Morning came.
There were no further incidents through the night. The fire had fully gone out, leaving only scorched stone and scattered embers.
Slowly, everyone was waking up.
First time that I had not heard an alarm in the morning. Not a bad feeling, waking up and not having any routines placed upon me.
Thalia stretched first, wordless as she rose, her joints cracking softly in the morning cold. She rubbed her hands together for warmth, then scanned the treeline with a soldier's clarity—sharp, alert, disciplined.
Calixtus blinked a few times from where he was lying, then sat up with a quiet groan. "Not dead. That's a start." He tried to stand, but it took more effort than usual. "At the ripe age of 15, I am having trouble standing up. Perfect."
Eleanor stirred next. She sat up stiffly, hands instinctively going to her side. Her wince was subtle but noticeable. "Feels like something hit me."
"You did get kicked by a mana-mutated predator," Calixtus offered helpfully. "To be honest, I'm impressed your ribs are the only thing hurting."
"Thanks for the words of encouragement," she responded.
Calixtus flashed a grin.
We were halfway through breaking down camp when I noticed the silence had changed.
There was something approaching.
Thalia noticed it too. She said uncertainly, "Do you hear that?"
We all stopped moving. Listened.
At first—nothing.
Then—creaking. Wood against water. Faint, but steady. Out of place.
I stepped toward the river's edge.
The water, as always, was motionless. Not even a ripple. A lake pretending to be a river.
And yet—
From around the bend, a ship slid into view.
Large. Angular. Charred black in places, as if flames had long ago consumed its deck and hull. Creeping vines and old salt stains covered what remained, as though it had sailed oceans we'd never seen. Its sails were long gone, rigging tangled like webs. The mast was cracked in two. Moss hung loosely from the edges, unable to mask the scorched wood beneath.
But it moved. Across water that was not moving. Without wind.
None of us spoke. Even Calixtus, normally first with a joke, stood beside me, wide-eyed.
The ship drifted forward until it reached the nearest bend in the bank—then stopped. Dead still. Like it had been summoned.
Ships like these had not been used for hundreds of years. It was ancient. It didn't belong here. Not in this forest. Not on this river. Not in this century.
And yet—there it was.
"I feel like we're not supposed to be seeing this," Eleanor murmured.
Then movement.
A figure rose slowly from behind the mid-deck—where we were certain no one had been moments ago.
At first, it looked like a trick of the mist. But no—it was real. Pale skin. Dark clothes soaked with moss and brine. Hair plastered to their face.
They stumbled slightly as they stepped into full view, one hand clutching the railing.
A person. They looked young. Maybe our age. Human—at least, on the surface. No visible mutations. No aura of hostility.
Then they spoke. Voice hoarse, but casual.
"Hey," the stranger said. "My ship was wrecked. Can someone help me?"
The words hung in the air like broken glass—too sharp, too clear.
Calixtus blinked. "I'm sorry—what?"
The stranger looked between us, tilting their head. "You're not with the others, are you?" they asked. "The ones who left me here?"
"What others?" Thalia said sharply, hand already on her weapon.
The figure didn't answer. They looked at me.
Then smiled.
"I'm glad someone finally came back."
It was uncanny.
"Eleanor," I said without looking away. "Spear-shot him. Full power."
She hesitated. "What? Are you sure? Let's not jump to something that drastic, wait a bit—"
"I'm not guessing."
The figure smiled again. It didn't flinch. Didn't question. Didn't show fear or confusion. It just kept smiling.
Calixtus shifted his stance. "He hasn't done anything yet. Maybe we—"
"Look at the way it's breathing," I cut in. "It isn't."
The smile widened—just slightly. Enough to make the air feel colder.
Thalia started surging mana through her body, making herself ready.
"Eleanor," I said again. "Now."
Eleanor stared at it—searching perhaps for humanity—but found none. The mimic blinked slowly, unevenly.
"Now," I repeated sharply.
Eleanor surged mana instantly, hesitation gone. A white spear of bone appeared from her palm. She launched it with full-body torque.
It hit the figure dead in the chest.
But the sound it made wasn't a body being pierced. It was more like tearing canvas soaked in mud.
The form shuddered—rippling across the surface—and then collapsed inward, folding like wet cloth. Limbs bent the wrong way. Skin stretched, then sloughed off like old bark.
It didn't bleed. It peeled.
What stood in its place was not human. Fully dark, long teeth, sharp. Hollow eyes, lanky physique, long claws.
Then it screamed. Not in pain. In frustration.
It lunged at Eleanor, as she was the one who hurt it.
She activated her exoskeleton—bone plates sliding over her limbs with a wet snap—just as it reached her.
I surged forward. Mana surged through my legs, flow staggered deliberately—stutter-stepping in microbursts to throw off its tracking.
The mimic slashed downward—Eleanor blocked the first strike, her forearm reinforced with dense marrow. Sparks flew from the contact—bone against whatever that thing had for claws.
But the second slash was coming, fast—angled at her throat.
I intercepted mid-air. My forearm slammed into its side with enough mana to break ribs—if it had any. The impact launched it off-course, twisting it mid-lunge.
Calixtus surged up from below, phasing into its chest, tearing something free—a tangled cluster of black veins, pulsing faintly.
The mimic barely flinched.
I moved again. Flow condensed. My leg arced through the air.
The impact was perfect.
Its neck snapped with a crack that echoed through the forest. The head tore free, slamming into the railing.
Silence fell.
Thalia exhaled—slow, measured. "It's dead."
I didn't respond. My eyes were on the ship.
I stepped onto the gangplank, the others following closely.
We moved carefully across the creaking deck.
Thalia knelt beside the mast, brushing away rot and tangled rope. "Construction's Varean," she said quietly. "But ancient. Before the current naval era. No mana sails. No internal routing."
Inside, ash coated everything. Amid destruction sat a single overturned table, skeletal remains beside it.
I took the half-burned diary from its grasp, opening it carefully. One sentence remained legible:
"The light burned brighter than anything I've se—"
I closed it slowly. "Nothing useful here. Whatever happened is long past."
Something powerful had left its mark—something that even time struggled to erase.
"This was not our concern now."
I didn't want them distracted by irrelevant, ancient history.
My thoughts sharpened, recalling clearly the brief moment when I'd saved them from the Alpha Hound.
It hadn't been heroic or compassionate. It had been calculated.
I'd saved them because I still needed them—each for their strength, for the distractions they'd soon create, knowingly or otherwise. Especially when the real chaos began.
When the instructors would be occupied.
And I would finally be free.
For now, I just needed everyone around me to survive long enough to play their parts.
"Let's keep moving," I said, voice calm.
They followed without question.