They didn't get far.
Maybe a mile.
Maybe less.
The Broken East didn't measure distance the same way other places did. The ground slanted upward, then sideways, then flattened into stone ridges that overlooked pits too deep to see the bottom. Wind crawled through the fractures, whispering instead of screaming now.
That was worse.
Whispers meant space.
Space meant things could hide.
Aiden slowed, raising a fist.
The group halted.
Isamu stopped beside him, breathing steady, eyes still bright from the fight.
"You hear it?" Isamu whispered.
"No," Aiden said.
"That's what I mean."
They stood still.
Nothing moved.
No wind.
No shifting stone.
No skittering limbs.
Just the wrong kind of quiet.
Aiden scanned the terrain.
High ledges.
Collapsed arches.
Thin spines of rock sticking up like ribs.
Perfect vantage points.
"We're not alone," he said.
Someone behind him swallowed.
"Another one of those things?"
"I don't think so."
That answer made it worse.
Aiden crouched, touching the ground.
Dust.
Fresh.
Scuffed in places where no one in their group had stepped.
Footprints.
Human.
Leading up the slope.
Stopping.
Isamu leaned over his shoulder.
"…You're kidding."
Aiden shook his head.
"They're watching."
From above.
From somewhere clever.
A small stone clinked against rock.
Soft.
Too deliberate.
Aiden's head snapped up.
Shapes shifted along a distant ridge.
Cloaks.
Hoods.
Weapons slung low.
Not running.
Not charging.
Observing.
"How many?" Isamu murmured.
Aiden counted.
"…Five."
Then another moved.
"…Six."
A third.
"Eight."
Someone cursed quietly.
A figure stepped forward on the ridge.
Tall.
Thin.
Face hidden behind a scarf pulled up to the eyes.
One hand lifted.
Not a wave.
A signal.
Two of the figures vanished behind stone.
Flanking.
"Great," Isamu muttered. "Already hate them."
Aiden didn't answer.
His fingers brushed his sword hilt.
The others behind him shifted nervously.
These weren't panicked players.
These were people who'd learned this place.
Aiden took two steps forward.
The figure mirrored him.
They stopped.
Wind rolled between them.
"Don't come closer," the stranger called.
Voice calm.
Too calm.
Aiden raised his hands slightly. Not surrender.
Visibility.
"We're passing through."
"Everyone is."
"We don't want a fight."
The figure tilted their head.
"Neither do we."
Pause.
"…Usually."
Isamu exhaled through his nose.
Aiden didn't move.
"How long have you been out here?" he asked.
The ridge went quiet.
That was answer enough.
"Longer than you," the figure said.
"Then you know what those creatures are."
"Some of them."
"What was that one?"
The figure hesitated.
Just a fraction.
"Crawler."
Isamu blinked.
"…That's it?"
"It fits."
Aiden filed that away.
Short name.
Practical.
"Why follow us?" Aiden asked.
The figure's eyes flicked briefly toward where the creature had fallen back along the route.
"You killed one."
"That rare?"
"Yes."
"…Cleanly."
Isamu cracked his neck.
"Define clean."
The stranger didn't smile.
"Most people lose someone."
Aiden felt the weight of that settle.
"And you didn't," the figure continued.
"That makes you interesting."
He didn't like that word.
"What do you want?" Aiden asked.
"To know if you're a problem."
"And if we are?"
The figure gestured slightly.
The rocks shifted again.
More silhouettes revealed themselves.
Higher up.
Lower down.
They'd been surrounded longer than Aiden realized.
Isamu leaned close.
"Say the word."
Aiden didn't.
Yet.
He kept his eyes on the ridge leader.
"We're not looking for territory."
"Everyone says that."
"We're heading west after this."
Another pause.
The figure studied him.
Then—
A sharp whistle cut through the air.
From behind Aiden.
Everyone spun.
Another group.
Different.
Three people stepping out from between stone spires—armed, dirty, nervous.
Caught between both sides.
The ridge figures tensed.
So did Aiden's group.
Isamu grinned.
"Ohhh," he muttered. "This just got fun."
Aiden sighed.
"…Yeah."
Too many eyes.
Too many guns.
Too much power in the air no one understood yet.
Somewhere in the Broken East—
People were about to learn who mattered.