Luna couldn’t stop thinking about it as they stood there.

  Normal people.

  No Quanta. No training halls. No glowing weapons.

  And they had won.

  Not once.

  Thrice.

  Her gaze lingered on the carved stone of the fountain as the thought settled heavier in her chest. The world she’d grown up fearing—Quanta users, Elderwatch, Starshade—wasn’t as absolute as she’d believed.

  Her eyes drifted, almost without her meaning them to.

  Bridget knelt by the fountain, sleeves pushed up, pale fingers dusted with stone grit. Her hazel eyes had gone distant in that way they did when she was listening to something no one else could hear. Jaw set. Shoulders relaxed. Completely absorbed.

  Luna swallowed.

  She looked… striking like this. Focused. Sharp. Beautiful in a dangerous, deliberate way.

  Wow, Luna thought, faintly embarrassed by herself. She’s… actually kind of hot.

  She turned her head, meaning to mutter something to Trey—

  —and stopped.

  Trey wasn’t looking at Bridget.

  He was looking at her.

  Arms folded loosely. Expression soft, unguarded. Like he’d forgotten there was anyone else in the garden at all. His eyes didn’t flick away when she caught him. If anything, they warmed.

  Luna blinked. “…What?”

  Trey startled, like the question hit him late. “What?”

  “You’re staring at me.”

  He frowned, genuinely confused. “I—no?”

  “Yes, you are.”

  He glanced away, suddenly very interested in the fountain. “I was just… checking if you were okay.”

  “I’m standing still.”

  “Still checking.”

  She stared at him, pulse doing something inconvenient.

  “…Weird,” she muttered.

  “Very,” he agreed, far too quickly.

  A slow, grinding scrape cut through the clearing.

  Not loud. Not sudden. Just enough to sever the space between them.

  Bridget’s fingers stilled.

  Click.

  The fountain answered with a low groan, ancient and strained, as something shifted beneath the carved stone. From the basin’s center, a metal lever forced its way upward, grinding as it locked into place.

  Everyone turned.

  “…Great,” Bridget said, pleased. She wrapped both hands around it and pulled.

  The ground shuddered.

  Stone slid aside beneath the basin, revealing a narrow passage descending into darkness.

  Francis exhaled, breath fogging faintly in the cold air.

  “So that’s where they were headed.”

  They descended.

  The tunnel stretched longer than it should have. Cold stone. Stale air. Their footsteps echoed too clearly, swallowed slowly by the dark. Luna’s grip tightened on her spear without noticing.

  At the far end, the passage opened into a wide chamber.

  Skeletons lined the walls.

  Starshade badges caught the light first, dull silver against bone. Broken weapons lay where hands had loosened their grip. Bodies positioned not in panic, but in rest—backs against stone, heads bowed, as if sitting had simply taken less effort than standing any longer.

  No one moved right away.

  Luna held her breath. Trey’s usual restlessness stilled, his weight settling evenly on both feet. Even Reid hesitated.

  As if disturbing the air might be disrespectful.

  Bridget scanned the chamber at last, turning once, then twice, brow furrowing.

  Everything felt… settled. Balanced.

  “…No active traps left,” she said.

  They moved in around her.

  The moment the last of them crossed the threshold, there was a subtle give beneath the stone.

  Not a click.

  Not a snap.

  A release.

  “…Wait.” Bridget froze.

  “…No,” she said sharply, spinning as her eyes snapped to the chamber walls. “No, no—that wasn’t—”

  Graaaaak.

  Stone began to move behind them.

  And suddenly the way back vanished behind the sliding slab. Dust sifted down as the seam closed, the sound deep and final.

  Bridget whirled toward Trey. “Trey—!”

  Her voice wasn’t loud. It was tight. Urgent in the way only someone who understood exactly what was happening could be.

  “Do something,” she said, already moving, slamming her hands against the sealed wall. “It’s weight-triggered.”

  Trey stared at the stone that had just turned them into prisoners, black hair dusted white.

  “…Should I,” he said slowly, “start losing weight now?”

  “Shit,” Bridget snapped.

  She spun back, scanning harder now.

  Then she saw it.

  A single iron lever, half-sunk into the far wall. Smoothed by use. Too deliberate to be decoration.

  “…There,” she said.

  She crossed to it, brushing dust from its base. Tested it.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  It resisted.

  “Damn it. It’s stuck.”

  She leaned in, adjusted her grip.

  Nothing.

  She kicked the stone hard enough to jolt dust loose. Both palms slapped flat against the wall as she moved—pressing, knocking.

  Once.

  Twice.

  The sound changed.

  Dull.

  Then hollow.

  Her jaw tightened, hands already moving along the surface, knuckles rapping again. “Here. This section’s hollow. Which means it’s not structural.”

  She turned sharply. “We break this one.”

  Reid flexed her fingers, emerald eyes narrowing as heat shimmered faintly around her knuckles.

  “I can burn through—”

  “No.” Francis snapped, grabbing both her hands as if to smother the flame before it could form. “We’ll be cooked in this chamber before the stone gives.”

  He stepped to the wall beside Bridget, arms folding, gaze distant, calculating. Reid joined him, studying seams, fractures, and the way the stone had settled.

  They stood there in silence for a long moment.

  Then—without a word—

  They stepped aside.

  And turned.

  Trey blinked. “…What?”

  Reid’s voice was flat. Final. “Do it.”

  Bridget jabbed a thumb at the wall. “You know what to do.”

  Francis sighed. “This time, I’ll allow it.”

  Luna stared between them. “I’m sorry—what exactly are we telling him to do?”

  Trey’s grin spread like wildfire.

  “Oh,” he said, delighted. “You want me to save the day?”

  He twirled his longsword with practiced ease, metal flashing as if on cue. “About time you recognized the talent in the room.”

  “Wait,” Luna said, frowning. “He’s going to hit it with a sword?”

  “Yes,” all three said in perfect, weary unison.

  Trey stepped forward, sword settling against his shoulder. The bravado snapped into something cleaner. Balanced. Precise.

  “Stand back,” he said lightly. “Ladies and Creek. You’re about to witness art.”

  He closed his eyes for half a second.

  Quanta poured down the blade, low and resonant. The air vibrated like a struck bell.

  Then he moved.

  The sword slammed into stone.

  The wall cracked.

  Lines spiderwebbed outward as the slab shuddered, then gave way completely. Stone collapsed in a roar, dust exploding into the chamber as cold air rushed in.

  Trey coughed, waving smoke away.

  “Ta-da.”

  Luna stared, eyes wide.

  “…That actually worked?”

  He shot her a grin, teeth bright beneath the dust.

  “Actually? I’m offended.”

  She didn’t look away.

  “…You could always do that?”

  Trey glanced back over his shoulder, utterly casual.

  “You never asked.”

  The forest clearing opened wide beyond the collapsed wall, mossy stone giving way to soft earth, and a ceiling of branches that filtered the sun into pale green shards. The air smelled clean. Alive. A sharp contrast to the cold, sealed dark they’d left behind.

  Luna stepped out last, blinking as her eyes adjusted. Dust clung to Trey’s black hair, streaked white at the edges. Reid rolled her shoulders once, as if shaking off the weight of the chamber. Francis paused just long enough to take a measured breath.

  Bridget didn’t look at any of them.

  She was already crouched beside the stone slab wedged into the earth a few steps from the breach.

  “…There’s another lever,” she said.

  They turned.

  Half-buried in the ground sat a metal handle, identical in shape to the one inside the chamber. Its base was jammed hard beneath a massive stone block, crushed deep into the dirt, deliberately pinned so it couldn’t move.

  Bridget frowned, then glanced back toward the ruined wall. Her eyes narrowed.

  “…Two levers,” she murmured. “Linked.”

  She straightened slowly, brushing dirt from her hands. “When I pulled the one inside, this one should’ve moved too, and the wall would open.”

  She nudged the wedged stone with her boot. It didn’t shift.

  “Whoever came through this route last jammed it on purpose. They pulled the lever, got through, then blocked the outside one so it couldn’t reset.” A faint, appreciative smile tugged at her mouth. “Means anyone following couldn’t open the wall again.”

  “Paranoid,” Trey said.

  Francis had already moved a few steps away, gaze sweeping the treeline, the ground, the open air. Satisfied—for now—he turned back to them.

  “Sit,” he said calmly. “It’s time for the second dose of antidote.”

  Luna obeyed without thinking, lowering herself onto a fallen log. Reid leaned against a tree, arms folding. Bridget dropped cross-legged on the grass, still eyeing the trapped lever.

  Trey blinked. “Wait, second dose?”

  Francis was already kneeling, reaching for Trey’s backpack.

  Trey recoiled on instinct. “Why is it in my pack?”

  “Because mine is full of something else.”

  “…That’s not reassuring, and when did you even put it in here?” Trey asked, already shrugging the pack off anyway.

  He set it between them and dropped to one knee, tugging the straps loose. “You know what, never mind. I don’t want the answer.”

  They rummaged through it.

  Metal clinked softly. Fabric shifted. Trey pulled out a strip of dried beef and, without looking, tossed it toward the girls.

  “Rations,” he announced.

  Bridget caught hers one-handed. Reid snatched hers out of the air. Luna fumbled, then laughed quietly as it landed in her lap.

  Francis’s fingers closed around something heavier.

  He drew out the metal cuffs.

  Trey froze. “Whoa—whoa—careful.”

  Francis paused.

  “Those,” Trey said, nodding toward them, “are not being dropped on the ground. Bridget’s not fixing them again if I break them.”

  Bridget smirked without looking up. “Correct.”

  Francis studied the cuffs for a heartbeat longer than necessary, blue eyes unfocused, then set them aside with deliberate care. He reached back into the pack and retrieved a small tin box, worn smooth at the edges.

  He flipped it open.

  Inside, glass vials nestled in felt.

  “One each,” he said, passing them around.

  They drank without question.

  Francis moved methodically after, fingers brushing wrists, shoulders, throats, Quanta pulsing low and precise as he checked each of them in turn. His expression remained neutral, clinical.

  When he finished, he straightened.

  “You’re clear. Whatever they used isn’t accumulating anymore.”

  The forest remained quiet around them.

  Trey looked between the trees, then back at the collapsed wall. “So. This passage gets us out of the village.” He lifted a brow. “Now where to?”

  Before anyone could answer, Reid spoke.

  “You know this place stinks as fuck.”

  They all turned.

  Reid hadn’t moved, still leaning against the tree, eyes tracking the slope of the land beyond the clearing.

  “The payer said the villagers moved down the hill,” she gestured with two fingers toward the trees ahead.

  “But this path goes up.”

  Luna followed her line of sight. The ground slanted gently upward, subtle but undeniable.

  Reid looked back at the others.

  “So what actually happened here?”

  The question hung.

  Bridget straightened slowly. Francis’s gaze sharpened. Trey’s grin faded just a notch.

  Luna felt something shift in her chest.

  “So you think the payer lied to us?”

  Reid shook her head once. “Unlikely.” Her gaze stayed on the slope ahead. “And even if he did, it still doesn’t explain the villagers’ behavior.”

  She turned. “Give me the scroll again, Trey.”

  Trey passed it over without comment.

  Reid didn’t unroll it right away. Her fingers traced the brittle edge instead, slow and careful, as if feeling for something that wasn’t meant to be seen.

  Then she handed it back. “Hold.”

  Trey did.

  Reid lifted her hand, palm up. A small fireball bloomed there — controlled, tight, more heat than flame. She moved it beneath the parchment, close enough to warm, not burn.

  Luna leaned forward.

  Faint lines began to surface beneath the mountain dialect, near one corner of the scroll. Not writing. Not decoration.

  A mark.

  Angular. Deliberate.

  The lines resolved into a raven, stripped down to hard strokes and angles. Behind it, faint triangular lines rose like peaks, stacked and sharp, forming the outline of a mountain range.

  “…The Skaravel,” she said.

  Luna blinked. “What?”

  “One of the mountain tribes,” Reid replied. “I’ve seen this insignia in a book.”

  She glanced up, eyes sharp.

  “Most mountain tribes are independent. Insular. They don’t mix with outsiders unless they have to.” A pause. “They believe they’re better than us.”

  Trey raised a brow. “Charming.”

  Reid’s mouth twitched — not quite a smile.

  “And there’s one thing mountain people don’t do.”

  She looked back up the slope. Toward the higher ground.

  “They don’t move lower.”