Kall and Ragnar could barely believe what they were seeing.
Night had just fallen over Orb Valley, and with it came something that clearly did not belong to this world. The creature advanced slowly, deliberately, as if savoring the fear saturating the air. Its eyes glowed in the darkness—hungry, alive. There was thirst in that gaze. A thirst for blood.
The two exchanged a brief look. There was no discussion. Instinct spoke louder than reason.
They ran into the cabin.
"What are we going to do?!" Ragnar panicked, his voice trembling uncontrollably. "What are we going to do?! I can't die like this! Damn it… I said this would happen!"
Kall slammed the door shut and turned to him.
"Calm down. Breathe. This isn't over yet."
"Not over?!" Ragnar nearly screamed. "Are you joking with me?! What are we supposed to do? Do we have a hidden army or something? Because fighting that… it's impossible. Impossible!"
Kall frowned.
"You don't think we can face it?"
Ragnar laughed—a nervous, almost hysterical sound.
"Face it?! Of course not! That thing could kill us in the blink of an eye! Have you seen its size? We're insects compared to that!"
Kall inhaled deeply.
"Forgive me for what I'm about to do."
"What…?" Ragnar barely had time to react.
In one sharp movement, Kall twisted his body and struck Ragnar's neck with a precise elbow. The impact was immediate. Ragnar collapsed to the floor, unconscious.
Kall watched him for a brief second, then cracked his knuckles, his expression hardening.
"Well… looks like I'll have to handle this alone. Once again."
He opened the door and stepped into the night.
The creature's roar echoed through the clearing.
Kall did not retreat.
The battle that followed was brutal—and solitary.
Ragnar never saw it. He never knew how it happened. For him, everything became a fragmented memory: footsteps in the night… a monstrous silhouette… and then nothing.
Just darkness.
That night in Orb Valley altered its course.
While some survived in relative peace, others faced horrors they would never forget.
Ravian had already reorganized his camp. It was now vast, solid, and heavily armed. Dozens of youths followed his orders, and his influence grew with each passing day.
Tocre, on the other hand, observed his own group with restrained satisfaction. They were still few. Still far from ideal. But it was a beginning.
In the distant fortress, Asher remained unconscious.
When Seraphina found him lying amid the wreckage of the training hall, she turned to Sir Hellion.
"What happened?" she asked. "Why is he sleeping like this?"
Hellion replied with his usual calm smile.
"Your brother had an outburst of rage."
"Is he alright?" Seraphina looked back at the destruction, fear creeping into her voice. "Did something serious happen?"
"He's fine," Hellion said. "But he can't continue like this. If he loses control again, he might hurt someone… or himself."
He paused before continuing.
"Perhaps it would be better if he left this place. Lived among other youths."
Seraphina shook her head.
"He wouldn't accept that. You know him. Asher is too stubborn."
Hellion smiled—but there was something different in his eyes.
"Then we'll do it the hard way."
"You can be difficult?" Seraphina frowned.
"Don't worry," he replied. "I'll take care of everything."
Asher remained motionless, exhausted, drained by his own fury.
The moon carved its path across the sky. Some slept. Others stood guard.
And thus began the fourth day in Orb Valley.
Very little time had passed.
Yet far too much had already happened.
And a question echoed silently in the minds of many:
By day thirty… will everyone still be alive?
One Week Later
An entire week had passed since the last major events in Orb Valley.
Seven days that seemed short…
but changed everything.
The groups learned quickly—because they had no choice.
Creatures stopped being mysteries and became patterns.
The wooden-skinned wolves, once terrors of the night, were now driven away through strategy and controlled fire.
Natural traps began to emerge.
Fruits were cataloged.
Improvised weapons replaced, in part, the devices that consumed energy—energy that was no longer infinite.
The forest ceased to be merely an enemy.
It became a field of study.
Ravian's group could no longer be called a group.
It was an entire community—organized, hierarchical, with youth ranks, guard rotations, training zones, and collection areas.
A colossal society. Respected… and feared.
Angelo and Tocre's group also grew.
They had surpassed forty members.
Still idealistic. Still selective.
But strong enough to remain independent.
Kall and Ragnar had survived that night.
But Ragnar carried an unsettling void.
The creature… the roar…
and then, nothing.
Only darkness.
Kall never spoke of what truly happened.
Meanwhile, Asher continued training.
He trained until his body failed.
Until sweat burned his eyes.
And Seraphina always watched, wearing the same silent smile—believing, perhaps more than he did himself, that Asher would overcome what consumed him from within.
During those days, something curious happened.
The nocturnal creatures recovered.
They didn't disappear…
they observed.
And that false peace was the most frightening thing of all.
Because despite the apparent stability, a feeling began to grow among everyone:
the true enemies had not yet revealed themselves.
The Birth of the Clans
With basic survival secured, Orb Valley entered a new phase.
Societies ceased to be mere groups.
They named themselves.
Thus, the five clans were born:
Iron Root Clan
Led by Ravian
— Organization, territorial expansion, and strategic dominance.
— Strength that grows downward, like roots that break stone.
Golden Wind Clan
Led by Tocre, with Angelo at his side
— Mobility, intelligence, adaptation, and alliances.
— Never strike first… but always strike right.
Living Mist Clan
Formed by scattered survivors and users of unstable abilities
— Specialists in ambushes, stealth, and hidden territory.
— Rarely seen. Poorly understood.
Crimson Fang Clan
An aggressive group shaped by constant hunting
— They believe Orb Valley belongs to the strongest.
— Live to face creatures… and other clans.
Silent Eclipse Clan
Little is known
— They move at night.
— They observe.
— They have never revealed themselves fully.
Orb Valley had passed the survival stage.
Now came the most dangerous part.
Train. Evolve. Choose sides.
Because from that moment on, surviving was no longer enough.
One had to be ready for a war that had not yet begun.
And when it did…
there would be no turning back.
The Rise of the Mist
Within the Living Mist Clan, change had already occurred.
The former leader had been defeated.
Not killed—humiliated.
And standing now at the center of that diffuse domain was Miles.
The defeat he had suffered at the hands of Tocre and Angelo still burned like poison in his mind. For Miles, it hadn't been merely a lost confrontation.
It had been a public insult. A direct blow to his ego.
He didn't just want growth.
He wanted revenge.
But his numbers were still insufficient.
Even after weeks of aggressive expansion, the Mist Clan had little more than thirty members. Not enough to confront the Wind Clan directly—organized, disciplined, and increasingly respected throughout Orb Valley.
So Miles did what he did best.
He manipulated.
He expanded territory, searched for isolated youths, small and undecided groups. He promised protection, food, shelter. He spoke with conviction. He spoke like someone who already saw himself at the top.
And that was how he found something… unexpected.
A group composed entirely of girls.
Around twenty of them.
Miles approached with his usual confident, almost theatrical smile.
"Well, well…" he said, scanning the group. "An all-girls clan? That's new."
Then his eyes stopped on her.
Purple hair.
Relaxed posture.
An indifferent expression—almost bored.
She didn't seem impressed.
Nor curious.
Nor afraid.
Miles stepped closer.
"Hi," he said, stretching the word slightly. "I'm Miles. Leader of the Mist Clan. We specialize in hideouts, defense, and territorial control. Even in this forest."
Before he could continue, the girl interrupted him.
"You want to recruit us."
Miles blinked once, then smiled.
"Bingo. Exactly."
She crossed her arms.
"No. We're a group of women. And we'll stay that way."
Miles' smile remained, but his eyes sharpened.
"An all-women group?" he replied. "Isn't that… exclusion? Imagine if we made an all-men group and barred you from joining. Doesn't seem fair, does it? Strength comes from unity."
He took another step forward.
"But let me ask you something. If I put fifteen of my best fighters against fifteen of yours… who do you think would win?"
She thought for a moment.
"I can't answer that precisely," she said. "The odds would favor you. Most of us aren't focused on direct combat."
She lifted her gaze, firm.
"But if we join your clan… what do we gain?"
Miles opened his arms.
"What everyone gains. Protection. Shelter. Food. A name. A family. And safety. Small groups have been attacked. With us, that doesn't happen."
She tilted her head slightly.
"Alright. We'll join," she said. "On one condition."
Miles' smile froze for a fraction of a second.
"What is it?"
"I'll be a leader too."
Silence.
"What?" Miles laughed in disbelief. "You're joking."
"No," she replied. "I want equal authority."
Miles exhaled slowly.
"That's not how it works," he said. "But we can negotiate. You join, I remain leader, and you become my right hand."
She took a step forward.
"No," she said calmly. "I want to be the queen."
Miles' eyes widened for a second.
"Queen?" he repeated. "Queen of what? My clan?"
"Exactly," she replied. "Queen of the Mist Clan."
He analyzed her from head to toe.
"How old are you, exactly?"
"Fifteen," she said. "And you?"
"Fourteen."
Miles remained silent for a few seconds… then smiled.
"Fine," he said. "I accept. You'll be the queen."
"But listen carefully," he added in a lower voice. "At no point will you question my authority."
She smirked.
"Keep dreaming," she replied. "You're the one who'll learn to respect me."
Without another word, she turned and made a simple gesture.
All the other girls followed her, merging into the Mist Clan.
Miles watched her walk.
The posture.
The confidence.
The complete absence of fear.
For a moment, a thought crossed his mind:
This one could take my place.
And in that exact moment, without realizing it, Miles added a dangerous piece to his own game.
Vespra.
A young woman—ambitious, cold, and deeply selfish.
Someone willing to grow at any cost.
No matter who stood in her way.
The desire to be queen of the Mist Clan was only the first step.
Because deep down…
Vespra wanted something far greater.