Pocket dimension.
The term settled into the cramped cave like dust after a collapse—unfamiliar, heavy, suffocating.
Confusion rippled across every face.
Including Ashan's.
He wore it perfectly.
With my siddhi, I already know, he thought, keeping his expression carefully blank.
But knowledge revealed too early becomes suspicion.
"Even I didn't fully understand," Ballio said hesitantly.
"But according to Cloe, it's a self-contained space. A fragment of reality operating under the same laws as our world."
Dris let out a slow breath. "So… we weren't just dumped somewhere.
This whole island. The sea. All of it."
His jaw tightened. "It's a prison."
"If it's a prison," Roderic said slowly, "there must be an exit."
"And we haven't seen one," Damara countered. "Nothing that even looks like a boundary."
"Finding the exit isn't our priority," Imla cut in, her tone crisp and grounded. "Survival comes first."
Roderic nodded. "We grow stronger."
"And to do that," Helma added, fingers tightening around her bow, "we hunt Ganshka. Vestiges."
Silence followed.
Then Dris laughed, sharp and sudden. "Right. Almost forgot."
He turned toward Ashan. "When did you learn that little trick? The disappearing act."
All eyes snapped to him.
Ashan met their gazes calmly.
Dris isn't just reckless, he noted. He watches. He remembers.
He shrugged. "I don't know. It surprised me too. Maybe luck."
Dris stared at him for a heartbeat longer than necessary, then looked away.
Lie or not, he decided, we're alive because of it.
"Well," Ashan said, reclaiming the room without raising his voice, "information exchange is done. Now we act."
The others straightened instinctively.
"We hunt," he continued. "We grow stronger. And we gather clues—about this place and how to leave it."
No one objected.
[Southern Partof the Island]
Slap.
Slap.
The sharp sounds cracked through the humid air.
Thud.
Cloe hit the ground, her cheek swollen and red, tears blurring her vision.
Blood trickled from her lip. Bruises marred her fur, her clothes torn and hanging loose.
Lash stood over her, chest heaving, eyes blazing with fury.
He exhaled sharply, twisting his hand as if brushing away an insect.
"Sister," he said, crouching. "Why?"
Cloe kept her head bowed.
He seized her shoulders. "Look at me."
She flinched, then slowly raised her gaze.
Brother… when did you become like this?
His face was twisted—fangs bared, green eyes burning with something feral and absolute.
"Humans and Manuga cannot coexist," Lash snarled. "We are different. We are superior."
The words were venom, spat with conviction.
Cloe shut her eyes. "But… we're half-human too…" she whispered.
Lash shoved her back into the dirt.
He turned away, his voice cold. "You disappoint me, Cloe."
She lay there, staring up at the night sky.
Ballio… I hope you're alive.
Is there truly no way to end this hatred?
Her fists clenched uselessly.
Lash knelt before a massive hut.
"I report."
A deep voice rumbled from within. "Speak."
"At one tribe, the key had already been taken by the Vrkuka. They appear to be cooperating with the Ganshka. During the assault on the final tribe, we were ambushed. The key was lost."
Silence.
Lash pressed his forehead harder into the dirt.
"Forgive me, Chief—"
A blazing claw of energy erupted from the hut.
Huek!
Lash was hurled backwards, chest seared. He scrambled back to his knees.
"Find the keys," the voice snarled. "All of them. My ascension draws near."
"Yes, Chief!" Lash said hoarsely.
Back in the cave, the ten lay tangled together, bodies packed tight.
Dris's legs were sprawled across Roderic's stomach.
One arm rested on Ballio's head.
Helma, Imla, and Damara huddled together for warmth.
Time to inspect the key, Ashan thought.
The wooden key was small. Unremarkable. He turned it slowly between his fingers.
Nothing.
Let's try.
His eyes swirled into grayish-white spirals.
Information surfaced—
Then shattered.
Pain speared through his skull.
What—?!
He cut the siddhi instantly, breathing slowly until the ache subsided.
A first.
Too high a rank. Too much interference.
He stared at the key.
I still caught a fragment.
[One of the nine keys to activate the altar.]
The altar from my vision.
Nine keys.
So that's the heart of the trial.
He closed his fist around the key.
If the Manuga are slaves, activating the altar may be their escape.
Or our execution.
Either way, this isn't a coincidence.
He leaned back, eyes open long after sleep should have come.
Morning arrived thin and pale.
They ate the last of the raw meat.
"We strike a small Ganshka tribe," Ashan said.
No hesitation followed.
They moved silently, soon crouching in observation.
"Archers in the rear," Ashan whispered. "Dris and Roderic lead. Others support."
Ballio raised his hand. "Are we… killing all of them?"
Dris scoffed. "What kind of question is that?"
Ballio swallowed. "There are women. Children. They aren't Sadhakas."
The forest seemed to hold its breath.
Imla opened her mouth—
"Ashan," Ballio said quietly.
Ashan answered first.
"It's good to have morals," he said evenly. "But remember this—you are weak. All of us are."
He met Ballio's eyes.
"I'm not here to justify anything. Do as your heart desires. Just remember—only the living get to choose."
Ballio looked down at his hands.
Then clenched them.
"...Alright," he said. "Let's hunt."