"Nothing?"

Imani shook his head. "No. You?"

"Nope." I exhale, scanning the horizon again. "So… what's the plan? Head for that mountain range in the distance, climb one of the closer peaks for a better view? Or follow one of the herds—see if they lead us to a freshwater source?"

"We've got enough water for six more days," Imani says. "But freshwater spots are likely to be contested. Herds will gather. Predators too. Could turn ugly fast. The mountains, though…" His eyes narrow slightly. "Unknown terrain. Potential threats we haven't seen yet."

"Well, it's either that or we keep wandering and hope we get lucky," I say. "I can always scout ahead once we reach the base of the closest one. You stay with the others. I'll signal if it's safe."

He gives me a long look—serious. "Even for you, it's risky going alone. And we can't afford to lose you."

A pause.

"No," he says finally. "Wherever we move—we move together."

I stare at him for a second, then nod. No argument.

"Alright. Mountain it is." I shift my gaze toward the distant range.

It's far—just visible from the hill we're standing on. A jagged line of peaks rising sharply against the horizon, steep and harsh, unlike anything natural I've seen back on Earth. The closest peak looks about four or five kilometers high from its base, possibly more from sea level.

"In normal conditions, I could probably reach the nearest peak in an hour or two," I say, pausing. "But with gravity like this and whatever else might be waiting… something tells me this climb's going to get interesting." I glance at him. "Should we farm some SP first?"

"Let's avoid combat for now," he replies. "Focus on regrouping first."

"Fair enough." I nod. "Let's just hope whatever's up there is either vegetarian—or asleep."

My tone stays dry, but my eyes remain fixed on the mountain. Climbing it won't be easy—especially while keeping the other four safe through unfamiliar terrain. But this is The Tower. Easy paths don't exist.

I exhale. "Let's tell the others then."

We head back. The four of them are waiting—Camila, Min, Jun, Maurice.

"Well, everyone," I say, pointing toward the distant mountain range, "we're going hiking. The terrain is steep, but manageable. Our goal is to reach that range in the distance and climb as high as conditions allow—ideally one of the peaks. Higher ground will give us better visibility if the weather holds, and in either case, improved communication range. Hopefully, we'll locate the others from up there."

I scan their faces—focused, a little tense, but listening.

"We'll avoid unnecessary combat, but I need everyone alert. I'm not sure which squads you were part of before, but right now, you're one team. Imani and I will take point."

A beat of silence.

"Any questions?"

Camila shakes her head. Min adjusts the strap on her gear. Jun gives a quiet "no, sir," while Maurice simply nods once, expression unreadable but attentive.

"Alright," I say, stepping forward and kneeling by my pack. "Gear check."

Everyone spreads out, checking their equipment. Each of them has a backpack slung across one shoulder—basic supplies, emergency rations, spare clothing from the white room, plus the wine containers Lukas slipped into half the bags before we left the base.

I tighten my straps and grab my blades—one at each hip.

"Alright," I say again. "Keep spacing tight. No one strays."

A few murmurs of agreement.

Then we move.

The journey to the mountain range is slow but steady. Imani and I lead, with the others following close behind, vigilant but quiet.

My senses stretch out, waves sweeping continuously across the terrain, scanning for threats.

The region around us teems with life. Herds of broad-backed, heavy-bodied creatures wander, their hides marked by glowing veins pulsing softly. They glance at us occasionally but mostly keep their distance, wary but non-aggressive.

Occasionally, smaller predators appear—lithe, reptilian beasts lurking in the undergrowth. They test our perimeter cautiously, probing for weaknesses, before lunging in coordinated bursts.

One darts at my flank—teeth bared, claws extended—while two more break through the brush, targeting Imani.

I blur forward, blade flashing, slicing clean through the creature's neck. It collapses soundlessly, blood staining the dirt.

Behind me, Imani steps forward, shield raised. The first predator crashes against it mid-leap—a dull impact reverberating through the air as Imani absorbs the blow. He pivots instantly, releasing the accumulated force in a brutal shield bash that crushes the creature's skull with a wet crunch.

The second lunges at his exposed flank, but Imani swiftly twists his stance. Another fierce blow sends the beast hurtling sideways into a tree trunk, bones snapping audibly upon impact. Its limp form collapses into the undergrowth, unmoving.

The rest scatter, swiftly learning from their fallen companions.

We take the orbs and continue forward.

Hours pass as we carefully navigate around larger herds, taking detours to keep our distance. Still, occasional clashes with ambushing predators are inevitable.

Five hours later, the terrain beneath our feet shifts—the soil turns rocky, uneven. The dense foliage gradually thins, giving way to sharper, rugged ground.

Then, at last, the mountains rise clearly before us—immense, imposing, dominating the horizon. From this vantage point, their scale is staggering. Snow gleams stark white near the higher peaks, contrasting sharply with the dark stone beneath. Massive ridges cut sharply upward, sheer cliffs and jagged edges marking the range.

"Whoa," Camila murmurs, eyes wide.

Min nods slowly, expression thoughtful. Maurice breathes in deeply, glancing upward, visibly impressed. Even Imani pauses for a brief moment, eyes narrowed in silent appraisal.

"Alright," I say after a moment. "Let's get started. Stay close."

The climb begins gradual at first—thick underbrush, coarse ferns brushing against our legs. The air's heavier here. Damper. Each step feels slightly more labored than the last, the higher gravity pressing down more as we ascend.

My waves fan out constantly, sweeping through the terrain. No signatures. No sudden shifts.

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We keep moving.

Half an hour in, the slope steepens—angled, uneven, patches of loose rock underfoot. I take the lead, Imani close behind. The others follow in a staggered line.

I spot a thick root jutting from the slope, grab it, and pull myself up—boots locking into the incline.

"Watch your footing," I call down, not looking back. "Don't trust loose rock. Shift your weight to the footholds that feel solid. Use your waves to stabilize yourself—short, controlled bursts to correct balance."

There's a bit of shuffling below as they follow suit. No one slips. Good.

"Keep low when you pull up. Less chance of overbalancing. And don't rush."

My grip shifts to a protruding stone edge. I anchor myself, test the hold, then climb again.

Minutes pass and the terrain gets sharper. Angled rock, brittle edges. The kind of slope that demands full attention—not just from the feet, but from the whole body.

Eventually, we reach a small plateau—flat enough to stand on without risk, shaded by a bent cluster of stone-pine-like trees with metallic bark. I haul myself up first, then help the others as they scramble after me one by one.

Camila's breathing is steady, but her movements are slower now. Min's careful, calculating each step. Jun's solid. Maurice, surprisingly fluid for someone so broad.

When Imani reaches the top, we both scan the view. The terrain below disappears into a fog-heavy valley. Above, the peak still rises—far off, rimmed in cloud, jagged and sheer like it was torn upward rather than grown.

Then I feel it.

A faint shiver against the skin. Not just wind.

Cold.

Not the usual kind. Not the kind that creeps as you rise.

This is different.

My fingers twitch slightly as I reach up and wipe at the visor of my helmet. A thin sheen of condensation is forming already.

I glance upward.

The sun—if it can be called that—glows faint behind the clouds, almost an afterthought. Dim. Pale. Its warmth barely reaches us.

That… isn't right.

Temperature doesn't drop this fast with elevation. Not like this.

Imani feels it too. Our eyes meet.

He doesn't need to say it.

This place is off.

Right now, the cold is manageable. An inconvenience. But there will be limits. Even our enhanced bodies can only adapt so far. Thermal conduction, joint stiffness, even sensory lag—too much cold can degrade all of it.

Worse than that?

Geography. Temperature. Gravity. All of it combined.

Combat performance would plummet if the conditions worsen any further.

"Let's stop here for now," Imani says, quiet but firm.

I nod. "Agreed. Safe enough to rest. Good view. The terrain above narrows—it'll funnel anything trying to follow us."

I glance sideways, lowering my voice. "I'll do a quick sweep. Solo."

He meets my eyes. Doesn't argue. Just a brief pause, then a small nod.

I step away from the group. My waves spread out, layered and wide, scanning the surroundings.

My boot presses lightly against the ground. I focus—feel the faintest pulse of vibration ripple back through the soil.

The air's colder. But it's not just that.

It feels thinner. Not the kind of thin that makes you short of breath—but sparse. Hollow. Like something here's drained the energy out of the space itself.

Too quiet.

And too still.

I move between the trees, boots crunching over brittle roots and loose shards of rock. The underbrush is thinning too. Less noise. Less life.

And the silence isn't comforting.

It's heavy.

I stop by a ledge, crouch low, and scan the incline above. There's a plateau roughly thirty meters up—more cover, better sightlines. Might reduce interference if the conditions ease, even slightly.

I tag the spot in my memory.

"Next stop. Thirty meters northeast, above the ridge. Better angles. Move when ready."

The reply comes a moment later.

"Received. We'll move on your mark."

I let the exchange drop and rise to my feet.

A cold breeze slides past—too cold, too quick.

I glance back up toward the peak.

Still no birds. No shifting clouds. Just that faint sun, dim and distant, casting long, static shadows across stone.

No sound.

No movement.

Just silence.

Let's hope it's the weather.

I turn and head back toward the others—hand resting lightly on my blade… just in case.

Lukas stepped out from the shelter they had built beneath the cliff—a structure more solid than it had any right to be, considering the tools and time they had. He exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulder as he walked forward, eyes scanning the overcast sky before dropping to the forest below.

The wood they used came from a single massive tree—its trunk thick as a truck and tough as tempered metal. Cutting it down had taken nearly an hour, even with their enhanced strength and sharpened blades. When it finally cracked and fell, it hit the earth with a sound that felt more like a quake than an impact.

They'd buried the base of the shelter under a shallow slope near the cliff wall, digging out a hollow large enough for a dozen people to fit without squeezing. The logs were laid flat, reinforced at the corners, then stacked with methodical care to form walls. Above, a camouflaged lid made of thick branches and dozens of layered leaves concealed the structure perfectly from aerial eyes.

Inside, it was cramped, but safe. No light leaked through. The earth muffled sound. And with Chiara weaving EM interference through the air above, they had a momentary blind spot in a world where nothing stayed hidden for long.

He paused at the edge of the outcrop, boots firm in the dirt, and waited.

Chiara emerged behind him a moment later. She said nothing—just stood beside him, quiet and present, as always. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her waves subtly pulsing outward in low, slow bursts.

Lukas nodded.

Minutes later—movement in the trees below.

Wang appeared between two boulders.

Two figures followed.

The first—young, sharp-eyed—kept pace, breathing hard but steady.

The second was being supported, his arm slung over the first climber's shoulder as he limped forward.

His thigh was wrapped tightly in a blood-soaked bandage, dark and heavy with what it had absorbed. Each step was forced—rigid with pain and shock. Lukas saw it all instantly.

Nikolai's eyes were wide but unfocused, fixed on something distant. Shoulders tense, jaw clenched tight, body braced against a reality he wasn't ready to accept.

Lukas glanced at the swords Wang carried. Two in hand, one more at Nikolai's waist.

Zian.

Lukas felt it—the hollow pull of losing someone he knew. But he didn't hesitate. He closed the distance, meeting Nikolai's gaze firmly, placing a steadying hand gently on his shoulder.

"You're safe now," Lukas said softly, guiding Nikolai toward the shelter. "Sit down inside. Unwrap that bandage. Your regeneration's strong enough—the bleeding should've stopped by now, and your leg should fully recover in a couple of hours."

Nikolai moved slowly, numbly, but obeyed without question.

Wang exchanged a brief, solemn look with Lukas before following inside.

Chiara remained silent, her gaze heavy as she watched them pass and then followed, the other climber being the last to enter the shelter.

Lukas didn't speak immediately after entering. He first knelt beside Nikolai, handing him a waterskin.

Nikolai took a slow, unsteady sip of water, his hand still trembling slightly. Lukas waited patiently until his breathing steadied.

"We all knew Zian," Lukas said quietly. "He was a strong warrior and a good man."

He paused a moment, letting each word settle carefully.

"We won't forget him. When we leave this Tower—and we will—I'll personally make sure his family knows his story. Yulia, his parents, everyone who loved him... They'll know exactly who Zian was, and how bravely he fought."

Nikolai's eyes finally lifted, meeting Lukas's own, a bit more focused now.

"For now, rest. We'll take care of the rest."

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