Rowan staggered slightly, the echoes of battle still humming through his bones. His breaths came steady but shallow, each one edged with the creeping weight of exhaustion. He wiped the blood from his nose with the back of his hand, the grin still on his face—only now, it was touched with weariness.
The twins rode up, their mounts kicking up dust and debris as they approached. Both were wide-eyed, clearly trying to process what they'd just witnessed. Jacob was the first to speak, voice low but filled with awe.
"That… that was something else."
Rowan let out a dry chuckle, more rasp than laugh. "It's all in the preparation," he muttered, glancing down at his axe. The skull embedded in its core still pulsed, faint light flickering in rhythm with his heartbeat. "You don't win with brute force alone. The key is knowing your enemy… and knowing the field."
Connor, always the more skeptical of the two, narrowed his eyes at the ruins around them. "And if the Warden hadn't played into your setup?" he asked, sharper than usual.
Rowan's expression softened. He didn't flinch. "Then I'd have found another way." He looked to the sky, letting silence stretch a beat too long. "Sometimes, it's not about strength or even tactics. It's about patience—waiting for the moment your enemy makes the mistake."
The wind shifted. Dust swept across the battlefield. Connor didn't look convinced, but he said nothing more.
Jacob dismounted, stepping toward Rowan. "What now?" he asked, scanning the distant horizon. "We've still got the mission… but you look like you're running on fumes."
Rowan gave a half-smile. "I'll survive. I always do," he said. "Didn't come this far just to let you two handle the rest of it."
As the trio stood together, the faint rumble beneath their feet faded. The once-glowing sigils burned out one by one, their light spent. Rowan's axe pulsed once—then fell quiet. The ring of energy that had surrounded the battlefield shimmered… and was gone.
"It's a long road to the next fight," Rowan muttered, his voice carrying weight despite the smirk on his lips. "But I'll make sure they remember the Phantom Reaper."
Jacob, ever the curious one, turned toward Rowan. "That skill you used… what was that?"
Rowan raised an eyebrow. "I told you already," he said with a shrug. "It's a soul skill."
Jacob fell silent, a flicker of thought running behind his eyes. His own soul skill—merging two souls into one—had been blocked ever since the fight began. That's why they hadn't been able to access their powers. He clenched his jaw. Damn that revenant…
"What's it called?" Jacob asked quietly.
"Oh, right." Rowan stretched his shoulders, wincing. "It's called Soul's Drift. The system says I possess the souls of ancient adventurers. As long as I can remember the terrain, my soul can drift there."
He grinned, mimicking a fanfare. "Ta-da. That's what the system told me, anyway."
Then he turned to the twins' construct and started climbing on. "Let's get moving. We don't have it in us for another fight. I already removed all my marks and traps from the other territories."
Jacob and Connor exchanged a look, then followed, helping Rowan up. He was tired—clearly—but Jacob couldn't help but feel amazed.
Flying over the jungle was like gliding across the surface of a living world.
Below them stretched an ocean of green—endless, tangled canopies, vibrant with flowers and vines that spiraled like serpents. Shafts of sunlight broke through the leaves, casting dappled light on the life below.
Movement bloomed everywhere.
A flock of neon birds erupted from the treetops, wings glinting like shards of stained glass. Below, a massive beast lumbered through the brush, its rocky shell part of the land itself. Long-limbed primates swung in wild arcs from tree to tree, crying out in chaotic harmony.
Something long and serpent-like slithered along the highest branches, scales shimmering with strange colors. And then—just for a moment—Jacob spotted something with leathery wings and glowing eyes, watching them from the shadows.
The deeper they flew, the stranger it became.
Jungle drakes perched on crags. Bioluminescent moss lit the trunks of ancient trees. Insects the size of shields buzzed between branches. Massive flowers opened as they passed, releasing clouds of glittering spores.
The jungle didn't just live—it breathed. Watched. Waited.
From up here, it looked ancient. Untamed. A wild god slumbering beneath the trees.
But before they reached their destination, they stumbled upon something unexpected—a stretch of jungle reduced to ash, the ground still smoldering beneath a blanket of smoke. At its center, a large X-shaped scorch mark marred the earth, blackened and unnatural. Whatever caused the blaze, it had happened recently—and not far from where their battle had raged.
Jacob frowned. "You think it was a beast?"
"Has to be," Connor muttered. "No way a human could've done that."
None of them said it, but they all felt it—something dangerous had passed through.
Finally, they reached it—their familiar tree.
Only… no one was there.
They landed, cautious, scanning the clearing. The once-crowded area was silent. Still.
Something was wrong.
And all around them, the world held its breath.