The next morning came with the scent of rain. The forest canopy trapped the cool air, and droplets clung to every leaf and branch like beads of glass. Moss led Bran along the ridge trail, the chocobo's talons clacking softly against stone. Behind him, Dole, Cid, Rosa, and the others fanned out, their eyes alert and hands near weapons.
They had already spent hours tracking game and setting markers along the clearer paths—scraps of cloth tied to branches, carved notches in bark. The forest stretched endlessly, full of half-hidden trails and damp clearings that seemed to shift every time the wind changed.
Cid stopped at a rocky outcrop and knelt, scraping his pick against the stone. "Iron," he said after a moment, rubbing the dust between his fingers. "Not much on the surface, but a solid vein below. We'll need better tools to reach it, though."
"Still worth marking," Moss said. He drove a wooden stake into the ground and tied a strip of red cloth around it. "If the settlement's going to stand, it'll need metal more than food."
"Speak for yourself," Dole muttered, slinging a haunch of wild game over his shoulder. "Can't eat iron."
Rosa smiled faintly, brushing her hair from her face. "You could try, but I wouldn't have the stomach to heal what follows."
The others chuckled, and the tension that had been hanging over the group lightened a little. Even the chocobos seemed calmer as they pushed deeper into the forest, the trail sloping downward toward a stream.
By midday, they had taken down three horned grazers and marked several more routes that could be cleared later for carts. The game was lean, but it would feed a good number of people. Moss felt a small measure of relief—they finally had something to bring back that wasn't just stories of monsters and aether beasts.
Still, the forest wasn't silent. More than once, he caught a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye—branches swaying where no wind passed, the faint crunch of leaves too heavy for a bird.
It wasn't only him.
"Anyone else hear that?" said one of the soldiers from the second team, glancing toward the trees.
The others froze. Moss raised a hand for quiet. The forest seemed to hold its breath. Then—nothing. Only the sound of water and distant birds.
"Probably a boar," Cid offered, though his voice was low. "They've got good noses. Could be watching us."
"Maybe," Moss said. "Either way, stay sharp."
They finished collecting what they could and started the trek back. The forest thickened as the sun dipped behind the ridge, shadows stretching long and deep. Every so often, Dole glanced over his shoulder, his jaw tight.
It wasn't fear exactly, but unease—the kind that clings to a soldier's instincts after years of surviving the Empire's campaigns.
When they reached the clearing where they had slain the aether beast the day before, the air still carried a faint shimmer of blue. The crystal Serra had given them pulsed once in Moss's pack, then fell still again.
"Still reacting," Dole muttered. "Guess this place doesn't forget easy."
Moss didn't reply. He looked once more into the forest, feeling that same quiet pull in his chest—the faint quickening of his heart he couldn't quite explain. Something unseen was out there, watching, but not with hunger or hatred. It felt older than either.
When they finally made it back to the settlement at dusk, Rosa organized the food into the growing stores while Cid hauled the marked maps to the blacksmith's tent for refining.
Dole leaned against a post, wiping sweat and dirt from his brow. "Not bad for a day's work," he said. "Metal, meat, and no one dead. I'll take it."
"Let's not tempt the next trip," Moss said quietly.
But even as he spoke, his gaze drifted to the treeline. For just a moment, the faint outline of a figure shimmered there—tall, cloaked in earth-toned leathers, unmoving. When he blinked, it was gone.
He didn't mention it to the others.
Far beyond the camp, in the dim green depths of the forest, the watcher crouched among the roots, blending seamlessly with the soil and moss. Its eyes glowed faintly amber as it studied the new settlers—their tools, their beasts, their strange crystal pulsing faintly with captured aether.
Then, without a sound, the warden scout slipped back into the wilds.