"Finally," he went on, rolling his shoulders, "there's us. Hunters. And the Pathfinders." He held up two fingers this time. "Pathfinders only number about thirty. Their job's to scout new areas, map threats, and come back alive long enough to tell us what's out there. Once they do, we go hunting."
He glanced at the monster corpses littering the street. "Compared to the Guards, we're smaller. But we're better. More elite." A faint note of pride crept into his voice. "Like I said, our leader's Gemma."
Jahness listened carefully, committing every word to memory. The structure, the factions, the quiet violence beneath it all—it painted a picture far more dangerous than he'd expected.
The Hunter's casual tone vanished when he spoke again.
"Standing apart from all that is the Bright Lord himself. Gunlaug." The name landed heavily. "And Harus. His personal executioner. Right-hand man."
Even the woman by the fire stopped moving.
"Both are nasty fuckers," the Hunter continued flatly. "Blink at them the wrong way and you die. Simple as that." He leaned forward slightly. "Harus, especially. He's the boogeyman of Bright Castle. No one who's ever crossed Gunlaug has survived the night once Harus sets his eyes on them."
Varkass felt a chill crawl up his spine.
"He's a hunchback," the Hunter added, almost conversationally. "So he's easy enough to spot."
He met their gazes one by one, expression sharpening.
"When you do," he said, "avoid him like the plague."
Lina was the first to digest the information—or perhaps she simply boxed it away and forced herself to keep moving. Her eyes sharpened, the fatigue momentarily eclipsed by caution.
"Anyone else we should know about?" she pressed.
The Hunter who had been eating scratched the side of his head and let out a low hum as he thought. He stared into the fire for a moment, embers reflecting in his eyes, before nodding to himself.
"Well… one or two, I suppose."
He glanced up at them again. "There's a woman. Pretty famous around here. Goes by Athena, though most people just call her Effie."
At the name, one of the other Hunters let out a quiet snort of amusement.
"She's something of a rebel," the man continued. "Flat-out refuses to obey Gunlaug. Even turned down his offer to become a lieutenant."
Jahness' eyebrows rose slightly. Turning down the Bright Lord himself sounded less like rebellion and more like a death sentence.
"Ever since," the Hunter went on, voice dropping, "anyone who's tried to partner up with her hasn't met a pretty end. Accidents. Disappearances. Monsters showing up where they shouldn't." He shrugged. "Message is clear. If Gunlaug can't have her, no one can."
Varkass shifted uncomfortably, the image forming all too easily in his mind.
"In the Settlement, though," the Hunter said, "she's almost a symbol. Justice, defiance, that sort of thing. Gives people hope." He scoffed softly. "Dangerous thing, hope."
Lina's gaze stayed fixed on him. "She's strong?"
The Hunter barked a short laugh. "Strong? She's probably the physically strongest Sleeper left now that Tessai's dead. No tricks. No bullshit. Just overwhelming force."
He paused, then added, almost casually, "Effie's easy enough to get along with, all things considered."
The woman by the fire smirked. "That is, if you can keep up."
The Hunter nodded. "Be warned, though—she's got a way with words. Gets under your skin. Makes you make a fool of yourself."
"Anyone else?" Lina pressed, her tone even, but her eyes sharp. She could feel it—there was something they were holding back.
Sure enough, the Hunters exchanged looks, a few of them grimacing before one finally sighed. This time, it was the man who hadn't spoken once since the trio had arrived. He sat with his elbows on his knees, staring into the fire as if weighing how much trouble his words might cause.
"One more guy, yeah," he said at last. "If you're staying in the Settlement, you'll probably run into him sooner or later."
He lifted his gaze to them.
"Kid named Adam. What, seventeen this year?" He snorted softly. "Showed up the solstice before you did, and he kinda changed the entire fucking game."
Jahness straightened slightly.
"Long story short," the man continued, "he's the reason Tessai is dead. After that, he became Gunlaug's 'cupbearer,' as he likes to put it. Kept close. Part prisoner, part asset."
Jahness frowned. "Is this… Adam very strong?"
If Gunlaug truly feared him, then power—real power—had to be involved.
The Hunter shook his head. "Strong? He's alright, I guess. Handy with a blade, but definitely not a fighter. No, his threat comes from two things."
He raised one finger.
"First, his Aspect. Lets him sense emotions and thoughts."
Varkass stiffened.
"As you can imagine," the Hunter went on, "that makes him real good with people. He knows what to say, when to say it, and how to guide a crowd without them even realizing it. Built himself quite the following. Few people around here haven't been charmed by him at least once."
The fire crackled, throwing long shadows across the coral walls.
"In terms of personality," the man added, "he's a damn saint. Real nice guy. In the Settlement, he's basically a god."
Silence settled over the group.
Varkass, Jahness, and Lina exchanged uneasy glances, trying to reconcile the image. A young man beloved by the oppressed, gifted with insight into the human mind—of course Gunlaug would see that as a threat.
"But you said two things," Varkass said at last, his voice cautious. "What's the other reason?"
The answer came from behind them.
"That would be me."
The voice was sudden, low, and close.
The trio spun around on instinct.
A man stood there, seemingly having emerged from the shadows themselves. He wore black from head to toe, long dark hair spilling down his back. His face and shoulders were swallowed by a veil of darkness that clung to him unnaturally, as if the light simply refused to touch him. Only the vague impression of eyes could be seen—watchful, intent, and unsettlingly calm.
He was looking directly at them.
Jahness felt his skin crawl, a cold sensation running down his spine. He remembered the name spoken earlier, the laughter that had followed.
Sasrir.
The man tilted his head slightly, a thin smile barely visible within the shadows.
Sasrir ended the conversation with a single, economical gesture.
"That's enough," he said, his voice flat and unyielding. "Pack it up. We're heading back."
No one argued.
The Hunters moved immediately, stamping out the fire, slinging packs over their shoulders, checking weapons with practiced motions. The sudden shift was striking—moments ago they had been laughing, trading crude jokes over roasting meat, and now all levity had vanished. They fanned out into a loose formation, eyes scanning the coral alleys and shadowed overhangs with professional caution.
Jahness, Lina, and Varkass fell in with them, more by instinct than instruction.
The walk back was silent.
The Coral Labyrinth gradually gave way to something different—less wild, less chaotic, but no less unsettling. The path widened into streets paved with broken stone and ancient cobble, half-swallowed by coral growth that had petrified into jagged, frozen waves. Towers leaned at impossible angles, their upper floors collapsed or eaten away, while others stood eerily intact, their facades carved with weathered reliefs and forgotten symbols.
It was a city, unmistakably so.
A dead one.
The architecture bore the marks of former grandeur: broad arches, wide plazas, remnants of statues whose faces had long since been eroded into blank masks. Coral threaded through everything, not as an invading force but as a replacement—supporting fallen walls, reinforcing cracked pillars, fusing ruin and reef into a single grotesque whole.
There was a bleak beauty to it.
Jahness found himself staring despite his exhaustion. This was not the chaotic devastation of a battlefield, but the quiet aftermath of a civilization that had been allowed to rot in place. No birds flew overhead. No wind stirred. Even their footsteps sounded muted, as though the city itself were listening.
Sasrir walked at the front.
He did not hurry, nor did he slow. His pace was perfectly measured, every step identical to the last. Where the Hunters scanned their surroundings, shifting weight and adjusting grips, Sasrir seemed to simply exist—his presence constant, his awareness all-encompassing. Shadows bent around him in subtle ways, pooling at his feet and stretching unnaturally along walls as he passed.
He never looked back.
Yet Jahness had the creeping certainty that Sasrir knew exactly where each of them was at all times.
They passed through districts where entire buildings had collapsed into one another, forming maze-like warrens of stone and coral. In others, the ruins were more orderly, streets still intact, doorways gaping open like empty mouths. Faded murals could be glimpsed on interior walls—fragments of color depicting scenes Jahness could not fully interpret. Processions. Crowds. Light.
All of it long dead.
As they continued, the air grew colder.
Not in the natural sense, but in a way that felt imposed—an absence of warmth rather than the presence of chill. Varkass shivered, hugging his arms close. Lina's hand never strayed far from her weapon, her eyes sharp despite her fatigue. Jahness felt his regenerated body tense, instincts whispering that this place was not meant for people like them.
Then, at last, the Castle came into view.
Jahness stopped walking.
It rose above the city like a judgment made manifest—vast, angular, and utterly dominant. The Bright Castle was carved from pale stone that caught the distant light and reflected it harshly, its walls towering over the surrounding ruins. Massive buttresses supported its structure, and high above, battlements lined with jagged silhouettes suggested both defense and menace.
It did not look like a refuge.
It looked like a fortress built to endure an apocalypse.
As they drew closer, another sight emerged beneath it.
The Settlement.