The terrain rushed past them in waves of green, the world drawn in strokes of humid air and light-filtered foliage.
They moved fast — about fifty miles per hour, maybe a little under when they had to arc around thick tree roots or broken ridges.
Below the dense canopy, a winding river glimmered with fractured sky, threading its way through the rainforest like a living vein.
Waterfalls spilled from jagged cliffs, hidden in curtain-like vines.
Bright birds darted through the haze, too quick to track, while strange beasts rustled somewhere deeper in the underbrush, always near, yet never seen.
It was beautiful in a way that didn't invite safety. Nature here was all teeth and splendor.
They didn't talk much until Ricky — stir the pot, just to see what boiled up in the heads of his temporary comrades.
"So… what school you all aiming for?"
Silence lingered, it was not uncomfortable — it was a question that one needed to ponder thoroughly.
Everyone had a dream, but dreams were currency out here — too expensive to speak freely.
Pumbo's voice cracked first, half a confession more than an answer.
"I plan to go to the Magisoldier Foundation… I want to get augmented. I want to make my body made out of steel. Something that could take a shot and keep going."
Cain caught the way his gauntlets curled, thumbs brushing the edges of worn out fittings.
Beany responded next, the words a little too ready, like she'd been rehearsing them and just needed permission to speak.
"I want to go to the Orthodoxy of Arcane. Not to be a war mage or anything. I just… I want to study potioneering. Have a shop, maybe. Get married. If someone'll have me."
Her voice faded at the end like she wished it hadn't come out at all.
Cain didn't say anything. He didn't need to.
Even though the jungle pressed in tighter, for a few minutes, the trail felt lighter.
Like it was letting them pass.
Cain didn't answer Ricky's question. Not because he didn't have a school in mind — but because he wasn't sure he'd survive long enough to walk through any of their doors.
And even then… he wasn't sure which door would open.
He also thought about what Beany had said — it soft, hopeful, almost naive.
Wanting to get married, to settle down. It wasn't the dream itself that felt off.
It was the way she said it, like it was possible.
In this world, people didn't age into peaceful retirement.
They vanished mid-mission, got turned into bait, or bled out beneath broken towers.
Cain wasn't cold to the idea of connection — but he knew how fast idle talk like this one spiraled.
Names dropped here and there, backgrounds laid bare — then suddenly you're comforting someone, then compromising a route for them.
Then maybe someone ends up a parent before their lungs are even fully developed.
"Look alive, we might —"
He was just about to urge them to keep eyes forward, stay tight, and check the canopy — when a piercing screech split the air ahead.
Not beastman nor human.
It was the kind of call that made instincts clench before thoughts could.
The screech still hung in the air when the waterfall split open.
Cain's eyes locked on the figure that burst from the cascade, a blur of motion and white mist.
'Is that a man? What is he doing?'
No — more like a madman, or someone blessed with suicidal timing.
He shot out from the high ledge like a missile, arms wrapped around something massive.
It wasn't a weapon, and it wasn't a gear.
It was an egg — as large as a grown man, pressed tight against his chest, nearly dragging him down as gravity fought every step.
He hit the water like a meteor, sending up a plume of spray that shimmered with refracted light.
For a moment Cain couldn't see him.
Then, ripples broke, and the man emerged, swimming into shore, his arms still holding the huge spawn as if a part of him.
Tendrils of magicule clung to the egg, thin threads wrapping around his torso like lifelines.
A makeshift anchoring spell — the kind of thing you only cast want something to cling to you really well.
The man reached the far shore, boots slamming into wet stone.
He glanced left, then right, his movements jittery, mind clearly racing to reorient.
His posture screamed one thing — he didn't know which way was safe anymore.
That's when Cain looked up.
Something vast blocked the sun — wings, wide as a house, cutting across the light like a divine curtain.
The sky bent in distorted silence as a massive bird, no, a congregate of feathers, descended with slow, deliberate grace.
It wasn't just flying — it was hunting, calculating.
The creature had a wingspan of at least fifteen meters, its body plated with iridescent feathers that glowed faintly like moonlit frost.
Its eyes were not the eyes of a beast. They were intelligent and focused.
The group stood frozen for half a heartbeat.
Then Cain's instincts kicked in — not fight or flight, but observation.
Whoever that man was, whatever that egg held, they were in the middle of something that should make tons of money.
Cain crouched low behind the rise, visor dimmed just enough to prevent lens flare from the waterfall's spray.
Across the clearing, a separate squad was already in motion.
They weren't subtle.
One of them, a card-operator, snapped a card from his sleeve with practiced flair.
The wind stilled for half a second before a shockwave exploded outward, warping the trees and flattening underbrush.
The impact hit the air like thunder — brutal, kinetic, all heat and compression.
But the bird barely flinched.
Its wings curled against the pressure like petals of iron, feathers only singed at the edges.
And then, it gave chase with speed.
Cain saw what was happening long before the others did.
'Looks like they took a swing a little above their weight class now, didn't they?'
Their squad and his were on an intersecting course.
Whether by design or bad luck, they were now in each other's path.
He could already feel the thoughts forming behind his teammate's head.
'Help the runner? Intervene? Steal the egg? Negotiate terms? Take a cut?'