Varun POV

  Varun hung two stories up among the branches, bracing himself against the trunk. The higher he climbed, the heavier the fog became. Past the second tree, the world dissolved into pale shapes and guesswork. He could see the rough bark within reach, but everything else vanished into shifting gray.

  Cold air was supposed to sink, yet the freezing fog grew heavier as Varun ascended. It choked the canopy, swallowing sound until the silence felt wrong. He was tempted to climb further just to solve the anomaly, but Sid’s warning checked his curiosity. Stop as soon as you lose sight of the next tree. The words carried too much weight to ignore.

  Sid should have been two trees away. Varun swiped a cluster of leaves aside to clear his view, expecting a shadow or a flicker of movement. Instead, there was nothing. Pythagoras was hard at work; the geometry undeniable. Varun could clearly see the tree where Sid was supposed to be standing, yet Sid was nowhere to be seen.

  After two jumps, his Wall-to-Wall Leap entered cooldown, refusing to respond despite his persistent attempts, leaving him to make the next jump on his own. To say he was not afraid would have been a lie. The distance was not forgiving, and a slip here meant more than bruises. Still, he relished the challenge. The fear sharpened his focus instead of dulling it.

  He had forty seconds to neutralize the goblins without a sound. Varun glanced down, checking the jacket and jeans imbued with Sid’s skill. It also served as their indicator: if Varun saw his boxers, then he was invisible to the world, and if he saw the jacket and jeans, he was exposed.

  He looked at his bare calves. The air was chilly, yet his skin showed no reaction. It was a logical impossibility that would have caused doubt if he hadn’t understood how Sid’s skill worked.

  It was the most versatile skill he knew. The effect scaled with familiarity—what the target knew changed what they saw. It had its flaws, like the chill that refused to appear, but its utility far outweighed the flaws.

  Varun took a breath and bolted up the wood, spiraling around the trunk. He wove through knots and branches with deliberate speed. Without warning, his clothes appeared on his body. The glitch jarred him, breaking his rhythm and bleeding momentum, before the clothes vanished once more.

  To compensate, he scrambled higher, moving to a branch that led to the target, but it protested the moment he landed. A sharp creak pierced the air. The wood dipped, bowing with every step, making his heart race.

  Varun emptied his mind. He blinked, then locked his gaze on the target tree. Panic clawed at the mental door he had shut, but he shoved it back, demanding silence. He channeled the memory of the pool, sitting on the tiled floor, lungs tight and the world muffled. No movement. No sound. Just stillness.

  His body moved before his mind could catch up. He launched himself toward the target, committed to the jump before he even registered the decision.

  Flash Step wasn’t just for feet; it turned his hands into anchors too. The plan was simple: catch a branch. If he missed, stick to the trunk. He had pushed for extra height on the launch to maximize his chances of sticking the landing.

  The landing was rougher than expected. The branch he aimed for snapped under his weight, sending him dropping through it. A thin twig scraped across his face, dragging from the corner of his mouth to his ear. Pain flared briefly, sharp but shallow.

  The next branch caught him. It was thicker and steadier, offering a narrow but usable platform. He nearly slipped anyway, arms tightening as he clung to it, legs wrapped instinctively around the wood like a sloth refusing to fall.

  He checked the goblins. They were alert, heads turned toward the earlier snap of wood. Varun didn’t hesitate. He slid to the trunk and climbed, moving faster and quieter than before. He checked his gear: shirt and boxers. The camouflage held.

  It was exhilarating. Dangerous, raw, and exactly the kind of fun he craved. It was the rush that drove him to adventure sports, but amplified. The freefall was addictive, rivaled only by the numbers ticking up on his status screen. The stunt earned him a level, doubling the high. Risk followed by instant reward—it was a drug. It was a euphoria unlike anything else. Not even sex came close.

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  He understood it would not appeal to everyone. Some people preferred quiet lives, predictable routines, and distance from danger. Rohan was like that. Varun had seen it coming long before Rohan admitted it himself. He had nudged things along, subtly, hoping that clarity would come sooner rather than later, before resentment took root and people stayed in relationships they hated.

  Varun had always failed at connection, even with his own blood. But the shock of the new world forced him to cling to the familiar. His colleagues became his tribe. He claimed them as family, envisioning a future where they all survived together.

  That was why losing Aditi stung. He had viewed their group as a permanent fixture, a unit built to last. The wake-up call was brutal. She announced her decision to the entire camp without warning, stripping away his naive assumptions. It forced him to confront the uncomfortable reality that not everyone shared his sincerity.

  Rohan, on the other hand, always balked when a mission turned dangerous, regardless of the payoff. It wasn’t a one-off clash; it was a pattern destined to turn the relationship toxic. His decision to speak with Sid before walking away was his only saving grace, turning a potential disaster into a clean break.

  The cooldown ended, and Varun didn’t miss a beat, chaining leaps to bridge the gap between trunks. He settled into the canopy overlooking the scouts, positioning himself for the perfect ambush.

  One scout moved to investigate the broken branch, prowling toward Sid’s position. Varun had hoped to find them grouped, and a single drop strike would have ended both in one clean motion.

  Might as well test the stealth of the imbued skill.

  Varun dropped straight down onto the nearer scout. The impact was precise and controlled. Drop Strike ended its life instantly; the body collapsing without a sound. Varun twisted as he landed, already adjusting his position.

  He needed to place himself between the second scout and the cave. If it had fled inside, the situation would have become messier than planned.

  The remaining goblin turned just in time to see its buddy on the ground, dark brown blood pooling beside it. Its reaction was slow. Varun flashed next to it in an instant and drove the knife into its throat with a single, efficient motion. The goblin collapsed without a cry.

  Varun sat bone-still against the trunk, a shadow lost in the fog. He waited for Sid, the next phase on hold until the perimeter was confirmed clear. One missed guard could sabotage the entire infiltration, and Sid was still out there, hunting for hidden eyes.

  His best friend was a regressor. The logic was unmistakable. Exploiting high-value rewards while under-leveled was a hallmark of someone who had already lived through the apocalypse.

  It would be funny when the goblin army finally killed the spiders and entered the cave, only to find it empty. The image brought a grin to Varun’s face.

  If there was one blemish on an otherwise perfect operation, it was that the main boss would fall to another force. The associated skill would be lost with it. It would have been ideal if Sid knew a way to cheese the boss into an early death before the goblins reached it.

  Sid was already in the clearing. Varun hadn’t noticed his approach at all, not even a rustle of leaves. Had he used his own stealth skill to stay hidden?

  “Good job,” Sid said, pointing at the two corpses. “Hide them up in the trees. Goblins finding incompetence is better than finding infiltration.”

  Varun hoisted the bodies and bolted. The weight was negligible. He left the daggers where they lay; the team was fully stocked, and he refused to be a pack mule for the dead weight back in camp.

  Even with Sid’s newfound trust and the promise of power, Varun couldn’t shake his annoyance. He had learned of Rohan’s exit last. That silence stung, gnawing at his thoughts.

  Pallavi and Sid had something planned for the camp. Varun was certain of it. Whatever it was, it felt off. He knew they had killed the attackers that night. He had seen the aftermath. That shared experience could forge an unspoken understanding, a quiet alignment around decisions that others might hesitate to make.

  As a regressor, Sid shouldn’t be a stranger to bloodshed. Pallavi seemed unfazed, though it might have been a mask. But Varun was scared. He questioned whether he could kill in cold blood, and the answer terrified him. He didn’t fear the trauma; he feared the apathy, the chance that he would take a life and simply move on.

  Varun climbed down and landed behind Sid without a sound. “What next?”

  Sid pointed toward the cave, then shifted his hand to the left. “There are two sets of scouts. If we take one out, the other will notice. The cave lies just beyond them.”

  Sid met his gaze, jaw tight. “Can you check the cave and come back? I don’t have the speed to run there and back in forty seconds. We can think of other ideas, but they’re riskier. That could pull the goblins out in force.”

  Varun nodded. He’d expected a curveball, but the plan was simple. Turn back in twenty seconds.

  “Come back after fifteen seconds,” Sid said. His expression sharpened, eyes steady. “Don’t take unnecessary risks. Come back even if you don’t find anything important. That’s still information. If we’re up for it, we can do multiple scouting runs and map their camp. We can move closer depending on what you find.”

  “If I hadn’t been here, what would you have done?” Varun asked.

  Sid glanced toward the cave, then back at him. “The same thing. But slower. I’m not as fast as you.”

  Varun smiled. “Then let your best friend save you some time.”

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