"I know some of you have accepted this task through our board back in the Black Glenn… and I know some of you were given to me by the admiral himself," Gelhyne's voice carried across the field, calm yet heavy, the kind that demanded silence.
Her words drifted through the rumble of engines and the whirring lanterns, seeping into every soldier, mercenary, and scholar standing before her.
"This is your last chance to turn back."
The crowd stiffened.
The morning air felt colder, as if her words alone could draw the warmth from it.
Behind her, the swirling black mist loomed—towering like an endless storm, pulsing with life, whispering with faint cries that didn't belong to the living.
The Veil.
The wall between sanity and death.
Gelhyne's cloak fluttered against the wind as she continued, her voice unwavering, cutting through the faint murmurs and metallic clanks of restless gear.
"Once we walk through this wall of death," she said, pointing toward the mist,
"we will not all come back. There will be pain. There will be loss. And there will be fear."
Her gaze swept across the hundreds before her.
"That is the price of knowledge and glory. That is the price of touching the unknown."
Her words lingered.
And then the murmurs began.
"Shit… this is it, lads…" one mercenary muttered, gripping his rifle tighter. S
weat trickled down his temple despite the cold.
"They said it'd be dangerous, but this… this looks like suicide."
Another laughed nervously, slapping his companion on the shoulder.
"You think you'll see me die for a handful of coins? I'm going home."
"Fuck, all those days wasted," grumbled another.
"If we turn back now, we won't even get half the share."
"Share?" someone scoffed.
"You'll be lucky if you live long enough to spend it!"
And just like that, the line began to break.
*clatter! *clatter!
Several mercenaries unbuckled their straps, their armor clattering as they dropped gear onto the ground.
The sound of metal meeting dirt echoed faintly—a sound that might as well have been surrender itself.
Others followed, shaking their heads, muttering curses under their breath as they backed away from the formation.
Rox stood near the front, watching silently through her visor.
Her arms were crossed, her helmet reflecting the dull glow of the lanterns.
She could see the fear in their faces—the kind of fear that eats at a person's resolve before a fight even starts.
"Typical," she muttered under her breath.
A few officers tried to call the deserters back.
"Hold the line! You signed the contract!" one barked, but his words went ignored. A handful of mercenaries laughed bitterly as they slung their bags over their shoulders and started walking back toward the camp's edge.
"Nah, I'm out," said one last man, tossing his rifle to the dirt.
"I'm satisfied with the upfront pay already. No way I'm gonna risk myself venturing through that death smoke."
Their silhouettes grew smaller with every step away from the formation until they were nothing more than shadows against the horizon.
"COWARDS!" screamed a Vakaryann, her sharp mandibles clicking together in a rapid, angry rhythm that echoed across the camp.
"BAH! WHAT COWARDS THESE MEATBAGS ARE!" she continued, her tone laced with pure disgust as the last few mercenaries walked away through the thick veil of smoke.
Rox only shrugged, a faint smirk playing across her lips as she leaned at the side of a lamp post.
"Can't blame them," she said casually, her tone light but her eyes watching the group with mild disappointment.
"I'd quit too if I were in their place."
Gelhyne's head turned sharply, her glare cutting through the air like a blade.
The weight of her stare made Rox instinctively flinch, realizing she'd stepped too far with her words.
"I said if," Rox replied quickly, raising her hands defensively.
She then lifted her right hand and showed the glowing brand etched into her skin—a faint crimson mark that pulsed in rhythm with her heartbeat.
"I won't leave you. Remember this cute little brand we both have?" she said with a small grin, trying to lighten the mood despite the tension that hung in the air.
"I know you won't leave me," Gelhyne answered, her tone flat and cold, though there was a quiet certainty beneath her words.
Her gaze drifted forward, back toward the expedition group.
"We're bound by soul anyway."
After several more minutes, the flow of departing mercenaries finally began to thin.
By the time it ended, the once–crowded expedition had been reduced to less than half its original strength.
The air hung heavy with the sense of finality—what remained were not the ones who fought for coin, but those who fought for conviction.
Despite the dwindled numbers, the line of soldiers that stayed stood firm.
The loyal troops—Gunn's disciplined Vakaryann warriors with their sharp carapaces glinting faintly in the dim light, and the Eidric sorcerers whose cloaks fluttered as faint streams of eidra flickered from their palms—did not move an inch.
They held their ground like a wall of iron and spirit, their faces carved with grim determination.
This was the force that the admiral had personally entrusted to Gelhyne—a chosen group, loyal not through payment but through purpose.
Every one of them had accepted that this march might be their last, yet none turned away.
The cowards had gone, and what lingered now was resolve.
Gelhyne's eyes swept across her remaining forces, her expression unreadable.
Then, with a voice calm but cutting through the thick air, she spoke,
"Good. Now we march to death."
Gelhyne then turned her back to the expedition group, her cloak rippling faintly as a cold wind brushed past.
Before her stood the wall of mist—thick, swirling, and alive—as though it had been waiting all along for them to step through.
The haze twisted and rolled like a living barrier, whispering faint echoes that could almost be mistaken for voices.
She glanced over her shoulder toward Rox, who stood casually off to the side, inspecting her nails as if they were about to attend a festival rather than march into certain death.
The woman's relaxed attitude earned a twitch from Gelhyne's brow.
Not even a trace of tension was visible on Rox's face.
"Sigh…"
Gelhyne let out a long breath, her shoulders briefly sagging under the invisible weight of leadership.
She straightened herself again, inhaling deeply as her lungs filled with the cold, damp air of the fog ahead.
Then, with a sudden surge of command, she raised her arm sharply.
"FORWARD!"
her voice thundered, breaking the stillness and slicing through the mist like a blade.