A cloud strider chirped atop the lifepod, its hollow, flute-like call heralding the coming dawn. Pale light seeped through the mist, washing the alien shore in muted silver.
Lazarus was the first to wake.
She knelt in the corner of the lifepod, hands clasped, whispering her morning prayers. Laurel stirred soon after, roused by the quiet rhythm of her voice. One by one, the others followed, pulled from sleep by habit, cold, and necessity.
Outside, Anna and Shingo rekindled the fire using the embers Bob had preserved inside a metal container. The fibrous tinder Xiaolang had gathered from a discarded cloud strider nest caught quickly. Flames rose in thin tongues, pushing back the last bite of the night's cold.
"Lexus, I'll leave the camp to you," Laurel said, scanning the treeline. "We'll return before sunset. Watch the fire. Watch the lifepod. Don't let anything get inside—and don't let the fire spread."
"Stop nagging. I get it," Lexus huffed.
Soon after, they set off into the forest.
Anna and Shingo walked with heightened alertness, eyes flicking toward every rustling leaf and dangling branch. Morning mist curled around their ankles like cold silk.
This time, the journey was faster. The faint trail they'd carved earlier guided them forward. In less than two hours, the forest thinned, opening onto the radiant lake.
"Hah… I'm exhausted," Shingo groaned, collapsing onto the grass. "Do we really have to do this every day?"
Anna sank down beside him, too tired even to answer. The grass was soft—soft enough to tempt sleep.
"We can rest," Laurel said as she caught up, her voice firm. "But don't fall asleep."
Her gaze lingered on the water.
"This is Scarab territory. They're slow on land—but if one drags you into the water, that's it." Her voice hardened. "You're dead."
She remembered the upside-down boar. The sudden strike. The silence afterward.
"I saw it happen."
They fell quiet, catching their breath.
The lake shimmered like liquid glass. Trees swayed in the gentle breeze, and small fish broke the surface in slow, rhythmic splashes.
"So beautiful," Anna whispered. "The water's blue like sapphire… and that tree—towering over the plains like an emerald crown. It's amazing."
She stared at the great tree rising beyond the lake, its leaves glittering as sunlight danced across the rippling surface.
"You can't get this with CGI," Shingo said, shaking his head in quiet awe. "Even the best VR games can't recreate this. There aren't any pixels—no matter how far you zoom in."
He breathed deeply, filling his lungs with the cool morning air. Bob handed out nutrient bars beside him. Xiaolang said nothing, but his eyes followed the horizon, quietly absorbing the moment.
"VR could never recreate the senses. It was only visual." Lazarus said softly. "They could never recreate this breeze of wind and the faint smell of grass."
"If you used Neurogear, they could recreate senses," Shingo replied. "Mistral told me."
"Only pain, right?" Laurel chuckled faintly. "I remember reading about that. No wonder it wasn't popular."
Shingo nodded, smiling.
Anna turned, looking between two distant landmarks. "So… are we going to the mountain? Or the spire?"
To the north, the mountain rose in a vast, sweeping silhouette. Its upper slopes were bare stone—sheer, weathered, and ancient. Bands of green vegetation wrapped around its middle like layered belts. Mist pooled around its peak, drifting in slow spirals.
Even from here, its scale was overwhelming. A solitary giant anchoring the horizon. Laurel swallowed. Now that she truly saw it, doubt crept into her chest.
Can we really climb something like that?
Or am I overestimating us?
A cool gust of wind drifted down from the mountain, brushing her face—gentle, steady. A quiet assurance.
Then Laurel turned south.
The jungle stretched endlessly in that direction, its canopy dense and unbroken. The trees stood closer together than the forest they had crossed earlier, their crowns knitting into a dark, shadowed ceiling. Light barely touched the ground beneath them.
At the jungle's heart rose a solitary spire—a column of stone thrust skyward by ancient forces. One side was smooth, worn by ages of wind and rain. The other was jagged, raw, as if torn open. It pierced through the sea of green like a silent monument.
A distant cry echoed from within the jungle.
Sharp. Unfamiliar. The air from that direction felt heavier, thick with humidity and the scent of wet leaves. It carried the promise of life—and danger.
The decision became obvious.
"We'll go to the mountain in the north," Xiaolang said. "That spire is deep in the jungle. We don't know what lives there. And I doubt we could climb it anyway."
Laurel nodded slowly. Now that she had seen both paths, the mountain felt safer.
"Be careful, Laurel," Anna said quietly. Her eyes drifted toward the lake, where a scarab had crawled onto the shore to bask in the sun. Her chest tightened at the sight. "There might be worse things on the mountain."
"You too," Laurel replied. "There are scarabs here. Make sure they don't catch you."
A cool breeze stirred her hair, carrying the clean scent of river water.
"Of course," Shingo said, adjusting his pack. "We have spears Xiaolang made. We'll be fine." He hesitated. "Are you sure one bottle of water is enough?"
"Yes," Xiaolang said. He tested the grip of his spear, the wood creaking faintly. "It'll be close, but water is heavy. We won't be gone long. Three nutrient slabs and one bottle should last until nightfall."
He looked at them both, eyes steady.
"See you this evening. And make sure Lexus does his job." Laurel noted the trio.
"Of course! Alright, Bob. Let's do our best," Shingo said, pumping his fist.
Bob nodded and opened his backpack, revealing rows of empty bottles salvaged from the lifepod. One by one, they lowered them into the river. Each bottle filled with a hollow gurgle as trapped air bubbled upward, the sound strangely loud in the quiet morning.
Behind them, Laurel, Xiaolang, and Lazarus stepped onto the mountain trail, leaving Shingo, Anna, and Bob at the serene riverbank.
They traveled light.
Each footstep crunched softly over gravel and dry leaves. The air grew thinner and cooler. Lazarus had braided a cord from her sewing thread the night before, allowing Xiaolang to hang the two-liter water bottle at his hip. The woven cord swayed with his stride, brushing against his leg and freeing his hands for his spear.
Ahead, the mountain loomed in layered shades of gray and shadow.
With the forest shrinking behind them and the trail winding upward, they began their ascent.
They followed the river upstream as it narrowed into a fast-moving channel between rocks. The gentle plains gave way to rising ground. The slope steepened gradually, almost deceptively, until each step demanded effort.
Xiaolang walked in front, his gaze sweeping left and right, searching for movement. Listening for any sign of an ambush.
As shrubs thickened along the slope, the path narrowed. Gravel shifted underfoot, sliding with each step. Loose stones skittered downhill when disturbed, vanishing into the brush below.
Then the vegetation began to thin.
Shrubs gave way to bare rock and loose scree. The ground turned harsh and uneven. Above them, ridges overlapped like ancient walls, layered and weathered by time itself.
The sounds of the plains faded behind them. No insects. No birds. Only the low hiss of wind moving through the stone.
As the ascended the mountain, a four-winged bird descended onto a jagged ridge above them. It was nothing like the gentle cloud striders.
Its feathers were matte black , absorbing the morning light instead of reflecting it. Its forward-facing eyes locked onto them, sharp, the eyes of a hunter. It studied the three figures below, heads tilted slightly. After a moment, it dismissed them. Its attention returned to the limp body clutched in its talons.
A dead cloud strider.
With a hooked forelimb—smaller and more dexterous than its talons—it lifted the carcass toward its beak. The mountain echoed with its cry, harsh and piercing, as it tore into the flesh. Wet sounds followed. Feathers drifted into the wind.
Blood darkened the stone beneath its feet. The group froze. No one spoke.
Slowly, carefully, they edged past the predator, every footstep deliberate. Their hands tightened around their spears, muscles tense, ready to react.
The bird ignored them as it relished its meal atop its throne. They were not prey.
Once they had put distance between themselves and the ridge, Xiaolang and Laurel raised their smartboxes and snapped a quick photo before continuing upward. When they paused again and looked back, the world unfolded beneath them.
To the west lay the forest—their forest—its canopy forming a deep green patchwork. Somewhere within it rested a small pearl. The lifepod, barely visible.
To the east stretched an endless plain, golden and open, rolling toward a distant, glittering sea.
To the south rose the dark jungle, dense and foreboding. The solitary stone spire pierced through its canopy like a silent needle. Beyond it, the horizon shimmered again with water.
Another sea.
"It's all water," Lazarus whispered. Despair crept into her voice. No cities. No towers. No signs of civilization. Nothing.
They were alone. Laurel swallowed.
"…There's still the north," she said quietly. "If we climb higher, we might see what lies beyond."
Her voice was calm. But inside, her hope wavered.
"Let's rest," Xiaolang said quietly. "Lazarus doesn't look like she can keep going."
A cold wind crawled over the ridge, as if the mountain itself exhaled against them. They sank onto a flat slab of stone.
"Yes… you're right. Let's rest," Laurel said, her voice trembling. She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to steady her breathing. "Sorry. I was too hasty."
The air was thinner here. Each breath felt shallow, incomplete. They sat in silence, their lungs burning, their legs trembling from the climb. Laurel stared at the horizon.
No cities. No towers. No ships. No signs of life beyond the alien wilderness. Tears blurred her vision.
How are we supposed to go home? How are we supposed to see them again?
Her father's face rose in her mind—distant now, unreachable. They had been here for four days. Nearly a week. The lifepod's rations would last a month at most. After that…
She didn't let herself finish the thought.
"Father…" she whispered.
Despair crept into her heart. She did her best not to cry; she was the leader of the group. How would her friends react if she broke down in this alien land? She had to stay strong. She had to prove that she could withstand this trial. She had to make her father proud.
A sharp gust swept across the ridge, cold and unforgiving. Laurel quickly wiped her eyes before the tears could fall.
"Xiaolang… how much further?" Lazarus asked weakly.She sat hunched over, eating slowly, forcing down bites of the nutrient slab. Her body felt heavy, as if gravity itself had grown stronger. The mountain air was different—colder, thinner, dry against her throat.
"Not far," Xiaolang said, studying the jagged peak above them. "Just a bit more."
The sun hung overhead, but the air remained cold. The mountain smelled of dust and sun-baked stone.
"Maybe we should sleep," Laurel said quietly. She looked at Lazarus, her face pale and drawn. Truthfully, Laurel was barely holding on herself. Her shoulders sagged. Her hands trembled. The climb had drained everything from her.
"…Understood. You can rest," Xiaolang said, giving a small nod. "I will stand watch."
"Eh? No… that won't do," Lazarus protested weakly. Her voice lacked strength, but the thought of imposing on him made her uneasy. She couldn't be the only one resting while everyone else endured the same hardship. It wouldn't be fair.
"I am not that tired," Xiaolang replied calmly. "If I need sleep, I will tell you. You can stand guard then. Your turn will come early." His tone carried quiet certainty. Despite carrying more weight than either of them, his fatigue showed only in the faint rise and fall of his chest.
He turned his gaze toward the mountain peak, then toward the endless sea beyond. The horizon stretched without interruption, water swallowing the edge of the world. Laurel had not stopped staring at it. He understood why. No cities. No ships. No lights. Nothing. The silence of that empty ocean pressed heavily against the mind.
He silently thanked the gods Lexus wasn't here. That boy would have panicked, complained, or refused to go further. Not that he would have made it this far. Xiaolang was certain Lexus would have stopped at the lake, unwilling to endure the climb.
Exhaustion claimed Laurel and Lazarus in an instant. Their bodies, pushed beyond what they were used to, surrendered without resistance. It was a dreamless sleep, heavy and complete.
When they woke, the sun had already begun its descent toward the western sea. Its golden light stretched across the ridges, long shadows spilling between the rocks. Xiaolang remained standing where they had left him, his posture unchanged. He had stood guard for three hours, just as he said he would.
"Laurel… it's time," he said quietly.
Laurel nodded and reached over to gently shake Lazarus. "Wake up. We need to go."
"Sorry…" Lazarus murmured, rubbing her eyes. She drew a slow breath, forcing the last of the drowsiness away. Her muscles protested as she sat up, heavy and sore. She would have welcomed more rest, but she knew they couldn't afford it. Xiaolang had already done more than his share.
"We need to return to the lifepod before nightfall," Laurel reminded them. "Let's finish this."
They resumed their climb.
The slope grew steeper as they ascended, the ground shifting beneath their feet. Loose gravel slid with every step, forcing them to move carefully. The wind grew colder, thinner, scraping against their lungs with each breath. Behind them, the plains and forests shrank, swallowed by distance.
They continued up the peak. And when they reached the top, despair crashed over them like a wave.
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Father, Mother… I will live. I will survive. I will not let your sacrifice be in vain. I can defend myself now, so you no longer need to worry about me. I have proven it. ~Xiaolang