The gates of Callestan opened slowly, groaning with the weight of stone and iron. Evening light spilled across the road beyond — golden, clean, almost peaceful.
But every step beyond that threshold dragged the seven deeper into a world that no longer pretended to be sane.
Koda led the formation, cloak brushing his heels, twin blades magnetized to his back with subtle runes. He kept his eyes forward, boots silent on the packed frost-lined earth.
This wasn't just a test.
It was an inoculation.
The closer they moved toward the scar, the heavier the air would become — not physically, but spiritually. Greed radiated its hunger in waves. Subtle. Gnawing.
The Order called it spiritual erosion.
Koda called it temptation with teeth.
Behind him, the team fell into formation exactly as planned:
Junen one step back, her boots slower but deliberate, her aura already resonating a quiet barrier against mental strain.
Maia between Junen and the trio behind her — light chainmail under robes, staff capped with a silver ring glowing with passive warmth.
Terron at the rear, massive warhammer holstered across his back, but both fists loose and ready. He watched their flank with half a smirk and full focus.
Wren, almost indistinguishable in movement — shifting like shadow between gaps. Her attention darted from terrain to skyline to cracks underfoot.
Thessa, walking with a rhythm of prayer beneath her breath. Hands loose, but already lightly glowing at her fingertips.
And Deker, humming as he toyed with a sealed vial, the glow from within pulsing orange. Not distracted — just eager.
The first stretch of road was uneventful.
Too uneventful.
The crickets had stopped somewhere beyond the far ridge. Even the wind here felt… quieted. Like it was listening.
They moved another mile.
Then Koda lifted a hand.
Wren was already crouching, scouting ahead.
Junen stilled — a subtle ripple of her aura flexed outward.
"There," Wren whispered, pointing through the sparse deadwood to the left. "Ten. Maybe twelve. Ghouls. Uneven formation. Not smart."
Koda nodded. "We engage. Same structure."
First contact.
Koda ghosted forward — fast, silent. As soon as the nearest ghoul raised its head, his left blade carved upward from jaw to skull. The second strike tore downward — two corpses fell before their bones realized they'd been split.
Junen moved behind him, grounding her stance — vines of verdant light snaking beneath her boots. Her aura hardened, locking space.
The undead charged — but staggered mid-run. Wren flicked her wrist, and a fog of hallucinogenic light curled from the forest floor. Three ghouls veered right into a fire wall — Thessa's fire wall.
The sound was a wet howl and then silence.
Two more made it close — too close — and lunged toward Maia.
A crack like a bottle popping sounded — Deker's vial ruptured at the ground, flooding flame in an arc. The corpses ignited, turned, and one stumbled face-first into Terron's hammer.
The crunch was nearly satisfying.
Silence returned.
"Clean," Junen said softly.
Koda gave a slow nod. "Keep moving. We're still too close to the city for that to be all."
Another half-mile. Another group. This time fifteen — mixed skeletons and partial revenants. Koda called for a tighter rotation.
This time, Wren took the initiative: a trap sigil carved in the dirt. When the undead charged, they froze in place — just long enough for Deker to ignite the earth beneath them in a chain of flame and rupture.
The rest were routed — Thessa directing a line of purging fire while Junen expanded her protective field, a moving zone that kept the pressure off Maia, who focused healing pulses on Deker's singed arm and Koda's cracked pauldron.
By the time Terron cleaned the last one with a backhanded smash, the group was breathing evenly. Synchronized.
Becoming something more than a collection of names.
They broke for water and regrouped at a ridge overlooking the eastern basin.
The terrain dipped sharply into low plains, cut through with charred paths and shallow bone trenches — marks left by battles long since buried under silence.
Beyond them, maybe a half-mile away, a faint shimmer.
The edge of the scar.
Greed's domain.
Even from here, the light seemed bent — warped like heat haze, though no warmth reached them.
Maia rubbed her temples. "I feel it. Not loud. But like a… hum behind the eyes."
Junen closed her eyes, aura flaring subtly. "It will grow louder."
Koda turned to the group. "That's the point of this. Let it press against you. Push back. Don't fight it all at once. Just refuse it."
They started down the ridge.
Wren was the first to halt.
"Movement," she whispered. "East path. Mixed footfalls. Heavy drag marks."
They crested the ridge slowly, shifting into full formation.
Below, shuffling through the broken ruins of an old road checkpoint, was a group of undead.
Not ghouls.
Not skeletons.
More intact. More deliberate.
At least twenty of them — half armored, many missing facial features or showing heavy rot, but their movement was structured. Not coordinated. But guided.
And at their head…
A tall, hunched figure cloaked in stained robes, skin stretched too tight over elongated limbs. Its eyes glowed faintly green, but its face was almost… bat-like. Flattened. Distorted.
Fangs jutted from an open maw. The mouth moved constantly — not speaking. Just twitching.
It moved like a beast wearing the memory of a man.
Maia's breath caught. "Vampire?"
Junen shook her head. "No. Not fully."
Koda narrowed his eyes.
"A thrall. Mid-tier. Greed-warped."
The creature turned its head slowly — toward them.
And smiled.
The thrall stepped forward, dragging one clawed foot across the dirt. Its long neck craned unnaturally as it sniffed the air, twitching like a beast caught between hunger and instinct.
Behind it, the undead platoon followed — slower, but organized in clusters. Rotting soldiers in rusted mail. Feral revenants dragging cracked weapons. A few archers — skeletal — moved in a loose flank.
Koda inhaled once.
Then drew both blades.
"This," he said to the team, "is a good test."
The others tensed.
"I'm going to move ahead. Take the thrall down before it can give commands."
Terron's jaw tightened. "You sure?"
"If it's leading them, cutting it down might break their structure."
He stepped forward, blades humming faintly with will.
"You all hold your own. Show me the system we built."
No one objected.
No one flinched.
Koda vanished into mist and motion.
Koda closed the gap in seconds — fast enough the thrall barely had time to pivot.
The creature hissed, baring elongated fangs, and slashed with one limb faster than expected.
Koda ducked under it, spinning — his left blade cut across the creature's ribs, but its skin was tougher than he'd hoped. The blade bit shallow.
The thrall shrieked and lashed with a clawed backhand — Koda pivoted around it, stepping into shadow behind the beast and striking again — this time the right blade stabbing into its lower back.
A pulse of corrupted mana exploded from the wound — raw, green energy screaming through the air.
Koda was thrown back ten feet, landing on a knee. He rolled up, blood on his lip.
So… not mindless.
The thrall charged.
Koda stood his ground — then flicked both wrists, blades extending slightly as he activated Conviction.
They met in a blur — claw vs steel, feral shrieks against silence.
The thrall was fast — faster than it looked. Unpredictable. But Koda was precise. He didn't dodge more than he had to — he flowed, stepping into its blind spots, baiting wild swings and punishing openings.
It slashed down — he caught the arm with one blade, twisted, and carved upward with the other — severing the wrist at the halfway point.
It screamed.
Koda's heartbeat slowed. Focus deepened.
This wasn't rage.
This was execution.
He feinted right, ducked the return strike, and stepped into its shadow — behind the thrall and driving both blades into the base of its neck.
The thrall thrashed wildly, but Koda twisted — and cleaved its spine with a final cross-cut.
The body collapsed.
The light in its eyes dimmed.
He turned.
Back to the battlefield.
The undead charged without hesitation — two dozen or more.
And the team stood ready.
Junen was the first to act — slamming her palms to the dirt. Her Sanctified Stand bloomed beneath their formation, roots of silver light threading through stone and anchoring their stance.
A blunt sword slammed into her shield — and rebounded off a glowing barrier. Junen didn't move. She held.
Terron bellowed and surged forward — his warhammer swinging in wide arcs. He crushed two skeletal warriors in one blow, turning to catch a leaping revenant with the butt of the weapon, then stomped its chest in.
"BACK OFF!" he roared, and slammed his hammer down. A shockwave blasted outward, staggering a whole flank.
In the center, Maia weaved healing and fortification spells — pulsing warmth into Terron's bruised ribs, shielding Wren's shoulder as an arrow struck true but failed to penetrate her armor.
Her magic didn't dazzle — it stabilized. Every flicker was the difference between standing and falling.
Wren moved like water — weaving between gaps in the lines, placing quick sigils that flared into confusion glyphs or trip-points. She cut down three enemies without drawing her dagger — they just fell from missteps or illusions.
"North side's collapsing," she called calmly.
Deker grinned. "I've got it."
He lobbed a vial.
It exploded midair — not flame, but thick mist. The undead turned their heads — too late.
The mist ignited with a hiss, engulfing six of them in chemical fire.
"Volatile Mist," he muttered. "Perfect every time."
Thessa raised both hands — and light erupted from her staff.
A pillar of fire — not wild, but controlled, channeled judgment — seared into the ground before the next wave. Undead stopped mid-charge, howling as their bones charred black.
She moved not like a caster — but a witness. Her flames burned with clarity.
They held.
They flowed.
No one shouted orders — because they didn't need to.
Junen rotated her aura with Wren's illusions. Deker worked behind Terron's hammer-swings. Thessa and Maia moved in tandem — healing and burning, retreating and pressing.
It was not perfect.
But it was together.
When the last of the undead collapsed into ash and bone fragments, Koda approached from the rear.
Blood on his coat. Breathing measured.
The team turned.
All of them standing.
All of them steady.
Koda exhaled once.
"Good."