The morning mist in the foothills of the Forest of Whispers was thick enough to drown a man standing up. The Ember Spark had set up a temporary camp in a limestone cave, hidden by a curtain of heavy vines. On the floor between them lay the physical proof of their new life: three copper-and-brass badges and the singed, stamped parchment of their Bronze-Tier Charter.
"We can't go back to Oakhaven, but this paper still has weight," Ria said, tracing the magical seal with her thumb. "The Adventurer's Guild is a continental entity. Even if the Oakhaven branch has flagged us, the 'Ember Spark' is a registered legal entity in the system. As long as we stay in the 'Grey Zones'—the places where the law is thinner than the coin—we can still take contracts."
Kaelen sat in the shadows, his right arm twitching. The new "Wood Imitation" had stabilized the Void-taint, but the limb felt restless. The iron scales were now overlaid with a fibrous, bark-like texture that felt strangely alive. "We're fugitives, Ria. You saw Vane. You saw Lysa. They aren't going to let a 'Calamity-bond' just wander off to pick herbs."
"That's why we need to stop being three people and start being a Company," Korg grunted. He was hunched over a small pot, stirring a broth made of foraged tubers and wild leeks. "A party is easy to kill. A Company has assets. It has a reputation. It has... specialized labor." He looked at Kaelen. "You're the heavy hitter. Ria is the scout. Elara is the navigator. But you're missing the things that keep a Company from falling apart in a dungeon."
"And what's that?" Elara asked, leaning forward.
"A locksmith and a tank," Korg said. "I'm the tank for now, but I'm a cook first. And none of us knows a damn thing about disarming a 'Silent-King' trap or picking a vault door. If we're going to hunt artifacts to keep Kaelen's heart beating, we're going to run into locks that Ria's spear can't break."
"We're in the middle of a forest, Korg," Kaelen pointed out. "It's not exactly a recruitment hall."
"You'd be surprised who hides in the Whispers," Ria said, a small smile playing on her lips. "There's a trading post three miles from here called 'The Last Notch.' It's where the deserters, the disgraced, and the very brave go to trade. If we're going to find a specialist who doesn't ask too many questions about why our leader has a purple-veined iron arm, that's where we'll find them."
The journey to The Last Notch took them through a labyrinth of silver-barked trees. Kaelen found himself practicing the "Echo" of the forest as they walked. He didn't focus on the heat anymore; he focused on the connectivity. He could feel the way the roots of the trees talked to one another through the soil. When a branch blocked their path, he didn't snap it; he reached out with his segmented arm and "asked" the wood to move. To his shock, the branch recoiled as if stung, clearing a path.
"THEY FEAR THE ALPHA," Ignis rumbled. "EVEN THE VEGETATION RECOGNIZES THE PREDATOR IN THEIR MIDST."
The Last Notch appeared suddenly—a cluster of shacks built into the trunks of massive, ancient oaks, connected by rope bridges. It smelled of pine resin, raw spirits, and woodsmoke.
As they entered the central "common" area—a platform suspended fifty feet in the air—they were met with dozens of wary eyes. But one figure stood out. Sitting on a barrel, meticulously disassembling a complex mechanical crossbow, was a Gnome. He wore goggles with multiple shifting lenses and a leather apron stained with strange oils.
"You're late," the Gnome said without looking up.
"We're not the ones you're waiting for," Ria replied, stepping forward.
The Gnome clicked a gear into place and looked up. His eyes, magnified by the lenses, were unnaturally large. He looked at Ria, then Korg, and finally Kaelen. He stopped at Kaelen's wrapped arm, his nose wrinkling.
"Interesting," the Gnome muttered. "A thermal-pressure graft with a secondary vegetative resonance. And... is that a Void-trace? You must be the 'Ember Spark' that caused the ruckus in Oakhaven. The Gilded Lilies have put a 'Professional Jealousy' bounty on your heads."
"Professional Jealousy?" Elara asked.
"It means they don't want you dead yet," the Gnome said, hopping off the barrel. He was barely three feet tall, but he moved with a frantic, caffeinated energy. "They want to ruin your reputation first. Make it so no one will hire you. Then, when you're desperate and broke, they'll 'rescue' you and claim your assets. I'm Pip, by the way. Artificer, trap-breaker, and hater of the Gilded Lilies."
"Why do you hate them?" Kaelen asked.
Pip spat on the wooden floor. "They hired me to clear a tomb last year. I disarmed thirty-two deadly traps. When it came time for the payout, they told the Guild I was just a 'hired hand' and kept my share. I've been waiting for a Company with enough teeth to bite back at them."
Kaelen looked at Ria, who nodded. They needed a specialist.
"We're headed into the deep forest," Kaelen said, stepping closer to Pip. "There's a high-density Echo-site there. It's guarded by things that aren't human. We need someone who can see the traps before they take our heads off."
Pip adjusted his goggles, his mechanical lenses whirring as they focused on the dragon-brand beneath Kaelen's shirt. "You're a walking disaster, kid. A living Calamity-bond with a death clock." He grinned, revealing a missing tooth. "I love it. The payout better be spectacular."
"It'll be enough to buy a city," Kaelen promised.
"Then the Ember Spark has an Artificer," Pip said, slinging a massive, overstuffed toolkit onto his back. "Now, let's get moving. I saw a 'Lilies' scout at the base of the Notch ten minutes ago. They're tracking your heat-signature. If we don't get into the 'Wet Zones' where the mist masks your Echo, they'll be on us by nightfall."
As the newly expanded Company turned to leave, Kaelen felt a sharp, cold prickling at the back of his neck. He turned and looked across the rope bridge.
Standing on a distant platform was a scout in an indigo cloak. The scout didn't move, didn't draw a weapon. They simply raised a small, silver mirror, catching the light and flashing it toward the horizon.
The Gilded Lilies weren't just following them. They were herding them.
"Move," Kaelen commanded, his iron hand clenching. "We have a Company to build, and a rival to bury."