It''s about twenty-nine Sectors past the First Cycle. Thought Mara. She verified the thought by taking note of the Moon''s position in the night sky. Her estimation was bit off (though that was a given considering where they were) and it was actually thirty-three Sectors past the first of the Ten Cycles. Accounting for the constellations was always the shittiest part of calculating cycles. It was worse now than it was before. In these strange lands, Asterion and Neleus weren’t where they were supposed to be. Nothing was.


    She ran her fingers through her short, hastily chopped hair, grimacing as she felt for the burnt strands. El would have to get those out for her later, the smuggler owed her that much at least, after what she had to endure. Her wounds had healed, the memories remained imprinted in her psyche, like an iron brand. How ironic. Mara turned to face the rocky outcrop that hid their camp and began walking. Her shift was almost over anyways, Aele probably wouldn''t hold her abandoning post so soon against her.


    The walk back to camp was quite uneventful—a welcome change in Mara''s opinion. She''d take this over endless hordes of revenants any day.


    Which bastard was it that said ''Danger is the joy of the soul''? I''d like to skin him alive.


    A steady plume of smoke rose from within the center of the encampment. Along with it came the tantalizing scent of roast meat. Mara''s face contorted into a dark grin.


    It seemed, in the end, that there would be some skinning alive to be done.


    As she stepped into the boundary of the camp, the air became thick with the smoky fragrance. Mara''s anger boiled over. The meat wasn''t theirs, the fools had not bothered to gather up food before they crossed over to the other side. Rather, It was she who had taken it upon herself to collect meat from the carcasses of the beasts they slew. Not for charitable reasons (she was not that kind) but for her own enjoyment—Mara intended to eat that meat.


    However, it seemed her teammates had gotten to it first. Mara stomped over to the center fire, where the guilty parties had busily gathered themselves, greedily eyeing the roasting meat atop the flame.


    "Now, what the fuck is all this?"


    The words dripped with venom as she stalked toward the fire. A few heads turned, others looking guilty, some pretending they hadn''t heard at all.


    "I don''t recall any of you doing the butchering," she continued, arms crossed, voice dangerously even. "So tell me—what manner of demon possessed your empty-as-fuck brains and gave you the gall to to cook my meat?"


    The smuggler, El, sat cross legged by the fire, brow raised, lazily chewing on a reed. "Didn''t see your name on it."


    Mara glared at him. "You''ll be damn familiar with my name once I''m done with you—"


    "Stop." Aele''s voice cut through the air, stifling the words that threatened to spill from Mara''s lips. “Enough, everyone’s starving. You’d rather let it go bad?”


    "I''d rather they didn''t touch it at all."


    "Well they have." Aele held her gaze. "And it''s about done. Sit and eat would you?"


    Exhaling deeply through her nostrils. She plopped down onto the soft grass as Julius—their de-facto chef—heaped carvings of meat onto bleached-white plates. Mara scoffed—for people who were ''too busy'' to butcher a few animals, they certainly wasted no time in gathering those pretty ivory pieces.


    The night was alive with the sounds of dining and laughter. The crew gorged themselves on the delectable meat, collected from the carcass of the Half-Fey doe that guarded the entrance to the other side. Mara vividly remembered butchering the creature—the tensing and snapping of bones and ligaments as she separated Its limbs from the rest of the body, to be used later in a stew. The pelt had been rough, unnaturally thick, and no matter how hard she tried, she could not peel it off the beast. So, in the end, she had simply taken what she could and left the rest to rot.


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Julius quickly handed Mara her portion of the meat, mouthed a small ''sorry'' and then scurried back to the corner where his friends stood waiting.


    Shove your ''sorry'' up your ass! She wanted to say, but Aele would probably chastise her for needless antagonism.


    Once they had all finished eating, Aele rose to address the crew. Their faces lit up with anticipation. Much Mara hated to admit it, she felt the same. After all, they had just accomplished something once thought to be nigh-impossible—they had crossed over to the other side. And they''d done it in a month.


    Aele took in a breath


    "So..." She began. "We''ve done it; from the Bound Mountains to the Crimson Lake, our journey has become legend. The Land Of White Moon, where no beasts lurk in shadows, where the corruption cannot reach, and where no soul from our side has set foot in centuries.."


    The weight of Aele''s words pressed down on the gathered crew. The fire crackled, wisps of smoke traveling into the crisp night air. Up above in the sky, the silver moon shone bright. So very calm, so very different from what they once knew: the twisted mass of corruption and flesh that once accompanied their nights and evenings.


    "We have fought and bled, poured sweat and tears into the hope of a better world, of making something of ourselves, of becoming legends. There were losses, many deaths too gruesome to recount; Marlo, Sera, Loide. We owe our lives to them—the fallen, the ones still suffering in the Dreadrealm. We carry their hopes, their sacrifices. And so we must return."


    As the words echoed through the air, the crew grew deathly silent. Their expressions turned stiff and strained, as if doused in cold water. Murmurs rose among them.


    "Return?" someone echoed, voice tinged with disbelief.


    "What does she mean?" another asked, hushed but urgent.


    "She can''t be serious... right?" The last voice cracked slightly, uncertain, afraid.


    Silently, Aele took in their tense expressions. She no doubt expected this outcome, surmised Mara, She''d be a fool not to.


    The members of their crew were far from noble, both in mind and character. They would no sooner stab each other in the back than suffer even the smallest loss. Aele''s words were nothing but wishful thinking. Even if they wanted to go back, the many enemies they''d made would rip them to shreds without even batting an eye.


    Although... She felt for the burn scars on her neck, thoughts of violence flashing through her mind. A reunion doesn''t sound too bad.


    Aele''s voice broke through the murmurs. "I understand your reservations, but this is a decision we must make. What life can we make in these lands? What kinship is to be found amongst those who do not understand our ways? We will find no friends amongst them. Those of a different kind do not share our mind."


    Their leader turned round, signaling the end of her speech. As she left for her tent, Aele gave the crew one last instruction: "Ponder upon it till tomorrow. The decision will be made then."


    After her departure, a tense silence descended upon the crew. A stunned one. No member let out a sound, they were too busy trying to understand Aele''s strange behavior. She was the one who convinced them to join, the one who''d led them here. Why did she suddenly want to return?


    "This is bullshit." A deep voice growled. Mara, and everyone else gathered, turned their heads towards the person. He was well built. Tall, dark-skinned. The man''s hair fell down his back in thick, matted dreadlocks. Mara recognised him from from her days in the Holding Centre, a quiet and reserved person: ''Twitch,'' they used to call him.


    "What''s the matter, Garm?" asked El, leaning forward as if to glean more information from the man.


    Garm gestured to the surrounding area, his voice rising. "Everything. This entire speech—it''s all bullshit. Tell me why Aele, the same Aele who hunted down every clue to lead us here, would suddenly want us to turn back. Something''s wrong. I know it. Somebody has to talk some sense into her."


    At that, all eyes turned to Mara. The message was clear: You know her better than any of us. Go.


    Mara groaned, "Alright, Shitheads. I''ll go."


    Garm crossed his hands, genuine surprise painting his face. "I—that quickly?"


    Mara shot him a glare. "What, you want me to put up a fight?"


    El snickered from his spot by the fire, chewing on that damned reed again. "Wouldn''t be the first time."


    Mara rolled her eyes, pushing herself up. The weight of exhaustion pressed against her limbs, but she shoved it down. She was used to this—to being the one everyone looked to when things got complicated. Used to being the only one with enough guts to ask the hard questions.


    As she stepped away from the fire, the warmth on her skin faded, replaced by the cool night air. The shadows stretched long across the ground, flickering with the firelight. Aele’s tent loomed ahead, silent, waiting.


    Mara took a breath, muttering under it, "This better be worth it."


    Then she stepped inside.