The Skyblight never truly stopped. But now, it came down as a fine mist—clinging to leaves and hair, painting the world in silver instead of grey. Erias welcomed it.
"Good enough to scout in."
He tightened the straps on his boots and stood near the cave's mouth, blade tucked into his belt. Garran was already stirring nearby, rolling his shoulders and reaching for his gear.
"I'll take this one," Erias said firmly.
Garran paused, brow creasing. "I'm good to go. You're the one that barely slept."
"You need the rest," Erias replied, eyes scanning the forest beyond. "You've been on your feet every day since we got here. The girl's still fevered, and someone has to be sharp if things turn bad while I'm gone."
Garran scoffed lightly. "Don't start acting like I'm old."
"You're not old," Erias said, glancing over. "You're just tired. And stubborn."
A beat passed. Garran exhaled through his nose. He didn't argue further, but his posture relaxed a notch, the weight in his shoulders easing as he leaned against the cave wall.
Lyara approached from the shadows near the fire pit, holding out a strip of cloth folded around something small.
"Rations," she said, handing it to him. "Dried roots and some mushrooms that you got yesterday. Enough to keep you going if the walk takes longer than expected."
"Thanks." Erias tucked the bundle into his satchel. He met her gaze briefly. "I'll be back before dusk. When I'm back we'll go through the overall layout of the land and if it's even worth settling there."
Lyara nodded, arms crossing over her chest. "Just don't be a fool, Erias. If the river's swarming, you turn around. We can survive one more day on scraps."
"No heroics," he repeated with a faint smirk. "Got it."
Then, with one last glance at the fog-wrapped woods, he stepped into the trees.
---
The sky hadn't cleared, but it had softened.
Mist hung low between the trees, cool against Erias's skin as he moved downhill. Each step pressed wet leaves into the earth, each breath drew the scent of sodden bark and turned soil. Somewhere behind him, the cave was still hidden in the trees—out of sight, out of sound.
He moved carefully, but quickly. His mind was on the riverbank.
There was a stretch near a bend in the water not far from the cave, where the land flattened and the trees thinned. Back before the flood, it had always seemed like a good place. Easy to reach. Open enough to build. Close enough to water for convenience but far enough to avoid drowning if the rain returned.
That had been the idea.
But when he reached the place, something inside him went still.
The river had changed.
What had once been a lazy curve of clear water now surged through a widened basin, its banks torn and reshaped by flood. Whole trees lay twisted at the edges, roots exposed like black veins. Mud coated the flattened earth, and standing pools of brackish water glimmered with a faint green sheen—mana-tainted, maybe. The kind that burned skin if you stayed too long.
The bank was gone.
It hadn't just flooded. It had _moved_.
Erias stood there for a moment, boot sinking half an inch into the sludge, then shook his head. _Not here,_ he muttered.
It would be suicide trying to build on ground this loose. And worse—there were tracks. Not from animals, not clean ones. Swirled imprints in the mud, half-washed away by rain, but still wide enough to suggest something heavy, something wrong, had passed through recently.
He turned away from the ruined spot, breath tight in his chest.
_There had to be something better._
He followed the river.
It was a gamble, leaving the known paths and moving deeper. He kept his blade at the ready, footsteps cautious, ears straining for the unnatural buzz of mana beasts. But what guided him wasn't fear. It was instinct.
And sound.
The further he went, the louder the river became—not just in volume, but in depth. The tone of it changed, from flow to _roar_.
Erias pushed through a curtain of overgrowth and stopped dead.
There it was.
The forest fell away in a sudden drop—a sheer rock ledge, twenty meters high, where the river cascaded in a thunderous sheet down into a wide stone basin below. Mist rose in thick plumes from where water met stone, and further down, the river calmed again, meandering forward as if nothing had happened.
But it wasn't the water that caught his attention.
It was the _shelf_.
A wide, natural platform of stone extended out along the cliff's side. It wasn't smooth, but it was flat enough, dry in patches, and naturally braced by rock behind it. Trees arched high overhead, and there was a partial overhang to shield from rain. To the left, the slope narrowed into a climbable incline. To the right, the shelf curved toward the base of the waterfall—close enough to make fishing almost absurdly easy.
He stepped forward slowly, testing the rock underfoot.
Solid.
Wide enough for at least one structure, maybe more. The river's sound was deafening here, but that meant it would mask other noise too—movement, construction, maybe even fire.
He crouched near the edge and watched the pool.
The fish below were a frenzy of silver flashes, stirred by the storm's aftermath. Erias spotted at least three species—sharp fins, rounded bellies, rapid swimmers. Plentiful. Hungry. And likely easy to trap with some netting or stone enclosures.
No rot. No mana haze. Just clean, churning water.
This place wasn't just better than the riverbank.
It was _perfect_.
He stood, brushing mist from his sleeves, heart pounding not with fear—but with a strange rush of purpose. Of direction. _This could work._
As he turned to begin mapping the area in his mind, he caught motion again—this time in the foliage.
His body dropped low, blade drawn in an instant, breath caught.
But it was no beast.
Just a flicker of grey—small, rabbit-like, uncorrupted. Quick. It darted into view, paused.
Erias didn't hesitate.
He flung the blade low, and it struck home. Clean kill.
He moved to retrieve it, crouching by the creature's body. Still warm. Its fur was thick and healthy. A perfect morale boost.
He wrapped it quickly and slung it over his shoulder. Before leaving, he scanned the area again—noting the slope, the brush density, a pocket in the cliff wall that could serve as shelter or storage.
_This was it._ The start of something real.
With one last look over the mist-draped waterfall, he began the long hike back—this time with certainty in his steps.
The girl slept, finally.
It wasn't restful—her limbs still twitched from time to time, and her breaths were shallow—but she didn't moan or stir. Lyara sat beside her with her back to the cave wall, the damp chill sinking through her clothes, through her bones.
Across from her, Garran was quieter than usual.
He leaned against the stone near the entrance, one knee drawn up, elbow resting on it. The mist outside had thickened again, curling like smoke across the forest floor. Occasionally he'd glance into it, as if willing Erias to reappear.
Lyara's hands were busy with a strip of cloth she'd been trying to repurpose into a cleaner sling or band. Her fingers trembled slightly, but she ignored it.
"You have kids?"
The question slipped out before she could stop it.
Garran blinked and turned his head toward her. "No."
She waited, but that was all he offered.
"Sorry," she said softly. "That was too direct."
"No," he said after a moment. "It's fine. You weren't the first to ask."
She glanced at him. "You just... seem like you'd be a father."
Garran gave a dry, humorless huff. "Because I'm grumpy and tired all the time?"
"Because you care," Lyara said simply.
That shut him up.
He scratched his beard. "I had a niece. Branna. Ten years old. Wild as they come. Always putting frogs in my boots or hiding my belt before patrol. She laughed like a damn bird."
A silence followed. Not cold, not awkward—just real.
"She didn't make it," Lyara guessed.
Garran didn't answer at first. Then he said, "When the flood first started her house was the first place I went. There wasn't much left of it. Her bed was still there. Floating."
Lyara looked down at the cloth in her hands.
"I'm sorry."
He shrugged, but it was a stiff, jerky motion. "I think about what I'd say to her. If I could. Yell at her for being a menace. Or… thank her. For being brighter than the rest of us."
"You think that's what we lost?" Lyara asked. "The bright ones?"
"Feels like it," he said. "Like the flood didn't just wash out buildings—it took the light with it."
Lyara swallowed, her throat dry. "My sister used to sing. Loud and terrible and always off-key. Drove my mother mad. But when she sang, it made the house feel bigger. Like the walls couldn't hold her voice."
"You lose her too?"
Lyara nodded.
They didn't speak for a while.
Outside, the wind shifted, brushing leaves in soft patterns. A bird called somewhere—sharp and quick—and the mist swirled.
Eventually, Garran said, "We'll make a new kind of light, I guess. Even if it's small."
Lyara gave him a sideways look. "That was almost poetic."
He grunted. "Don't tell Erias. He'll think I've gone soft."
The brush near the cave rustled.
Garran straightened immediately, his fingers sliding to the hilt of his makeshift blade. Lyara reached for a rock without thinking, curling her fingers around it as she shifted to guard the girl's side.
A familiar shape appeared through the mist—broad shoulders, steady gait, a worn satchel slung low.
Erias.
He stepped through the trees, spotted them both on alert, and gave a tired nod as he approached.
"No trouble?" Garran asked, lowering his stance.
"No," Erias said. "But not for lack of trying. There's movement out there. Packs of beasts. Big ones."
He unslung the satchel, crouched by the unlit fire pit, and began pulling out his haul. Mushrooms—white-capped and earthy. A few thick roots. And finally, with a faint grin, a limp creature by its hind legs—rabbit-shaped but with strange ears and a short horn on its brow.
Garran's eyes lit up. "Meat?"
Erias nodded. "Caught it near a thicket by the waterfall. Fast, but clean."
Garran gave a low whistle and chuckled. "Well, look at us. Back on top. Meat on the table—" He looked toward the empty fire pit and raised an eyebrow. "—and not a damn piece of dry wood to cook it with."
Without a word, Erias reached into his satchel again and pulled out a bundle of small, dry twigs wrapped tightly in cloth. He dropped it beside the fire pit with a faint smirk. "You were saying?"
Garran laughed, shaking his head. "You're a beautiful man, Erias. If I weren't so hungry, I'd kiss you."
"You can thank me after we've eaten."
Lyara let out a soft snort, already moving toward the fire pit. "Let's get it started before we all lose our minds."
Garran watched the flames quietly. "She'll eat first," he said, glancing toward the girl. "Then you two. I'll take what's left."
"We'll split it proper," Erias replied, pulling a cloth over his knees.
Garran didn't argue. But he didn't agree either.
As the meat cooked, Erias began detailing the site he'd found.
"There's a ridge to the south," he said. "Sharp incline—maybe twenty meters down. The river runs over it, into a drop that forms a waterfall. The shelf below is mostly stone and slope, but dry. Stable. There's enough space to build."
Lyara looked up, interested. "Fish?"
"A lot. After a flood like this, they're stirred up. Practically leaping from the water. We'd have a consistent supply."
"And the ground?" Garran asked.
"Usable," Erias said. "Rough in places, but it flattens out on one end. Trees nearby. If we can fell some, we could start putting something together."
They listened as he spoke—not just to the words, but to the tone. There was something in his voice now. Some excitement and direction.
Once cooked, the meat was carved, split, and passed around in modest portions. The girl took hers slowly, chewing with effort. Lyara kept close by her side, watching her breathe.
Garran devoured his bit in two bites. "Might be rabbit. Might be the best meal I've ever had. Can't tell anymore."
"Don't get used to it," Erias said, chewing his share. "We're still on a mushroom and root diet until we build something worth calling home."
The fire's warmth was shallow, but it was enough. Enough to drive back the cold for a few hours. Enough to let their bodies rest.
For the first time since the flood, the silence in the cave didn't feel empty. It felt earned.
And outside, the mist rolled quietly past the trees—thick and watching, but distant.
For now.