Moonlight spilled like quicksilver over the forest-choked mountain path, each rugged stone gleaming with an eerie luminescence.
No. 6 led the way, her eyes, sharp and vigilant, like twin candle flames piercing the gloom. The night wind sighed through the silent forest, carrying a crisp, biting coolness that gently stirred her hair.
No. 4 and No. 8 dropped to a crouch simultaneously, palms pressed flat against the damp earth.
A faint, ethereal blue light pulsed from No. 4's fingertips, like a minuscule firefly burrowing into the soil; his finesse with the Tidal Force was arguably on par with No. 7's. No. 8, in stark contrast, was all brute force. He slammed his hand onto the ground with a grunt, as if wrestling with the earth itself, dislodging a small puff of dust.
"Got it," No. 4 breathed, his face alight with pride. Ghostly blue footprints began to materialize on the ground, a spectral trail snaking down the mountainside.
Gazing at the luminous spoor, No. 6 felt a sudden, poignant illusion—as if No. 3 himself had just trod this path. She could almost see his familiar, wide grin.
"Slo… slow down…" A grueling half-hour later, only halfway down the mountain, No. 4 suddenly faltered. His legs buckled, and he pitched forward, landing hard on one knee. His face was chalk-white, sweat streaming down his chin in rivulets, his entire frame trembling with exhaustion.
No. 5 instantly knelt, scooping No. 4's slight form onto his back. "Need to hit the gym, kiddo!" he quipped. "This kind of stamina, and you fancy yourself a tracker?"
No. 8, undeterred, resumed his task. He slapped his palm onto the earth again; the blue phosphorescence flared brighter. Under the stark moonlight, his square jaw was clenched, brows knitted in concentration. The sustained use of Tidal Force was clearly exacting a heavy toll.
Finally, they reached the riverbank at the mountain's foot. Here, the glowing trail veered sharply, hugging the river's edge as it wound towards the mountain's dark posterior.
"See! Told you! The Sanctum *is* close by!" No. 6's voice vibrated with triumph, their wild speculations hardening into exhilarating reality.
Just then, firelight bloomed amidst the distant, skeletal trees. A patrol, kerosene lamps held aloft, materialized. Their metal insignia glinted, leaving dazzling afterimages dancing in No. 8's vision. He yanked the others down, an instant reflex, into the concealing embrace of a dense reed bed by the river.
"What the hell? Guards… just for a family chat? What gives?" No. 8's voice was a low, bewildered hiss.
The lamplight illuminated the guards' faces. They appeared listless, almost bored, their disinterest in the night's duty palpable.
"Wonder when I'll ever get clearance for that place," one grumbled under his breath.
His companion sniffed, rubbing his nose. The damp mountain air bit with a raw chill. "Forget it. Pray for a better draw in your next life. Only senior Church brass get in there."
No. 6's breath hitched. The bobbing kerosene lamps were drawing perilously close, their light threatening to spear them in their hiding place.
The guards' heavy footfalls grew louder, more distinct. She felt No. 4's subtle tremor beside her. No. 8, every muscle coiled, was a panther poised to spring—he was ready to throw down.
No. 5's hand shot out, clamping onto No. 8's arm. He flashed a quick gesture at the others, his expression screaming, *Trust me!*
"What are you do—"
The words died on No. 6's lips. No. 5 exploded from the reeds like a startled lynx. He brought his foot down hard on a dry twig. *CRACK!* The sound, sharp and sudden, shattered the night's oppressive silence.
"What in blazes was that?!" The guards, startled, spun around, lamps raised high, an_x_iously scanning the darkness, clearly unnerved.
No. 6 bit down hard on her lip, her gaze riveted on the receding, swaying lights. She watched No. 5's shadow melt into the deeper blackness, then, with a shared, unspoken understanding, she and the remaining two pressed on towards their objective.
Plunged into near-total darkness, they were like blind C_ave_ C_reatures, navigating by memory alone, desperately trying to recall the last visible prints. The sibilant whisper of the wind through the treetops mercifully masked the ragged sound of their breathing.
No. 5, meanwhile, was in dire straits. The pursuing lights felt like hot breath on his neck. He found a colossal fir tree and flattened himself against its rough, abrasive bark, wincing as it scraped his skin. The guards' footsteps thudded alarmingly close; the acrid stench of rust and stale sweat filled his nostrils.
The arc of a kerosene lamp beam swept across the bushes concealing him, each pass a jolt that made his heart hammer against his ribs.
He stooped, scooping up a handful of earth. If they drew any nearer, he'd unleash his Tidal Force, blasting their eyes with dirt.
"What the hell *was* that noise? Wild boars up here?"
"Who knows. Could be some of those Terra test subjects on the loose again. Bunch of shifty little devils, those ones. Turn your back for a second and they're…"
Closer. Perilously close. He could even smell the guards' fetid breath. The muscles in his arms tensed, ready to launch his desperate defense.
Suddenly, the lead guard yelped, "Ouch!" His ankle buckled at an unnatural angle. He pitched forward, face-planting ignominiously in the dirt.
His companion rushed to help, only to hear the ominous crack of a branch overhead.
The fallen guard, about to cry out a warning, was silenced as a bough thick as a man's thigh crashed down, striking the second guard squarely on the shoulder. Both went down in a dazed, groaning heap.
Seizing the moment of chaos, No. 5 prepared to bolt—but a pair of strong hands suddenly seized him, yanking him deeper into the undergrowth. He whirled, terror_l_ancing through him—and found himself face to face with No. 7.
Under the pale moonlight, No. 7's expression was mere inches away. A savior, yes, but one with the distinct, unsettling air of a poacher caught in the act.
"Not. A. Word," No. 7 hissed, the sound like a viper's warning. Gripping No. 5's collar, he dragged him from one patch of concealing shadow to the next.
Branches clawed and tore at No. 5, but he didn't dare utter a peep.
Like two nocturnal foxes, they flitted through the woods, melting into the tree shadows. No. 7, his night vision preternaturally sharp, unerringly found the most clandestine paths. With a series of fluid, almost balletic movements, they evaded the blundering pursuit, weaving through the darkness like specters.
Only when they reached a small, relatively secure earthen rise did No. 7 release his vice-like grip. No. 5 sagged, gasping for air, his lungs burning as if about to ignite.
"You monumental idiots!" No. 7 seethed, his voice a furious, low snarl, barely leashing his incandescent rage. "Do you have *any* earthly idea how blatantly obvious those developer tracks are? You've practically gift-wrapped the entire mountain path for them!" *These careless, dead-weight teammates!*
Only then did No. 5 register that No. 7, every few steps, had been stooping, his hand a blur as he gently swept the ground, obliterating the tell-tale azure glow of their footprints.
"I… we didn't think… We were going to clean them up on the way back…" No. 5 stammered, his explanation feeble even to his own ears.
"Enough! Just… enough. Let's find the others. Now." No. 7 cut him off, a note of weary resignation in his voice, and plunged back into the darkness, hot on the trail of No. 6 and their rapidly diminishing hope.