The road narrowed as it descended into the valley.
Stone gave way to packed earth, then to grass worn thin where carts passed too often and left untouched where no one bothered to walk. The sound of water was constant now. Not loud. Persistent. A distant fall echoing between the slopes like a reminder rather than a warning.
The escort rode at a measured pace.
Pryan had dismounted some distance back, reins handed off without comment. He walked ahead of the column, boots finding the ground carefully, not out of pride, but restraint. His core still resisted sudden strain. Movement was easier when he let his body set the rhythm.
Halren slowed his horse to match Pryan's pace, saying nothing. The soldiers followed suit, spacing themselves naturally.
The mountains here were lower than those guarding Ardenfall, their ridges softer, their slopes less disciplined. This was not a border land. It was not shaped by vigilance or defense. It was a passage. A place people trusted to remain unchanged.
That, Pryan thought, was often when things failed.
They rounded a bend.
Movement ahead broke the line of the road.
A figure stumbled into view. Not running. Not steady enough to walk properly either.
A woman.
Her clothes were damp at the hem, dust clinging to the fabric. One arm was wrapped tightly around a small body pressed against her chest.
She raised her head when she saw the escort.
Hope crossed her face—quick, fragile—and sharpened immediately into urgency.
"Please," she said. "Please—"
Her knees gave out before she could finish.
Pryan moved first.
He crossed the distance quickly but without panic, catching her elbow and guiding her down so she didn't fall. Halren lifted a hand, signaling the column to halt. Hooves stilled. Armor quieted.
"What's wrong?" Pryan asked, already kneeling.
"My son," the woman said, voice breaking. "He won't wake. He was fine this morning. He drank the water and—"
She couldn't finish.
Pryan shifted his attention to the child.
The boy was young. Six, perhaps. His skin was pale, lips faintly discolored. His breathing came shallow and uneven, like his body was forgetting the pattern between breaths. Pryan found a weak, irregular pulse at the wrist.
Not injury.
Not exhaustion.
Poison.
Pryan closed his eyes briefly and drew the thinnest thread of mana he could manage. His core responded slowly, cautiously, like something still testing whether it was safe to move. He guided the mana into the boy, not to purge, not to cleanse, but to stabilize.
The mana resisted.
Not violently.
As if it had nowhere to settle.
Pryan frowned slightly and withdrew, leaving just enough reinforcement to slow the spread.
"This will not cure him," Pryan said quietly. "But it will keep him alive."
The woman sagged anyway, pressing her forehead to the child's hair. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you."
Pryan stood and turned to Halren.
"Where is your village?" he asked the woman.
"Half a league east," she said quickly. "Near the base of the falls."
Pryan nodded.
He looked back at her. "Do not let him drink more of the water. Boil what you have. I will return."
Her eyes widened. "You'll help?"
"Yes."
No promise beyond that.
Halren spoke quietly beside him. "We are outside academy authority."
"I know."
"This is not your land."
"I know."
Halren's gaze shifted toward the valley. "If this isn't natural—"
"Then it won't resolve itself," Pryan said.
Halren exhaled once, then gestured to two soldiers. "Escort her back. Slowly."
As they helped the woman to her feet, Pryan turned toward the sound of water.
The path into the valley narrowed, mist clinging faintly to the ground. Plants near the stream's edge were wilted, leaves discolored in ways that didn't match rot or drought.
Pryan crouched and dipped his fingers into the water.
Cold.
Clear.
At a glance, harmless.
But when he let a sliver of mana brush against it, the sensation was wrong. Not corrupted. Not hostile.
Misaligned.
Like something had passed through and left residue behind without understanding what it touched.
They continued deeper.
The first body they found was small.
A valley crawler lay half-submerged near the bank, shell cracked, limbs stiff. No wounds. No signs of struggle. It looked as though it had simply failed to continue existing.
Then another.
And another.
"These don't hunt near water," Halren said quietly as he dismounted. "Not like this."
Pryan nodded.
The waterfall came fully into view.
White water poured from the rocks above, feeding the lake below in a steady curtain. The sound filled the valley, masking smaller noises beneath it.
Pryan felt it then.
Not pressure.
Not threat.
A pull.
Something here was feeding incorrectly. Drawing in poison it did not produce, amplifying it simply by existing too close to it.
"This wasn't an attack," Pryan said.
Halren looked at him. "Then what is it?"
Pryan straightened, eyes fixed on the falling water.
"Contamination," he replied. "Something out of place."
His core tightened faintly, reminding him of limits not yet lifted.
"We can't leave it," Pryan said.
Halren's expression didn't change. "Then we don't."
The valley remained still.
The waterfall kept falling.
And somewhere beneath the sound of rushing water, something waited—unaware that it had already been found.