The journey to the Mistveil Archipelago took them across a region of the Shattered Lands where gravity was merely a suggestion. They walked on the sides of floating mountains, leaped across gaps between islands of inverted earth, and were briefly chased by a flock of disgruntled, featherless birds that propelled themselves with psychic flatulence.
"I hate this place," Kiran declared, after barely dodging a particularly potent avian emission that left a smoking crater in the rock where he'd been standing.
"I think they're cute!" Lyra said, trying to coax one closer with a bit of ration. It let out a small, concussive toot and shot away, leaving her with singed eyebrows.
Brom, unaffected by the gravity shifts due to his sheer mass, merely looked puzzled. "Why do they not have feathers?"
"Evolution is a cruel and gaseous mistress," Sylvia quipped, navigating a path along a spine of floating crystal. "Focus, people. The mists are ahead."
The Mistveil Archipelago appeared as a bank of perpetual, swirling grey fog, shot through with flashes of opal light and occasional streaks of starfall. As they entered the mist, sound became muffled, and visibility dropped to a few dozen feet. The ground beneath became slick, black rock.
They hadn't gone far when they were met—not with hostility, but with simultaneous, conflicting invitations.
From the left, three figures coalesced from the mist. They were women with skin the color of twilight, hair woven with constellations, and eyes that held swirling galaxies. They wore robes of nebulae and dark silk. Starlight Witches. Their leader, a severe-looking woman with a comet-scar across one cheek, spoke, her voice like the ringing of distant chimes.
"Travelers. You carry the stink of conflict and the spark of potential. The Covens see you. Your destiny is tangled with celestial threads. Come. We will read your fates. For a price."
From the right, the mist parted with a wave of dry heat. Two figures emerged. They were humanoid but forged from living geology—skin like cracked opal showing glowing lava beneath, horns of obsidian, eyes like smoldering coals. Opal Demons. Their leader, a hulting brute with one broken horn, grinned, revealing crystalline teeth. His voice was the grind of tectonic plates.
"Witches lie. They sell pretty futures that never come. You smell of strength! Of conquest! The Forge-Clans respect this. Come. Fight in our pits. Win glory, treasure, the heat of true battle! Also for a price."
[Faction Offer: Starlight Witches.]
[Promise: Fate-weaving, Celestial Knowledge, Potent Star-Magic Augments.]
[Cost: A 'Memory of Joy,' a 'Promise of Future Service,' or a 'Piece of Your Destiny.']
[Risk: High. Witches are manipulative and their contracts are literal.]
[Faction Offer: Opal Demons.]
[Promise: Trial by Combat, Raw Power Infusions, Legendary Materials from Volcanic Hearts.]
[Cost: Victory in their gladiatorial pits. Defeat means death or enslavement.]
[Risk: Extreme. Demons value strength above all; weakness is purged.]
The two groups glared at each other, the mist between them crackling with opposing energies—cold stellar magic and volcanic fury.
"Volatile Neutrality, indeed," Damien murmured. He looked at his team. "Opinions?"
"The witches sound shifty," Kiran said. "Trading bits of your soul for horoscopes? No thanks."
"The demons just want to hit us," Lyra said. "But at least they're honest about it."
"The demons' offer involves structure, rules of combat," Brom rumbled. "Predictable."
"The witches' offer is knowledge," Sylvia countered. "In our line of work, intel is worth more than a shiny rock."
Damien considered. They needed power, but they also needed intelligence, especially about the wider world and the Vexis. The Demons offered a straight test. The Witches offered a crooked path to secrets.
He stepped forward, addressing both groups. "We will hear the Coven's reading. We will also fight in one match in your pits. We will sample both offerings before deciding on further engagement."
The Witch and the Demon looked at each other, then back at Damien. A slow smile spread on the Demon's face. "Bold! I like it! One fight. No holds barred. Our current champion awaits."
The Witch's expression was unreadable. "A taste of fate, then. Follow."
The team was split. Sylvia and Kiran, intrigued by the potential for loot and combat data, went with the Demons to their roaring, magma-lit arena hollowed out of a floating mountain. Brom went as their official spectator and potential emergency intervention.
Damien and Lyra followed the Witches deeper into the mist, to a quiet, observatory-like structure built from fossilized star-metal and crystal.