"Yes, that's the name of this whole region, stretching as far as the eye can see," Aries said, stretching out her arm in a wide, sweeping arc across the horizon. Her finger pointed toward the distant, rolling hills and the faint silhouette of mountains veiled in mist. "From the Whispering Woods in the east to the Stonefang Peaks in the north, and all the valleys and rivers between. It's all Camelot."
Koby followed her gesture, trying to map the grand scale onto his limited knowledge. "I had a Camelot back in my world," he said softly, a note of wonder in his voice. "Only in history books and stories, though. Castles, knights, round tables. Never did see it myself."
"Well, this is Camelot," Aries affirmed, lowering her arm. She settled down gracefully onto the thick, velvety moss, surrounded by the gentle, pulsing glow of the luminescent mushrooms. "Although it's no longer the kingdom it used to be."
"What do you mean?" Koby asked, joining her on the soft ground, the cool dampness seeping through his trousers.
"A war," she said, her voice growing quieter, more solemn. "A long, terrible war tore the heart out of Camelot generations ago. Shattered the old monarchy. Now the lands are governed by a council of lords, merchants, and guild masters from the major towns. No more kings and queens ruling from a single throne."
Koby absorbed this, his gaze drifting over the vibrant, untamed beauty of the hidden grove. It was hard to reconcile this peaceful, wild place with tales of ancient cataclysm. "Wow. But it still managed to survive, though," he observed, directing his hands toward the flourishing ferns and glowing flora around them. "Life… finds a way, doesn't it?"
"That's true," Aries agreed, a small, genuine smile returning to her lips. "The towns are still beautiful in their own way. Full of the hustle and bustle of town folk, markets that smell of spices and smoke, scenery that can steal your breath… and the old, abandoned castle on the hill overlooking it all. Even the academy has its own kind of grandeur."
Koby's head snapped toward her. "There's an academy?"
"Yes," she said, plucking a blade of grass and twisting it between her fingers. "The Lyceum of Applied Arts and Aura. It's a learning institution for those who want to become true masters of their crafts—blacksmiths, alchemists, scribes—or for adventurers, soldiers, healers… a lot more. They teach theory, history, and advanced practical application."
"That sounds amazing," Koby said, his eyes lighting up with a mixture of curiosity and longing. "So there are actual places that teach how to master different crafts? And aura? Not just… figuring it out while running for your life?"
"Yeah," Aries nodded. "Structured learning, mentors, libraries full of scrolls. The whole thing. And you…" she pointed the blade of grass at him, "you'll probably have to join the Player's Annex at the Lyceum. Just in time, too, before your Awakening Scenario starts."
Koby's hopeful expression dimmed. He let out a heavy sigh, the weight of his strange destiny settling back onto his shoulders. He leaned back until his spine rested against the rough, cool bark of a giant tree. "I still don't know what an Awakening Scenario is even supposed to look like. No one will give me a straight answer."
"Unfortunately," Aries said, her voice softening with sympathy, "I don't either. Not really. I've only heard stories. I do know it's a… ruthless procedure. A trial that players have to pass through to become fully known to the Supreme Beings, to be woven into the fabric of this world's fate. It's when you stop being a visitor and become a part of Nyxoria's story, for better or worse."
"Argh," Koby groaned, closing his eyes. "Just when I start to think this world might be okay, that I could maybe even like it here, something else jumps out to remind me that I'm just a guest on death's doorstep."
"Hey," Aries said, her tone firming. "Don't write your epitaph yet. There hasn't been a record of a new main scenario—the really big, world-shaking ones—in years. Decades, even. The ones that happen now are smaller, localized. Dangerous, but survivable. I'm sure you'll be able to handle it."
"Well, me and my friends still have to find a way back home," Koby reminded her, opening his eyes to stare at the fragmented green sky above the canopy. "That's the goal. We don't belong here. This is all just… survival until we can find the exit."
Aries watched him for a long moment, her head tilted. "How is it?" she asked gently. "Back home?"
Koby was silent. His chest tightened. The memory of his world—the roar of engines, the glow of screens, the hum of invisible networks, the crushing, lonely normality of it all—flooded in, stark and alien against the primal beauty of the glowing grove. It felt like trying to describe colour to someone born blind.
"It's… nothing like here," he finally said, his voice distant. "A whole different era. A different… everything. It's kinda hard to explain." He shifted uncomfortably, visibly disturbed by the effort, by the chasm of experience that opened between them with the question.
Aries was quick. She saw the shadow cross his face, the way his shoulders hunched slightly. She changed the subject with the natural ease of someone who understood when a path was too painful to walk down.
"Alright then," she said, her voice brightening deliberately as she clapped her hands together. "Enough gloomy talk. Let's see how your aura control is so 'sloppy,' as you put it."
"How?" Koby asked, grateful for the shift, pushing himself upright.
"See that red fruit up there?" She pointed upward, through a gap in the canopy. High above them, near the very top of a towering tree that must have been nine meters tall, a single, plump, crimson fruit hung from a slender branch, looking like a drop of blood against the green and gold leaves.
Koby craned his neck, his eyes widening. "Isn't that a little bit higher than what we normally do?" he asked, a note of genuine concern in his voice.
Aries turned to him, a smile playing on her lips that was almost a mockery, but her eyes glittered with pure, challenging mischief. "Are you scared?"
Koby met her gaze, and a slow, competitive grin spread across his own face. "Well played, Aries," he conceded. Without another word, he took a deep breath, centred himself, and focused. A subtle shimmer of aura, concentrated and brief, flared around the soles of his feet. He pushed off the mossy ground in a powerful, controlled leap, catching the lowest sturdy branch of the massive tree. From there, he began his ascent, moving with a new, thoughtful precision, calculating each handhold and foothold, managing the faint flow of energy within him to aid his climb without waste.
In the quiet, hay-scented dimness of the animal shed, Axle poured a last measure of grain into the trough. The goats and the single, elderly draft horse nudged each other companionably as they ate, the only sounds the crunch of teeth on oats and the soft rustle of straw. Axle leaned against the rough wooden partition, watching them but not really seeing them. His thoughts were a tangled knot, pulling tighter with every passing day.
"Thought I smelled smoke."
Rowan's voice, dry and familiar, came from the shed's entrance, startling Axle from his reverie. The older man stood silhouetted in the rectangle of daylight, his arms crossed.
"What?" Axle asked, blinking.
"You shouldn't think too much," Rowan said, stepping inside. The golden dust motes swirled around him. "You'll burn through the remaining brain cells you have." A rare, teasing smile crept up his weathered cheek.
"Very funny, old man," Axle replied in a flat, humourless tone, turning back to the animals.
Rowan's smile didn't fade as he walked fully into the shed, his boots whispering through the loose straw. "What's got your gears turning so hard I can hear them grinding from the cottage?"
"Just thinking," Axle muttered, trying to deflect the conversation by fussing with a bucket.
"You're going to tell me," Rowan said, his voice losing its playful edge, gaining a slight, familiar irritation, "or should I guess? And my guesses tend to be annoyingly accurate."
Axle sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He turned to face Rowan, his expression serious. "I'm thinking about the players," he finally admitted.
Rowan took a slow, deep breath, as if preparing for a conversation he'd been expecting. "What about them?"
"Them being here," Axle said, his words coming out in a frustrated rush. "And what it means for this world. More chaos. More meaningless deaths. It's a pattern."
"I don't quite understand what exactly the problem is, right now, today," Rowan said calmly, moving to lean his back against the sturdy wall of the shed. "They're training. They're not causing trouble."
"The world hasn't seen a major scenario outside of managed dungeon delves in years," Axle argued, his voice low and intense. "Now that players are here, truly here, there's going to be a series of events. Awakenings, quests, disruptions. Scenarios where people—normal people who live here—are going to get caught in the crossfire and die. All because of them."
"Is that how you see players?" Rowan asked, his gaze steady and penetrating. "As nothing but harbingers of death? A plague?"
"I'm pretty sure that's how everyone around here views players when they're being honest," Axle shot back, crossing his own arms defensively.
"They may be right," Rowan interjected quietly.
Axle stared at him, his anger momentarily frozen by disbelief. "What?" he asked, sure he had misheard. Rowan seemed to be agreeing with him.
"People are right to be wary," Rowan elaborated, his tone measured. "With players come scenarios. And with scenarios, yes, often comes death. It's a disruption to the natural order. A dangerous variable." He paused, letting the words hang in the dusty air. "But let me ask you this, Axle. What would you do if you were suddenly ripped from your home, from everything you knew, and transported to another world? A world where the rules were different, where you were seen as a monster or a curse before you'd even said hello?"
The question hit Axle squarely. It fizzled in his mind, disrupting his well-practiced resentment. He was silent for a long moment, his eyes drifting to the peaceful animals. "I'd… try to get back to my own world," he finally muttered.
"Exactly," Rowan said, pushing off from the wall and taking a step closer. "Exactly what the so-called harbingers of death are trying to do. And if you're talking about the loss of lives, you need to remember that even without players, Nyxoria is still a dangerous place that takes lives every single day. Monsters, bandits, disease, simple bad luck." His voice softened, but held an undeniable gravity. "Your own parents are proof that this world doesn't need players to be cruel."
A sharp flash of pain and regret crossed Axle's eyes, swift and deep. The memory was an old wound, but one that never fully closed. He looked away, his jaw tightening.
"Still…" he tried to argue, but the conviction had bled out of his voice.
"Still nothing," Rowan said, his tone final but not unkind. He placed a hand on Axle's shoulder. "A place is only as dangerous as the people in it. And tell me, honestly—do Koby, Kai, James, and Raya strike you as bad people? As monsters who want to see this world burn?"
Axle was silent again, then a reluctant, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. "Maybe Kai…" he grumbled.
Rowan chuckled, and the shared, brief laugh eased the tension in the shed. "Then stop racking your brain over cosmic fate. You're not going to die because of them, Axle. I know that for a fact."
"Do you really think they'll survive?" Axle asked quietly as Rowan turned to leave. "All of it? The Awakening? Whatever comes after?"
Rowan paused at the doorway, looking back over his shoulder. The afternoon light haloed his form. "The only person who would have held them back," he said, a genuine, proud smile appearing, "is getting quite good at aura control." With that, he stepped out into the light, leaving Axle alone in the fragrant dimness. Axle stood there for a moment, then a slow, thoughtful smirk settled on his own face.
In a cleared area not far from the cottage, the steady, rhythmic thwack of axes biting into wood split the calm afternoon air. Kai and James were working through a pile of logs, preparing fuel for the evening fire. James, however, was attacking his task with a ferocity that went beyond efficiency. His swings were powerful, almost violent, sending chips of wood flying like startled birds.
Kai stopped mid-swing, wiping sweat from his brow with his sleeve. He watched James for a moment, noting the tense set of his friend's shoulders, the focused scowl on his face.
"You good, James?" Kai called out, leaning on his own axe.
"Of course," James said, not pausing. He split another log with a sharp crack. He raised a sceptical eyebrow in Kai's direction. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"You're chopping that wood like it owes you money or personally insulted your mother," Kai observed, his tone light but his eyes concerned.
James finally stopped, driving his axe blade into the stump before him. He let out a long, slow breath he seemed to have been holding. "I just…" he began, then shook his head. "I want to finish this chore early. Gotta get back to practice. Every minute counts."
"You will," Kai said, sitting down on a nearby tree stump. He picked up a small twig and began shredding it absently. "Look, I know how the fights between me and Koby get to you. The tension. I'm sorry if you're feeling down or… stuck in the middle because of it."
James stared at him, then a slow, genuine smile broke through his frustrated expression. "Kai Morgan apologizing? You must really regret it, then."
"Don't make me regret it," Kai warned, but the playful glint was back in his eye.
The two shared a laugh, the sound easing the last of the strained atmosphere. James sat down on his own stump, pulling a waterskin from his belt and taking a long drink before wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm.
"I don't like it when you two argue," James said, his voice earnest now. "Seriously. This is the worst possible time for us to be at each other's throats. We have to stick together. It's the only thing we've got."
"I know," Kai replied, his gaze drifting upward to watch a hawk circle lazily in the vast, pale blue sky. James watched his profile, waiting.
"You know, uh…" James added after a moment, a teasing smirk returning. "That was an absolutely terrible apology you just gave. Truly awful."
Kai snorted. "Forgive me for trying. You'll never hear another one from me again, I promise."
They laughed again, the familiar rhythm of their friendship restored.
The sound of approaching footsteps made them look up. Rowan walked into the clearing, his eyes scanning the area before settling on the two boys.
"Where's Koby?" he asked without preamble.
Kai gestured vaguely toward the dense wall of trees with a theatrical flourish. "Out in the woods. With a girl."
Rowan's brow furrowed slightly. "Raya?"
"No," James clarified, standing up. "A different girl. Lives around here somewhere. Her name's Aries."
"Ah," Rowan said, the faintest hint of recognition—and something else, perhaps concern—flickering in his eyes. It was gone quickly. "Well, when he gets back, tell him he should start getting ready. In a few days' time, we're all going on an adventure."
James perked up immediately. "To where?"
Rowan offered one of his inscrutable, half-smiles. "You'll know once we get there." He gave them a nod and turned to walk back toward the cottage, leaving the duo standing amidst the piles of split wood.
The two friends looked at each other. The lightness of a moment ago was replaced by a shared, wary curiosity.
"What do you think he has planned for us?" James asked, his voice low.
Kai picked up his axe, hefting its familiar weight. He looked toward the woods where Koby had vanished, then back at the cottage, his expression unreadable. "Something not good," he said simply.
And with that, the rhythmic thwack of axes against wood began again, filling the clearing with the sound of preparation for an unknown journey.