The team moved northward, beyond the old ridge, following the blackened riverbed that once fed the outer reaches of Callestan's farmlands.
Now the banks were cracked and dead, the soil bitter beneath their boots.
No birds. No insects. Even the wind ran silent here.
They were within a mile of the scar.
And the world felt… wrong.
The sky overhead remained overcast despite no clouds. Light seemed thinner here. Muted. As if color had been siphoned away — not stolen, but hoarded.
Even the trees stood strangely still, their twisted branches forming clutching hands. Greed, it seemed, marked the land as much as it did the heart.
Koda held up a hand.
The formation slowed.
"We're close," Wren whispered.
Junen nodded without speaking — her jaw tense, aura visibly tightening, warding off the mounting pressure in the air.
Greed didn't shout.
It pulled.
Not in words — not yet.
But with sensation.
They all felt it.
Maia blinked, wiping sudden sweat from her brow. "I keep… seeing things. Memories. Ones I haven't thought about in years."
Deker muttered, "I just thought about every invention I never finished."
Terron grunted. "I want to punch a vault door open and take whatever's inside. For no damn reason."
Koda looked over them all.
He didn't need to tell them to stay sharp.
They already knew.
They crested a low hill.
And saw the scar.
It didn't rend the earth like Gluttony's pit had. It was more subtle. More surgical. A vast sinkhole — shallow, sprawling, with veins of black stone and shimmering green light running in lattices through the canyon's floor.
It looked like a vast wound — but one that hadn't bled out.
One that wanted to be fed.
And they weren't alone.
Clusters of undead roamed the inner banks — tighter groups, better armed, more organized. Wights. Pale revenants. Even skeletal mages — flickering with faint green energy, eyes glowing like emeralds held too long in flame.
"They're forming camps," Wren murmured. "Or patrols."
"No," Thessa said. "Formations."
They crept closer — inching around a craggy ridge that circled part of the scar's upper rim. The rocks were jagged and porous, as though leached of density.
Koda motioned Wren and Deker forward for closer recon.
They slipped down like shadow and smoke.
Ten minutes passed.
Then they returned.
"Four full squads circling the inner scar," Wren whispered. "Twelve to fifteen each. Not shambling. Positioned."
Deker nodded. "Some of them aren't undead. They're… alive. Or close."
"Thralls?" Junen asked.
Wren shook her head. "Possibly. Greed-touched."
Maia exhaled slowly. "So it's not just mindless husks down there. It's thinking."
That was when they heard it.
Not loud.
Not spoken.
Not even sound.
Just…
Want.
It hit them all at once.
A wave — soft, seductive, and insidious.
Memories flickered unbidden.
Maia saw the city of Oria rebuilt with her magic alone — her name spoken in temples.
Deker imagined a vast lab, endless time, endless funding — every invention realized.
Thessa felt the weight of a crown in her hand, her flame no longer cleansing but controlling.
Junen saw every soul she'd failed to save reaching out with gratitude, worship.
Wren saw a clean world — silent, ordered, perfect.
Terron envisioned the battlefield under his foot, silence earned by dominance.
Koda—
He saw peace.
A real one.
The world already saved.
No more war.
No more pain.
Just quiet. Just done.
He grit his teeth.
"No."
He snapped his fingers once.
"Break it. Breathe. Pull back."
One by one, the team shook themselves out of the haze.
Junen pulsed her aura, and a gentle shudder rolled over them, cutting through the afterimages.
Deker shook his head violently. "I was in a damn lab. Felt real."
Terron growled, flexing his fingers. "Sneaky bastard."
"We've seen enough," Koda said, voice low.
"We're not going further in yet. If it wanted to show us its power… it just did."
They moved.
Quick. Clean.
No more combat. No hesitation.
The road back to Callestan was sharp and watchful. The land still pressed inward — but the team pressed back.
And they were no longer whispering.
The eastern gate of Callestan groaned closed behind them, the first traces of mourning still not in the sky. The city was still asleep — torches still burning low, guards changing shifts.
The seven walked in silence.
No orders.
No need.
Just the quiet bond of survival shared — again.
Koda slowed near the central square and turned to face the others.
"Go rest," he said, voice low. "We reconvene at noon. South spire dining hall. Shared meal. Debrief. Prep for another sweep."
They nodded, each peeling away toward their assigned quarters. No fanfare. No salute. Just quiet trust.
Maia didn't leave his side.
They reached the upper tier housing before the bells rang out the third hour.
Koda's room was tucked into the second floor of a quiet barrack overlooking the southern wall. Spaced, private, and shielded from the chaos of lower Callestan.
He opened the door.
Maia slipped in behind him, and he shut it gently.
They didn't speak at first.
Koda pulled off his outer layer, his cloak and shoulder armor dropping to the side chair with a soft clink. Dust and dried blood flaked loose from the hems.
Maia moved to the washbasin and filled it with warm water from the pitcher left by the attendants. She didn't ask — she just did, sleeves rolled to her forearms, movements careful and practiced.
He sat on the edge of the bed, quiet as she knelt before him, soaking a cloth and dabbing gently at the scrapes along his jaw and neck.
"You were fast out there," she said softly.
"You all held your own."
She looked up at him, eyes faintly tired but warm. "And you didn't try to take it all on your own. Not really. That's new."
Koda smiled faintly. "I'm learning."
She smirked. "Took long enough."
He caught her hand as she leaned to check a bruise forming along his ribs. "You held up."
"I always do."
"I know. But it never stops meaning something."
She sat beside him after that, their shoulders touching.
Neither rushed.
The scar had left a mark, even if it wasn't visible yet.
He leaned back slowly, and Maia followed, letting her head rest against his chest.
His arm wrapped around her waist without thought. Her fingers found his.
They lay there, not speaking.
Not sleeping.
Just breathing.
After a long silence, Koda murmured, "It whispered to me."
Maia didn't lift her head. "What did it show you?"
He stared at the ceiling for a moment.
"Peace," he said. "A world already saved. A future I didn't have to build."
Her fingers tightened slightly in his.
"And you said no?"
He nodded. "Because it was mine. Not ours. Not the world's."
She looked up at him then, her voice softer than the light. "That's how I know you'll win."
He leaned in, kissed her forehead, then her lips. Slow. Quiet. Real.
No battle in that moment. No weight.
Just warmth.
They fell asleep before dawn fully broke.
Wrapped in silence.
Wrapped in each other.