut for Erik's tent. "Eventually."

"Someone is following us. A humanoid, probably quite small. Couldn't see it directly," Selvara added.

Weylan nodded subtly. He'd noticed the forest getting silent at odd moments. And right now, it seemed to hold its breath. Maybe because of the odd humans building a camp, but maybe it was something else.

Normally the Wildewood, even this far out, would have been alive with calls. Frogs, insects, and the occasional distant cry of something large and harmless but noisy. Now, all he could hear was wind in the canopy, the rustle of branches, and the occasional grunt of frustration as someone stabbed themselves with a tent peg.

By nightfall, they had set up a full camp.

Silvea got out the warding rods, but Mirabelle just scoffed and signaled her to put them away. "You've got three priestesses of Liselotte with you. There will be no need for common alarm wards."

A central fire circle burned with low, clean flame thanks to Silvea's druidic abilities. Watch rotations were assigned, and a kettle with stew was set up.

The priestesses surrounded the fire, building a triangle around it. On a count of three from Mirabelle, they lifted their hands and intoned a prayer to Lieselotte.

O Lieselotte, Lady of Home and Family, we call upon your warmth beneath this open sky.

Let this fire become more than light and heat. Make it a beacon of safety, a cradle of comfort, a flickering thread that binds us as kin beneath the stars.

Shield us from chill, from hunger, from harm. Let no one enter our fleeting home with ill intent.

As smoke rises to the heavens, it shall carry our thanks, for this fire shall be a hearth till dawn wakes the world anew.

The campfire turned golden for a moment, then returned to normal. But its warmth seemed to spread far wider than before. The shadows of the trees, moments before dark and menacing, turned into mere absence of light. Tempers calmed down.

Faya watched Kane and Erik trying to prepare the stew for a while, then went to help.

Everyone not on watch or cooking gathered at the campfire. Alina got out a book and started skimming the content. Mirabelle blinked, then frowned. "Say, isn't that the mark of Bookhalla on your book?"

Alina didn't look up. "Sure. That's where I got it."

Mirabelle's frown deepened. "You're not supposed to remove books from the academy grounds."

Alina shrugged. "No one will know. And what would they do? Send assassins after me?"

Everyone chuckled, then all fell silent. Each trying, and failing, to not be seen looking around for hidden attackers.

Alina looked at them with a raising eyebrow. "They wouldn't, would they?"

Mirabelle shrugged. "The book-goblins sure did threaten something along that line." She got out a scroll where she'd copied the spell notation for the new spell she'd decided to learn.

After a filling meal, Mirabelle noticed Weylans thoughtful expression. She nudged him. "Thinking about your new girl-friend, are you?"

He startled and got the attention of the others. Faya looked exited. "Oh! Weylan met someone? Who is it? A senior student? A teacher? No… The sneaky bitch from our class?"

Lyriel seemed to fade in from nothing not far from her. "Hey! I'm right here!"

Faya gave her a superior look. "Yeah. And I noticed you when you got your bowl of stew."

Alina slowly lowered her quarterstaff she'd reflexively lifted to strike at the suddenly appearing Lyriel. To distract from her almost braining a classmate, she turned to Weylan. "You have been unfaithful? Are we three not enough for you?"

Several students gave out low whistles. Weylan's face turned crimson, then he pulled on all of his willpower to recover. "I met a library assistant who just happens to be female."

"And a flesh-golem," Mirabelle added. That got everyone's attention and Weylan had no other choice but to tell the whole story, including what he knew of Stitch's creation.

He kept his tone calm, weaving the tale carefully. Her origins, the necromancer's attack, the aftermath… He told it all mostly to avoid future fear-driven reactions from his classmates, should they also stumble upon her in the library. Or outside, as he'd planned to get her out of hiding and meet new people. One thing he'd felt while talking to her, was that she seemed quite lonely.

The story about the necromancer's ritual gone wrong was met with gasps from most listeners.

Erik nodded solemnly. "I know that part. My father was one of the commanding officers during the attack."

"Really?" Alina leaned forward. "Tell!"

"Well, he always said they arrived maybe an hour too late. The lich had overpowered the local guards and herded the villagers into the town hall. Dragged them there one by one. Kicking and screaming. No one surrenders to the undead."

He paused, then continued. "When the army arrived with arcane knights, Wildeguard elites, even nobles' house guards, they hit hard. The knights stormed straight in and cut the lich apart. Burned every last piece. He's not coming back."

Kane didn't seem so sure. "What about his phylactery?"

Erik looked confused. "His what?"

"Isn't that a thing here? Nevermind. I'll look that up in the library."

Weylan asked quietly, "Did he mention anything about Stitch?"

Erik shook his head. "No. I never heard a thing about a flesh golem or anything like that. He left right after the fight to escort the wounded. I assumed the bodies were burned."

Alina frowned. "But why did they mix several bodies? If they had whole ones, why not just... pick the best?"

Faya winced and hugged the hare protectively.

Weylan nodded. "Right? Seems... unnecessary."

Everyone looked to Mirabelle, who blinked, then said, "Isn't that obvious?"

"Not for everyone. Explain, please," Alina said.

"First, next of kin decide what happens to a body. Unless there's an emergency cremation. If someone came back and found their daughter turned into a golem, they could demand her destruction. Using mixed parts blurs that line and makes it very hard for anyone to claim her."

"Okay, but how do you know that?" Alina asked.

"Healer training. Legal basics. Second week. You were there."

Alina groaned. "I must've been out getting chalk."

Mirabelle continued. "There's more. Golems must be designed, so the enchantment could fail if you don't adjust the body to the core. Human bodies contain lots of organs and empty spaces a golem doesn't need. And... If the enchanter managed to concentrate the rampant lifeforce of each body into the one part he used, the golem would... Ooh… Of course he did. She must be practically immortal. Wow."

Alina's eyes lit up. "So, she's like... an indestructible monster?"

"She's not a monster," Weylan snapped.

"She's still flesh and blood," Mirabelle said. "She'll regenerate, sure. But that will take a bit of her limited supply each time. Eventually her lifeforce will run out. Then she'll start to decay."

Weylan frowned. "Couldn't she be preserved with magic?"

"There are preservation spells," Mirabelle admitted. "But then she'd consist of cold dead preserved flesh. Now... she's basically alive."

"She feels warm," Weylan added, then noticed the grins around the fire. "We shook hands!"

Mirabelle patted his shoulder. "Of course you did."

Aldrich, silent until now, raised a brow. "You're all missing the simplest explanation. Her creator made her like this... because he could. When does anyone get a chance like that?"

Weylan opened his mouth to thank him.

"I would of course recommend to remove the core to power a warmachine," Aldrich added casually. "We'll need every asset to stop the Krigesti."

Weylan sputtered, but Mirabelle just tilted her head. "It does seem a bit wasteful. Not that we'd harm Stitch, just... do you know how hard it is to make a golem core?"

"She's not just a core," he said.

Aldrich started counting on his fingers. "Let's see… For a golem core you'd need a strong enough beast-core. From at least a Master tier monster, so a level eleven beast or higher. That's something you'd need an army to kill."

Kane scoffed. "Or a team of mighty heroes."

"Yeah, as if there'd be some of those willing to do something useful." Alina interjected.

Aldrich continued, ignoring the interjections. "Then you'd need to include several gemstones to hold the spell-matrices, a cerebrum-crystal to hold the golems intelligence, a plating of mythril, and an elaborate enchantment ritual."

Mirabelle snapped her finger. "Mythril. I forgot you'd have to connect every body part to the golem-core with mythril-wire. So you'd have to cut open the base body anyways."

Weylan crossed his arms. "I don't care how expensive and powerful a golem-core is. This one is not available."

The discussion carried on for some time before drifting to a new topic. As night fell, Mirabelle reminded everyone on the patrol schedule and suggested everyone go to bed. Tired from early waking and the long march, there were few protests.

Mirabelle stood last, her arms folded. "Second watch is yours," she said, nodding toward him and Ulmenglanz.

Weylan gave a small nod in return. He didn't mind. The night was cool, and something about the silence after a long day felt grounding.

Weylan crawled into his tent with a quiet sigh. Across the camp, the others did the same among the sound of rustling fabric, muffled yawns, and then stillness.

He lay on his back for a while, staring at the slanted ceiling, listening to the forest sounds creeping in around them: the distant calls of night birds, the whispers of wind in the leaves, the crackling of the campfire.

A soft rustle signaled Ulmenglanz slipping into her own tent nearby. No words were exchanged. None were needed. They both knew second watch would come soon.

Weylan closed his eyes, not expecting to sleep deeply. Just enough to take the edge off. Just enough to be ready.

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