Max watched the group in silence.
He saw the restlessness building.
The red-haired genius, in particular, was growing edgy.
The kind of edginess that didn't come from fear—but from wanting to be seen.
Then—
The silence finally snapped.
Six days of uneventful walking, of mist and stone and nothing else—
And the red-haired genius couldn't take it anymore.
His voice rose, loud and impatient.
"I say that we can go faster! There's nothing here but fog and rocks!"
He threw up his arms, exasperated, stepping forward in frustration.
"We're crawling at a snail's pace—hundreds of miles per day? That's nothing! If I could fly, we'd be done in hours!"
His words were sharp, childish, and they echoed off the stone around them like the rant of a restless child.
"We've walked this far and haven't even seen a single damn thing! What kind of evil are you even afraid of?!"
Some of the other geniuses shifted uneasily.
A few looked away.
But none said anything.
Not yet.
