I held the Moonveil Antlers Shard in my hand.

  At my touch, its Mana stirred, first a tremor and then a swelling pulse of silver radiance. The glow wrapped around my fingers like a faint breath before sinking into my skin.

  It had finally recognized me.

  Good. My Wisdom had to be well past thirty-five by now. I was close. Just a little more, and the first Enlightenment bonus would be mine.

  I slipped the shard back into my pouch, excitement buzzing beneath my ribs.

  “Hoblin pack,” Darwyn hissed.

  We had just stepped out of the Gnashfang Warrens and into a marshy expanse where fog clung low to the ground. Before the words fully settled, his bowstring thrummed. An arrow streaked toward the brush-covered ridge.

  Something ugly burst through the foliage.

  Brown-skinned creatures with warped faces and burning yellow eyes barreled down the slope. Others lingered at the top, hurling stones that cracked against rocks with hideous pops.

  Hooked noses. Knifelike teeth. Pointed ears.

  Each stood nearly a meter and a half tall.

  Muradin stepped forward with a grunt, raising his shield just in time. Stones clanged against the metal in sharp, ringing impacts.

  Darwyn’s arrows whistled past his shoulder. One of the throwers toppled over, shrieking.

  I lifted my staff.

  No way I was sitting this one out.

  [Wind Cutter cast]

  Wind gathered at the tip, the air tightening before snapping forward in a razor-thin arc. It slashed across a Hoblin’s shoulder, spinning it sideways, but the creature only snarled and kept charging.

  [Wind Cutter cast – effect stacked. Damage increased]

  I cast again, Mana surging in a familiar rhythm.

  The spell stacked, pressure building, the air sharpening.

  The next blade bit deep into its thigh. Blood splashed, mud churned, and still the Hoblin pushed forward.

  “That spell of yours,” Darwyn shouted over the din, “sounds fiercer than it bites!”

  “It’ll bite.” Wind coiled around my scepter. “Just give it a second.”

  I wove another. Then another. Each strike faster, heavier, devouring Mana in small, rapid gulps. Soon the air around me screamed with motion, a storm of invisible blades spiraling outward.

  The Hoblin in mid-charge didn’t even hit the ground. The slicing wind tore through it, reducing its body to fading motes carried off by the dying breeze.

  Unlike most weapon-bound skills, Wind Cutter used Mana instead of Soul Power. Its low cost and short cooldown let me spam it endlessly, effectively replacing my basic attack.

  “Die, you bastard!” Muradin bellowed, slamming his shield straight into a Hoblin’s skull. Bone cracked. The creature crumpled at his feet.

  I finished another nearby. Only a few remained.

  Darwyn fired his last shot in one fluid motion, dropping the final thrower. “Don’t relax yet,” he warned. “Something’s coming.”

  My heartbeat had barely slowed when the marsh rippled.

  Then came the croaks.

  Purple Murlocs waddled out of the fog, small and unarmed, with twitching gills. Behind them marched red-scaled ones hefting tridents. Farther back, a towering black Murloc Mutant lumbered into view, muscles bulging beneath slick scales.

  Before we could react, shapes flickered on both flanks.

  Gnoll Archers. Gnoll Warriors.

  Their cackling voices cut through the mist in sharp, staccato bursts.

  But they didn’t rush. They took positions, spreading out deliberately.

  A coordinated ambush.

  “Fuck,” Muradin muttered. “We’re surrounded.” He drew his warhammer with a grim look. “Luck’s never on our side, huh?”

  “It’s a trap. Set by that.” I pointed ahead.

  A Goblin stood half-hidden in the swamp grass. Green-skinned and hideous, like a Hoblin’s runt cousin but with sharper, twitching eyes.

  Muradin squinted. “That ugly wretch? You’re telling me it’s behind this?”

  “They’re smarter than they look,” I replied grimly. “Smart enough for this.”

  Darwyn exhaled sharply. “So… we’re the prey now.” He loosed an arrow, putting down a Hoblin still twitching in the mud.

  As if answering him, the Goblin raised a hand and whistled.

  The swamp erupted in a unified howl.

  ***

  “I’ll take the Mutant,” Darwyn said, drawing back his bow. Electricity crackled along the string.

  [Lightning Bolt cast]

  A blinding streak tore through the fog, smashing into the Murloc Mutant’s chest. The creature convulsed violently, just long enough for Darwyn to pepper it with follow-up shots.

  A red Murloc hurled its trident at him, but Muradin intercepted with a rising hammer swing. Sparks exploded as metal clashed. He charged, bringing the weapon down in a skull-crushing arc.

  I targeted the Gnolls, weaving Wind Cutter after Wind Cutter.

  Between volleys, I hurled Flameburst Flasks. Each explosion sent waves of heat rolling through the reeds, scattering their formation.

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  Muradin’s Forge’s Resilience drew most of the monsters toward him. This passive from Ironclad Sentinel also turned lethal blows into little more than dull impacts. He held the line like a walking fortress.

  The battle dragged on, grueling and exhausting, but we carved through their numbers. One by one, bodies dissolved, growls died out, and the swamp quieted.

  Until only the Goblin remained.

  Its earlier confidence was gone, replaced by wide-eyed terror. It bolted.

  “Not happening,” Darwyn muttered.

  His arrow struck the Goblin’s leg, sending it sprawling into the mud. It clawed at the ground, trying to crawl away, but Darwyn was already on his next shot.

  “Stay down.”

  The arrow flew. A sickening crunch ended the fight.

  Silence settled over the swamp, broken only by our ragged breaths.

  “Finally, we can rest,” Muradin panted, bending over his knees.

  “Not yet,” I said. “We need to collect the drops before the mud swallows them.”

  He groaned loudly. “Damn it. Can’t a dwarf get five minutes of peace?”

  ***

  After the Goblin incident, the three of us continued on through Redridge Range. Gnolls, Bandersnatches, Hoblins, anything that stepped onto our path fell quickly.

  Our party composition worked absurdly well: a wall, a sharpshooter, and me, the versatile support.

  For several days, nothing major happened.

  Somewhere along the road, I found myself talking more than usual. Never the important parts, especially the Descent of Despair or the Crimson Sepulchre, but enough.

  “So after all that,” Muradin said wide-eyed, “that bitch betrayed you?”

  “Make sure she gets what’s coming to her,” Darwyn added. “I hate traitors.”

  “I don’t even know if she survived,” I murmured.

  I pushed the thought aside. “What about you two? How’d you meet?”

  Darwyn exhaled through his nose, a tired smile forming. “Bar. Few nights before my first exploration. This dwarf was so drunk he couldn’t even sit straight.”

  Muradin jerked upright as if stabbed. “Hey! You were the drunk one! I was perfectly sober.”

  “Right,” Darwyn murmured. “That’s why you challenged half the room to an arm wrestle.”

  Muradin opened his mouth, then shut it with a grunt.

  Darwyn huffed, almost a laugh. “Anyway, we ended up in a drinking contest. By sunrise, we’d decided to team up.”

  “You forgot the part where I won that contest,” Muradin added, puffing his chest.

  Darwyn didn’t even look at him. “In your dreams. Just ask Abed or Gill.” The names slipped out, softer than the rest.

  Muradin’s grin froze… then faded.

  The air shifted. Quiet, heavy, the kind that slipped in uninvited.

  A silence that felt familiar to both of them.

  Only the two of them remained from their original team.

  Muradin’s jaw flexed. After a moment, he cleared his throat, breaking the quiet with all the grace of a falling boulder. “Winner or not, this elf-boy cries over everything.”

  Darwyn slid him a slow, warning glare. “Says the guy who wet his pants.”

  “It happened once! I was drunk!”

  “That’s just the one time I know about.”

  Their bickering felt strangely comforting. I leaned back against a tree, letting the noise wash over me.

  “So,” I asked Muradin, “you’re from Oros Village, right?”

  He brightened immediately. “Aye! Born an’ hammered there. South of the kingdom, right by the mountain. Metals so pure they practically beg to be forged.”

  Darwyn rolled his eyes. “Because you dwarves hoard every vein.”

  Muradin crossed his arms. “If you saw the Dragonians at the summit, you’d hoard too. Those lizard-headed nobles act like they own the whole bloody mountain. Won’t even let us near the upper ridges. ‘Sacred grounds,’ they say. Nothing but ego and hot-stone breath.”

  “Is it true dwarves get bonuses from gear?” I asked.

  The dwarf grinned wide. “Twenty percent more stats from any equipment I slap on. Helmets, boots, rings, you name it. Equipment’s everything for us. A dwarf without gear is a naked chicken waiting to be plucked.”

  I nodded as the details sank in. They matched what I already knew and suddenly made sense of why Muradin fussed over his armor by the fire, muttering every time a new scratch marked his shield.

  I turned to Darwyn. “And you? You’re from the West, right? Near Willow’s End?”

  His expression softened. “Yeah. Elarion Wood. Endless canopy, clean air… and home to fairies, our little friends.”

  Muradin snorted. “Fussy little lightbugs.”

  Darwyn ignored him, his eyes flicked to me briefly. “Funny thing is, elves and druids rarely meet each other. We both stay in our woods. Peaceful, but… distant.”

  “And barbarians?” I asked. “I heard there was a war.”

  Darwyn’s jaw tightened. “Not heard. Lived. A bloody one. They raided our western watchtowers, burned the southern orchards. We pushed them back, but…” He exhaled, eyes far away for a moment. “Too many didn’t come home.”

  Muradin grunted, “Bet the Royal Palace had its hands in it.”

  “Muradin,” Darwyn warned sharply.

  “I know, I know,” Muradin cut in. “But you should all be careful with humans. Don’t trust them.”

  Darwyn looked worried someone might be listening, but the tension eased from his shoulders a moment later. “Anyway,” he said, “most elves grow up hunting. Traps, tracking, all that.”

  “And magic.” I added. “You used magic to call for help back then, right?”

  “Yeah. I’ve got a few utility spells, like this.” A faint yellowish glow appeared, wrapping around his body.

  “What about fairies?” I asked. “I heard you can get stronger by using their power.”

  He hesitated, then shrugged. “Yeah, but that’s for the powerful ones. I’m nowhere near that.”

  Muradin nudged him with a grin. “Aye, this one loves playing humble.”

  Darwyn kicked him lightly. “Shut up.”

  Their banter drew a quiet chuckle from me. Something warm unfurled in my chest before I realized it.

  Maybe that was why the words slipped out before I even realized.

  “I’m glad I met you two.”

  Muradin blinked. Darwyn’s expression softened again.

  Then the dwarf grinned. “Aye, lad. We’re glad you helped us.”

  Darwyn smirked. “Even though we got robbed afterward.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Okay, I take it back.”

  Their laughter echoed through the trees, loud and unrestrained.

  “So,” I said after the noise settled, “what’s your plan for the second floor?”

  Muradin cleared his throat, suddenly serious. “We’re heading for the Fake Paradise. There’s something we need there. And…” He scratched his beard. “I don’t think we can handle it alone.”

  Darwyn glanced at me. “Sure you don’t want to join us?”

  Honestly, I was tempted. The idea of having two seasoned explorers at my side tugged harder than I expected.

  “I can’t,” I said. “There are things I have to do first.”

  Muradin shrugged. “We’ve got one more night to change your mind.”

  “Yeah,” Darwyn added. “Think about it during night watch. Lucky you, it’s your turn.”

  I waved them off. “Fine. Go sleep.”

  The camp quieted fast. Only the fire kept its voice, soft crackles and the occasional pop, while a faint croak echoed somewhere deep in the dark. Insects hummed in the background like a lazy choir.

  Within minutes, the others were snoring.

  I poked the embers, sparks drifting upward like dying fireflies. Their offer lingered in my mind. A path we could take together. It would have been… easier.

  But ease wasn’t for me. Not now.

  The hours crawled by, swallowed in the stillness.

  My watch was nearly done when the world ripped open.

  A blinding violet flash tore across the clearing, swallowing every shadow. The air vibrated, then cracked. Loud. Violent. Wrong. As if the sky itself split open.

  “Up! Wake up!”

  Darwyn and Muradin were already scrambling awake.

  Muradin blinked hard, beard flattened to one side. “By the beards, what was that?”

  “A fracture.” I kicked dirt over the fire and grabbed my stuff.

  “You saw the flash?” Darwyn asked, fumbling for his bow.

  “Yes. Purple.”

  Darwyn’s posture sharpened instantly. “Move. Now. It’s close.”

  Muradin snapped fully awake, strapping on his armor with fast, practiced motions.

  There was no mistaking it.

  A Dimensional Fracture had opened.

  But is he strong enough to face a Dimensional Fracture?

  MILESTONES

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