The crab moved like a nightmare—its hulking bulk sliding sideways through the bog with unnatural speed. Its massive claws snapped with explosive force, gouging the earth and sending chunks of wet muck flying in every direction.

  Cade stood frozen on the outskirts of the fight, breath ragged, heart slamming in his chest. The Fenbreaker Landcrab, Professor Sanders had called it. And it was enormous—easily the size of a truck, armored in thick plates of sea-green chitin that glistened with swamp water.

  In the chaos, it took him a moment to realize the people weren’t just fighting it. They were working together, coordinating their efforts to take the behemoth down.

  A giant of a man stood at the front, shield raised high in one arm and a short sword in the other. He was a wall of muscle and discipline, planted like a fortress as the crab’s nearest claw swung down with bone-shattering speed.

  The man didn’t dodge. Didn’t flinch.

  Instead, his shield flared—a split-second pulse of golden light as the claw hit—and with a crack the massive pincer was repelled, flung backward like it had struck a wall of steel.

  Cade blinked. The man hadn’t budged.

  He was tanking the crab. Holding its focus. Taking every hit and somehow shrugging it off.

  “How...?” Cade muttered, awed.

  To the crab’s side, a shirtless man darted between legs with impossible agility, his muscles rippling like coiled steel. No weapons. Just fists.

  Just his bare fists.

  Cade watched, dumbstruck, as the man punched the crab’s leg joint, his blow landing with a sharp crack that sent vibrations rippling through the chitin.

  Nearby, a blonde woman with short, roughly chopped hair let out a savage cry as she bounded across the battlefield with a pair of handaxes. She was wild, primal—her movements more beast than human. She sprinted past a flailing claw, leapt onto one of the crab’s rear legs, and clung to it with her thighs, hacking at the joint like a woman possessed.

  A loud shriek echoed across the bog, but it wasn’t human.

  The crab was in pain.

  Beneath the creature, a fourth melee fighter worked with careful precision—a slender man in flowing blue robes, wielding a long spear with elegant, fluid motions. He darted in and out under the crab’s bulk, jabbing up into the crevice where its segmented legs met the body. Targeting the weak joints Professor Sanders had called out.

  Cade took it all in, overwhelmed by the raw violence and coordination. Every swing, every dodge, every blow—it all worked toward a purpose. A strategy.

  “They’ve done this before,” Cade whispered.

  To his right, Amanda’s voice cut through the noise. “What level is that thing? My [Identify] just shows question marks.”

  Professor Sanders frowned, flipping open his notebook even as he watched the fight. “Same here. [Analyze] confirms the leg joints are vulnerable, but its level’s too high to read. It must be outside our assessment range.”

  Amanda paled. Cade saw her glance toward the others still fighting. Nadean darted beneath the crab, blades flashing. Sasesh stood further out, wand in hand, lips moving silently as he concentrated.

  A sudden gurgling screech tore through the air. Cade’s head snapped up.

  One of the crab’s eyestalks had folded backward, twitching violently—an arrow protruding from its base.

  Cade turned, spotting the archer at the far edge of the bog: a figure cloaked in black, hood up, bow still raised. He lowered it slowly, face unreadable at a distance.

  “That shot...” Cade breathed. “That had to hit something important.”

  The crab reeled. Its claws jerked up protectively toward its face, instinctively shielding the wounded eye. Then it twisted, its massive body rotating with disturbing speed to face the archer.

  The blue-robed spearman didn’t see it in time.

  One of the crab’s legs smashed into him mid-pivot, sending him flying sideways like a rag doll. He hit the ground hard, sliding several feet before going still.

  “Shit!” Cade shouted.

  Nadean and the shirtless man dodged back as the crab turned, avoiding its massive limbs by inches. But the axe-wielding woman didn’t jump off.

  She held tight, legs wrapped around the crab’s limb like a vice.

  And then—

  CRACK.

  The leg snapped at the joint.

  Cade staggered back as the crab shrieked in agony. The limb gave way under the weight of its own body. The woman tumbled free with a satisfied grin, landing in a roll.

  “Dammit, Kyle! Dodge!” the shield-bearing giant bellowed.

  Cade’s eyes whipped back to the archer—Kyle—who stood his ground, bow lowered, watching the crab now barreling toward him.

  It was fast—too fast.

  It scuttled sideways, claws wide, covering distance like a freight train. It would flatten Kyle in seconds.

  Cade’s breath caught in his throat.

  Then, suddenly—

  Crunch.

  The sound was sickening.

  The crab lurched. Its momentum halted mid-charge. It shrieked—once, high and sharp—and then collapsed, its entire weight slamming into the bog. Legs spasmed and twitched then fell still.

  The battlefield froze.

  For a second, no one moved.

  Cade blinked rapidly, trying to understand. Did someone kill it? What just happened?

  Amanda and Professor Sanders looked equally baffled.

  Then Cade saw him.

  Sasesh.

  He stood near the rear of the group, wand hanging limply in his hand. His face was pale. Sweat poured down his brow, and his entire body trembled.

  And then, with a gasp, Sasesh collapsed to his knees.

  “Sasesh!” Cade took a step forward, panic shooting through his limbs.

  “I’m fine!” Sasesh wheezed, voice sharp and hoarse. “I’m... fine...”

  Cade hesitated, uncertain—until his eyes caught something near the crab’s body.

  He moved, walking in a wide arc around the beast, boots squelching through the muck. And then he saw it—jutting from the soft earth beneath the crab’s collapsed body was a massive stone spike.

  Rough, jagged, perfectly placed. It had pierced the crab’s underbelly at an angle—so precise that its own momentum had driven the impalement home.

  Cade stared at it in awe.

  Sasesh hadn’t been idle. He hadn’t flung any flashy spells or dramatic waves of stone. He’d waited. He’d prepared.

  He knew he couldn’t use his magic while the others were swarming around the crab—not without risking friendly fire. So he waited, charging his magic, shaping it, setting the trap.

  And when the crab overcommitted—when its defenses dropped and it scuttled away from their allies—Sasesh struck.

  The silence after the fight felt almost deafening.

  For a few long seconds, no one moved. The only sound was the distant hum of swamp insects returning to their rhythm. Steam rose faintly from the puncture wound in the crab’s underside, curling around the jagged spike that pinned it in place.

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  Then Amanda moved.

  Cade watched her break into a run—mud splashing around her boots as she sprinted toward the melee group. Professor Sanders followed, slower but steady, already calling out to Sasesh in concern.

  Cade stayed where he was for half a heartbeat, torn between following and staying still. He glanced toward the crab again, then at the fallen spear-wielder, who was still lying motionless in the muck.

  “Shit,” Cade muttered under his breath.

  He knew his limits. If he ran over there, he’d just be one more body in the way. Amanda knew what she was doing—and if anyone could pull that guy back from the brink, it was her.

  So instead, Cade turned around.

  Movement caught his eye. A figure in a long, dark cloak striding toward him. The archer. The one who had landed the shot to the crab’s eye.

  Up close, the man looked younger than Cade expected—nineteen, maybe twenty at most. His hood shadowed sharp features and wary eyes that flicked over Cade without stopping. He carried himself with a quiet confidence, bow still in hand, one arrow half-nocked like he didn’t quite trust the peace yet.

  Cade took a step forward, forcing a tired grin. “You must be Kyle,” he said, holding out a hand. “I’m Cade.”

  The archer’s mouth tightened. He didn’t take the hand. Just gave a short, stiff nod and walked past without a word.

  Cade blinked, his hand still hanging awkwardly in the air. “…Cool. Great talk.”

  He let the moment linger for a beat before exhaling through his nose and turning to follow the archer’s path toward the others.

  The cloaked young man moved deceptively quick. He didn’t appear to be rushing, but by the time Cade started trudging through the mud, Kyle had already reached the rest of the fighters clustered near the fallen crab.

  By the time Cade got halfway there, he could hear the muffled sound of cheering. Relief.

  He couldn’t help but smile faintly. If they were cheering, that meant the spear-wielder was alive. Amanda had made it in time.

  Cade slowed his pace, breath steadying as he approached. The adrenaline was fading now, replaced by a deep fatigue and the faint, unsteady relief of survival.

  Sasesh was still seated nearby, wand lying beside him in the dirt, his breathing shallow but steady. Professor Sanders crouched at his side, murmuring something low and reassuring.

  Cade lingered a few paces away, watching the scene unfold—the two groups mingling, voices rising in cautious joy.

  By the time Cade finally reached the others, the mood had shifted entirely.

  Relief, joy—even laughter—rolled through the gathered survivors. The towering corpse of the Fenbreaker Landcrab loomed behind them, but the group had pulled away, huddled now in loose clusters. Most were still catching their breath, sharing quick congratulations, retelling their own view of the fight with wide eyes and animated gestures.

  Cade hovered at the edge of it all, unsure where to insert himself.

  Nadean was already deep in conversation with the axe-wielding woman—the one who had ridden the crab’s leg like a mechanical bull. The two of them were grinning like old war buddies, animatedly miming the creature’s leg breaking. Amanda knelt beside the formerly unconscious spear-wielder, whispering something Cade couldn’t hear as she double-checked his condition.

  Professor Sanders now stood off to the side, chatting calmly with the giant man Cade had seen take the brunt of the crab’s fury. Beside them, Kyle stood in silence, hood still up, arms crossed, eyes flicking between conversations like he didn’t quite trust the good mood.

  Sasesh remained seated nearby, but now he was upright, leaning against a thick root, exhaustion clear in the slump of his shoulders. The shirtless bruiser—the one who had been punching a crab like it owed him money—hovered beside Sasesh with unabashed excitement, slapping the mage’s back in hearty celebration. Sasesh winced with every thump but didn’t tell the man to stop.

  Cade watched all of it with a growing sense of distance.

  No one greeted him. No one even looked in his direction.

  It wasn’t hostile. It wasn’t cold. It was just social inertia. Everyone had clicked instantly with someone—some existing connection or shared adrenaline—but Cade was the odd one out.

  He rubbed the back of his neck, glanced once at Nadean and the axe woman, then at Sasesh and the punch-happy guy.

  Amanda, he decided. At least her and the spear-wielder were fairly quiet.

  Cade walked toward her, keeping a respectful distance as she checked over the still-seated spear-wielder. His bruises were turning purple already, but he looked stable, breathing easier now that Amanda had done her work.

  Cade opened his mouth to speak—about the crab, about the healing, maybe even an apology for last night.

  But then the voice cut through the group’s chatter.

  “Alright everyone, let’s gather together.”

  It was like thunder wrapped in velvet—deep, resonant, and immediately authoritative. Cade turned, not surprised to find the source was the same man with the shield—the one who had been tanking the crab's monstrous claws.

  The man stood straight-backed, his armor scratched but intact, his presence commanded their attention. His dark skin gleamed with sweat in the sun filtering through the trees, and his short-cropped salt-and-pepper hair gave him an air of seasoned calm.

  People responded to him instantly. Conversations paused. Smiles faded to attentive expressions. Even Kyle uncrossed his arms.

  Amanda rose but kept a hand to hold the spear-wielder down in his vein attempt to stand. Sasesh pushed himself to his feet with a grunt but only made it a few steps before sitting back down again near the circle.

  Once everyone had roughly gathered, the large man continued.

  “Of all the people I expected to find in a place like this, Vikram here was damn near last on the list,” he said, one massive hand clapping gently onto Professor Sanders’ shoulder.

  Cade blinked. Vikram?

  He double-checked his mental notes until Professor Sanders gave a sheepish wave and said, “That’s me. Professor Sanders to the rest of you, of course. But yes—Vikram, in another life.”

  The large man smiled. “I met Vikram a few years ago. I was his physical therapist after his knee replacement.”

  A few raised brows rippled through the group, Cade’s included.

  “This man,” the tank continued, turning toward the members of his group now, “was an inspiration to me and my other patients. Recovered faster than anyone I’d worked with. Kept the mood light, helped others stay on track. So listen up—Kyle, Miriam, John, and Kranti—you treat him with more respect than you’d give me.”

  Cade mentally noted each name as they were said.

  Kyle, the standoffish archer.

  Miriam, the feral axe-wielding woman.

  John, the spear fighter Amanda had healed.

  Kranti, the excited bare-knuckle brawler still hovering near Sasesh.

  As the man finished, Professor Sanders nodded appreciatively. “Thank you, Bryan. It was a pleasure working with you back then.”

  Bryan. So that was the tank’s name. Cade filed it away.

  Professor Sanders cleared his throat and addressed the group. “As Bryan mentioned, I’m Vikram. But please, for your own safety, continue calling me Professor Sanders. Only those with tenure may use my first name.”

  That earned a ripple of chuckles.

  “Now,” he continued, tone more formal again, “as Bryan and I were just discussing, it seems we’re the first groups to run into each other. Unless anyone here has seen others?”

  No one responded. Just heads shaking.

  “Then we have a decision to make,” Professor Sanders said. “Bryan and I believe it’s in everyone’s best interest to combine groups and travel together. Yes, it means more mouths to feed and more people to coordinate. But it also means more fighters. More skill variety. More eyes and ears to watch each other’s backs.”

  He gestured toward Amanda.

  “If we combine, you’ll have access to a proven healer. Just ask John.”

  The spearman grinned, still rubbing his ribs. “She saved my ass. No question. I thought I was toast.”

  Professor Sanders smiled. “And Bryan’s group brings something we sorely lack—a proper front line. His class allows him to keep the enemy’s attention and absorb the damage we can’t. I think we can all agree that not being the one targeted by a crab’s claw is a valuable asset.”

  Cade saw more than a few nods ripple through the group.

  And then Professor Sanders' eyes flicked toward him—just briefly. Cade felt it. A hesitation. A stumble.

  “…It’ll also help…balance out some of our current disadvantages,” Professor Sanders said delicately.

  Cade tried not to let it sting.

  Professor Sanders adjusted his glasses and glanced around the circle. “Now, I’ve always believed that cooperation works best when it’s chosen, not imposed. We’re not running a dictatorship here. Everyone gets a say.”

  Cade caught Sasesh mutter under his breath, “Not everyone should get a say,” but the Professor either didn’t hear him or refused to acknowledge it.

  “So,” Professor Sanders continued smoothly, “if anyone objects to combining our groups, say so now. If you’d prefer to go your own way, no hard feelings. But if we’re doing this, it has to be unanimous. Group harmony matters.”

  The assembled survivors exchanged glances. For a heartbeat, silence hung heavy in the humid air.

  Then Bryan raised his shield-bearing arm. “You already know where I stand. My people and I agree—it’s smarter together.”

  Amanda was next, hand rising without hesitation. “We’ve already seen how much difference a coordinated group can make.”

  Nadean smirked and lifted hers. “I like these guys. They hit hard.”

  Sasesh sighed dramatically but still raised his hand. “Fine. But I’m not babysitting anyone.”

  Laughter rippled through the group, light but genuine. One by one, the rest followed—Miriam, Kranti, Kyle, John—all raising their hands in turn.

  Finally, Cade.

  He hesitated just for a moment, his hand hovering halfway up. His gaze drifted across the faces around him—fighters, people who’d fought together, who bled together. And for once, he wasn’t sure if he belonged among them.

  But then Amanda caught his eye, offering a small, weary smile.

  Cade lifted his hand the rest of the way.

  “Unanimous,” Professor Sanders said, satisfaction softening his features. “Excellent. Then, from this moment forward, we move as one group.”

  Bryan nodded. “Sounds good to me. And since it’s already past midday, I’d say we’ve earned a rest. We’ll set up camp here for the night, patch our gear, recover mana, and plan our next move tomorrow.”

  That suggestion didn’t sit well with everyone.

  Miriam—the blonde with the axes—crossed her arms. Her accent was thick, her tone blunt. “Aye, I disagree with that last bit. Look around, Bryan—this is a bloody bog. The ground’s half soup. We’ll wake up floating.”

  Before Bryan could respond, Sasesh lifted a hand from where he sat slumped near the crab’s corpse. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, voice rough but steady. “I’ll take care of the ground. You’ll sleep dry. Probably.”

  Miriam arched a brow, clearly unconvinced, but Bryan gave a slow nod. “That’ll do. Everyone rest, eat, and tend your wounds. We’ll regroup at sundown.”

  The circle began to break apart, conversation blooming again in the aftermath of the vote. Kranti threw an arm around Sasesh’s shoulders, laughing loud enough to wake the swamp. Nadean was still chatting animatedly with Miriam, comparing the weight of their weapons. Kyle had moved from the group to a few paces off where he perched on a half-buried log, silently fiddling with his quiver.

  Cade lingered at the edges as usual, hands in his pockets, watching it all unfold. Watching them.

  There was movement. Energy. They had a sense of direction he hadn’t felt in days. No, in years.

  He’d spent the last day tripping over roots, missing swings, earning pitying glances. But maybe, with this many people, his lack of a class wouldn’t matter so much. Maybe he could still pull his weight somehow. Maybe he wouldn’t be the weak link forever.

  Cade exhaled slowly, a faint smile ghosting across his lips as the sound of laughter carried through the humid air.