Greta lined us up once every lump and shell had been collected. The clearing behind us looked like the aftermath of a very specific, very confused battle. Dirt, oil, fear, and the faint scent of turtle fat clung to the air. Greta inspected each of our jars herself, tightening lids, checking for cracks, and verifying that the shells were intact.

  "Guild Hall is ahead," she said. "We stay on the path. You stay beside me. If you step off the path, you will regret it. That is not a threat. That is a fact. Now move."

  Her voice cut through the forest with clean confidence, and we obeyed. We always did.

  We followed her single-file as she walked, boots thudding in a steady, unbothered rhythm. The path wound between thick trunks and low branches that reached down like fingers. The deeper we went, the heavier the air felt. Colors dimmed, greens becoming darker, richer, almost wet-looking. The hum of dungeon mana shifted into something deeper and slower.

  After a few minutes, Greta stopped so abruptly that the line behind her stumbled.

  "This is the Copper boundary," she said. "Tin zone ends here. You will feel it. Do not panic. Keep walking." She took one step forward.

  The moment my foot crossed the invisible line, cold washed through me. It was not physical. It was instinct. Primal. A warning my tiny body was not prepared for. My breath hitched. The hairs on my arms lifted.

  Around me, other children froze mid-step. A few gasped. One girl grabbed the back of my shirt and clung to it like a lifeline.

  The woods ahead were darker. Not from lack of sunlight. From presence.

  Shapes lingered between the trees. Small bodies, thin frames, fur bristling, slime pulsing, leaves shifting in unnatural rhythms. Eyes glinted from shadowed hollows. Monsters watched us. Dozens of them. Small ones, yes, but they radiated intent.

  Predatory patience.

  They stayed at the edge of the path. They did not challenge Greta. They simply waited.

  Greta walked calmly, like she was strolling through a spring meadow, so we forced ourselves to follow. My legs trembled with each step.

  The sensation of being observed, evaluated, weighed for weaknesses pressed against my mind. The forest felt alive in a way that was not comforting.

  Behind me, someone whimpered.

  A boy near the back shifted, foot slipping slightly off the packed dirt. Just a few inches.

  That was all it took.

  The bushes exploded.

  A slime wolf burst from the brush, its form shimmering between liquid and flesh. Its body looked like a half-solid wolf with translucent ooze shaped around floating shards of bone. The bones clicked as it moved, suspended in the gel like broken teeth.

  It lunged and latched onto the boy’s leg instantly.

  The scream that followed tore through the trees.

  The wolf yanked him toward the forest. The gel of its jaws hissed where it touched flesh, acid burning through cloth and skin. The boy’s hands dug into the dirt as he tried to grab onto anything.

  Greta growled.

  The sound that came out of her did not belong to any mortal creature. It rolled like distant thunder and cracked through the clearing like a broken mountain.

  The slime wolf froze.

  Its entire gelatinous body trembled. The bones inside rattled as if vibrating from fear alone. Its jaw loosened. It released the boy and skittered backward, then spun and bolted into the undergrowth, still trembling.

  Greta’s snarl faded, but the air still felt heavy from the force of it.

  The boy collapsed, clutching his leg. Acid had eaten through his pants and was now steaming against raw flesh. His sobs came in high, panicked breaths.

  Greta knelt at his side without hesitation, pulling a glass bottle from her pouch.

  "Listen," she said to all of us, her voice steady. "This is a lesson. Monsters in the Copper zone will hurt you. They will kill you if they can. They do not give warnings. If you step off the path, this is what happens."

  She uncorked the vial with a sharp pop.

  "For those of you who do not know," she said, raising the potion where everyone could see, "this is a healing potion. Concentrated healing magic in a bottle. When you drink it, the healing spreads through your body. When you pour it on a wound directly, the healing focuses there. It is more efficient. But it hurts more. A lot more. You feel every moment of regrowth. It is the same sensation as a regeneration spell."

  The boy cried harder as his leg blistered. The acid bubbled around the wound, eating deeper.

  Greta reached into her belt one more time and pulled out a thick leather strap.

  "This potion will not work fast enough if he drinks it," she said. "Slime wolf bites have acid. The longer it stays, the worse the damage gets. We need direct healing. Shawn, open your mouth and bite down on this."

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  Shawn sobbed but obeyed, jaw trembling as she slid the strap between his teeth.

  Greta held his leg steady with one hand.

  "Hold still," she said. "This is going to hurt."

  She poured the potion over the wound.

  The reaction was immediate.

  Shawn screamed into the strap, his whole body arching. Steam shot upward as the healing magic collided with the acid, burning it away but regrowing tissue at the same time. The sizzling sound made several kids gag.

  The rest of us stood frozen, wide-eyed. No one dared move. No one dared breathe too loudly.

  Greta did not flinch. Her hand stayed steady until the last drop of potion was gone.

  After several agonizing moments, Shawn’s trembling eased. The wound no longer bled. Pink skin shimmered where raw tissue had been minutes before.

  Greta pulled the strap out of his mouth.

  "You will walk," she told him. "It will be sore, but you will walk. Remember this feeling. Let it remind you why we listen."

  She stood and scanned our line, eyes sharp.

  "All of you. Stay on the path. If you step off it, the forest will eat you. Do you understand?"

  We nodded. Every single one of us.

  Greta pointed forward. "Move."

  We moved, but none of us walked the same way as before. The carefree line from earlier had vanished. Now we pressed together in a narrow spine of frightened bodies, each child gripping their jar or shell like a talisman. Even the dwarven girl, who had been fearless through the turtle slaughter, kept glancing left and right, her shoulders tense.

  The path widened briefly, curving along the base of a rise where old roots twisted out of the soil like ancient ribs. Strange fungi glowed faintly along the trunks, casting dim amber light that flickered with each breeze. A few children stared at the mushrooms too long, eyes wide.

  "Do not touch those," Greta said without looking back. "They spit. And you will not like what they spit."

  Everyone jerked their hands away.

  The monsters in the shadows moved with us. Their eyes tracked our every step. Some of them took slow, silent paces forward whenever we passed, but none crossed the line of the path. Not with Greta here.

  I felt their presence like a weight on my spine. In my old life, I had walked through battlefields without blinking. I had stared down creatures of nightmare and felt nothing but calculation.

  Now I was three years old. My legs were short. My heart was small. And I felt fear in a way I had not felt it in centuries.

  A branch snapped somewhere to the right. A few kids squeaked and pressed closer to Greta. She did not stop walking.

  "Predators test boundaries," she said. "If you run, they chase you. If you panic, they bite you. If you stay calm and stay close, they will watch you pass. That is all."

  Her voice was calm, almost bored.

  The path opened again, revealing a shallow dip in the land where the forest thinned. Ahead, faint shapes rose between the trees. Buildings. Wooden. Dark. Low to the ground. Smoke drifted from a long chimney.

  "Guild Hall," Greta said. "We are close."

  The sight of civilization made several children relax too early.

  A rustle sounded in the bushes to our left. Something small darted along the edge of the path. A juvenile vine drake, green as moss, tail flicking behind it. Its eyes glinted with mischief.

  One boy stepped back instinctively, pressing against the tree line.

  The vine drake chirped and lunged.

  Before it could get halfway to him, Greta’s foot swept out with casual ease. It connected with the creature’s snout. The drake rolled three times, dazed, then scrambled upright and bolted into the trees.

  Greta did not break stride.

  "Keep your feet under you," she said. "If something jumps at you, move forward, not backward. Do not give the forest your back."

  We all murmured a shaky chorus of "Yes, Instructor."

  The path narrowed again as vines curled overhead, creating a natural archway. Amber insects buzzed around the hanging leaves. The air here tasted thicker, heavier. Copper zone monsters clustered on both sides of the path, brave enough to draw closer now that we neared the boundary of their territory.

  Two slime wolves padded alongside us for several yards, their gelatinous paws sliding silently. Every few steps they tested the air, jaws opening slightly, tasting for weakness.

  Greta glared at them.

  They stopped.

  Both lowered their heads, tails quivering, and backed away into the brush.

  The children whispered prayers under their breath.

  The dwarven girl asked quietly, "Instructor, how do they know not to attack you?"

  Greta did not answer for several seconds. Her shoulders remained loose, posture calm, but her presence felt like a coiled storm.

  "Because monsters know when something can kill them," she said. "Not all creatures are smart, but fear is an instinct. Even in slime. Even in rot. Even in things that have no brain to speak of. They know."

  Shawn swallowed hard. "Can you kill all of them?"

  "If I had to," she said.

  He nodded like that was the greatest comfort he had ever heard.

  We continued deeper. The canopy opened slightly, allowing sunlight to drip through in pale ribbons. A few children took deeper breaths, thinking the danger had passed.

  They were wrong.

  A cluster of whisper-moths drifted down from above; their wings patterned like twisting eyes. They fluttered low, gliding barely a handspan above our heads.

  One child, too young to understand, lifted a hand as if to touch one.

  Greta reached out faster than sight, grabbing the child by the back of the collar and yanking him down.

  "Do not touch whisper-moths," she said curtly. "Their wings collect sound. If they land on your ears, you will panic until your heart gives out. Keep your hands down."

  The kid nodded violently, lip trembling.

  As we walked, the forest seemed to thin, though the weight of danger remained. The trees grew farther apart. The monsters lingered more distantly. The air tasted different too, less sharp, less charged. We were crossing the threshold.

  Greta paused, scanning the path ahead. "We are about to enter the Iron boundary. Copper monsters rarely cross it. Tin monsters almost never cross it. The dangers are different there, but the Guild Hall maintains the path. You will be safe. Stay behind me."

  The Iron zone felt different the moment we stepped into it. The air lacked the predatory pressure of the Copper zone. The shadows shifted differently. The monsters that had followed us peeled away like a tide retreating.

  And then we saw it.

  The Guild Hall.

  It was built of heavy timber and dark stone, squat and sturdy like it expected the forest to try to crush it. Iron plates reinforced the corners. A wide porch stretched along the front with benches carved from thick logs. Several lanterns hung from hooks, lit with steady blue flames.

  A tall sign rose beside the door.

  TIN COOP: MATERIAL EXCHANGE AND TRAINING WING.

  A woman in leather armor sat on the porch sharpening a spearhead. She looked up as we approached, eyebrow lifting at the parade of shaken children.

  Greta raised a hand.

  "Training run," she said.

  "Looks like it was a loud one," the woman replied.

  "They met a slime wolf."

  The woman winced. "Ah. Growing pains. Come inside."

  We filed past her into the Guild Hall. The interior was dim but warm, filled with the smell of wood smoke and drying herbs. A long counter stretched across the far wall. Shelves behind it displayed jars, tools, bundles of rope, and racks of Tin-ranked weapons.

  Greta turned to face us.

  "Inside these walls, you are safe. Outside them, you listen to every word I say. Understood?"

  "Yes, Instructor," we said, some stronger than others.

  She nodded. "Good. Now we trade your materials. Then we will rest. Tomorrow, we begin your next lesson."