Neil stepped lightly, keeping a careful pace beside the tall, wounded elf. As they crested a low ridge, the forest opened slightly, revealing a well-camouflaged camp nestled between the trees and the sloping rise of the land. Tents fashioned from woven leaves and bark formed a wide semicircle around a central firepit. It wasn't just a random stop—this was a settlement, temporary or not.
At the edge of the camp, movement stirred. Dozens of elves turned, alerted to their presence. Weapons were drawn with fluid grace. Bowstrings were pulled taut. For a breath, Neil felt every eye focus on him.
He slowed and raised his hands, palms open. No aggression.
The elf beside him spoke loudly in their tongue. Neil didn't understand the words, but he could feel the weight behind them. Authority. Trust. Reassurance.
The archers didn't lower their bows immediately, but the tension shifted. Unease lingered, but the deadly focus dissipated.
Neil glanced around, passively drawing on his Core. He pulsed it gently outward, reading the auras of those nearby.
Almost all of them were Awakened-level. Some fresh, some seasoned. None strong.
Except two.
The wounded elf beside him carried the familiar signature of a Coreforged. Worn and drained, but there.
Another presence approached from deeper in the camp. A woman—taller than the others, sharp-eyed, her hair braided back tight. She wore lighter armor over green-and-tan robes and carried herself with composed command. Her aura matched the elf beside him: Coreforged. Just barely.
She stopped a few paces away, eyes narrowing as she examined Neil. Not afraid, not hostile—but wary.
She pointed at herself. "Alari," she said slowly.
Neil nodded. "Neil."
"Neel," she repeated with a strange tilt in the word, then nodded once.
The elf he'd saved was taken from his side by two others and carried off with care. Neil watched as they laid him near a small fire and began tending his wounds. No magic, just clean cloth, boiled water, and practiced hands.
Alari motioned for Neil to follow. He did, under silent, watching eyes. They led him to the edge of the camp, away from the center, but not excluded. A small firepit, an unused tent frame. A guest, but not yet a friend.
Neil sat where she gestured. Moments later, a bowl was handed to him—warm broth, unfamiliar in smell but surprisingly pleasant. Another elf passed him a scoop of water.
He nodded his thanks, receiving only curious looks in return.
The tension lingered in the air. He wasn't trusted yet. But he wasn't being treated as an enemy either.
That night, as the camp settled into a quiet hum of movement and murmured voices, Neil lay near the dying coals of his fire. The stars above shimmered faintly through the trees. He stared at them, letting the quiet settle around him.
He had fought monsters. Survived alone. Broken through ranks of power he didn't even know existed weeks ago.
And yet, here among strangers, he felt something close to peace.
In his dream, he saw his old room. Sunlight through the window. The sound of a game controller clicking. Laughter from Emma in the hallway. Anna calling him from the kitchen.
He looked down at his hands in the dream. Clean. Normal.
He was still him.
When he woke, the sky was turning pale. A soft mist clung to the ground.
He sat up, stretching his arms and testing the strength in his limbs. Still powerful. Still whole.
Alari appeared again, this time with a small pack and a quiet nod. She pointed in a direction deeper into the forest.
Neil had already been preparing. He slung his own pack over his shoulder, nodded, and began walking.
She followed. A few guards trailed at a distance but didn't interfere.
Neil kept his Core active, tracing the path he'd felt before. There were faint disturbances in the ambient energy—barely perceptible shifts that guided him, like an invisible trail.
After an hour, Alari stepped beside him, speaking softly. A questioning tone.
He looked at her and pointed ahead. Then tapped his chest. Then gestured to the energy lines in the air.
Her eyes widened slightly.
Understanding.
He wasn't guessing. He was sensing.
Another hour passed before the forest opened again.
The second camp came into view.
Roughly fifty elves. Some tending to fires. Others sparring in open glades. Children practiced with wooden weapons, mimicking the motions of adults.
They were young. Strong. Sharp-eyed and graceful.
But not strong in the way Neil had come to measure strength.
He pulsed his Core again.
Awakened-level, all of them.
Except Alari. Except the man he'd saved.
He looked at them, then back to the elves.
And he wondered:
What kind of people are these?
And what kind of war are they preparing for?