The fog hung low over the edges of De Mer Dock, curling like breath over the water. Somewhere beyond the trees, an ogopuu let out a throaty, broken warble—half-growl, half-wheeze. Infected. That was the sound of sickness deep in its bones.

Lyra stood at Hassian’s side, bow in hand, sixty essence-laced arrows strapped to her back. The others fanned out behind them, teams already set.

Saraya and Simon had gone quiet and efficient, crouched together by the moss-crusted ruins to the east.

Rex and Lexi were sweeping the northern bank—well, Lexi was sweeping. Rex was dramatically trying to not slip on wet leaves.

Subira stood near the trailhead with a metal canister tucked under one arm and her tablet already out, ready to record the harvest. She gave Lyra a nod, professional but warm. Only she and Hassian knew what had happened the day before, and Subira’s silence was a comfort in itself.

Hassian scanned the terrain, body taut despite his exhaustion. He hadn’t slept more than a couple hours in two nights, but you wouldn’t know it by the way he moved—sharp-eyed, steady-handed, terrifyingly precise. His gaze kept flicking to Lyra, subtle, careful—tracking her stance, her breathing, the slightest hitch in her movements. He didn’t need her to say anything; he knew she was still carrying yesterday’s weight, and he was quietly shouldering some of it for her.

“Two targets across the lower clearing,” he murmured to Lyra, pointing. “We’ll sweep left. Don’t let them scatter—we want clean takedowns.”

Lyra nodded, adrenaline already flushing her limbs. “Got it.”

He paused, eyes flicking over her. “And don’t push yourself.”

She gave him a look.

“I mean it,” he said lowly, barely above the rustling reeds. “You still smell like stress.”

She arched a brow. “Not dirt?”

He gave a soft snort, nearly a smile. “Progress.”

Then, they moved.

The first ogopuu spotted them before they’d fully cleared the brush. It bolted, long limbs kicking up mud as it launched toward the waterline—but Lyra was faster. She loosed one arrow, then a second—the essence-infused tips glowing as they sliced through the fog. The ogopuu staggered and fell, stunned long enough for Hassian to land the finishing blow.

“Two down,” Hassian muttered. “Eight to go.”

They moved as one, cutting through the undergrowth in a practiced rhythm. Every kill was clean. Every shot mattered.

Across the clearing, Lexi let out a sharp whistle. “Got one! Rex, flank left!”

“I’m flanking!” Rex shouted. “I’m just... flanking slowly!”

“Stars help us,” Simon muttered from somewhere in the trees.

“We’re fine,” Saraya called back, voice like silk over steel. “Don’t let them bunch up.”

Lyra ducked behind a log, peering at two ogopuu nosing through the moss. She could feel the fatigue creeping in, just beneath her ribs—but Hassian’s presence beside her was grounding.

“I’ll take the right,” she whispered. “On three.”

They fired together—synchronized, effortless.

The ogopuu crumpled.

An hour passed in a blur of arrows, slime, and movement. When Subira called a break, the teams regrouped in a clearing at the crossroads between the two zones.

Lexi flopped onto a boulder. “I am 80% bruised fruit.”

“You’re also 100% dramatic,” Saraya replied, tossing her a water flask.

Rex leaned against a tree, panting. “So. Does this count as a romantic outing? I feel like I should get credit. Kenyata will totally be impressed when I tell her I nearly died.”

“You didn’t nearly die,” Hassian said flatly, checking one of his arrows.

“Nearly emotionally died,” Rex amended. “Very different.”

Subira smirked but didn’t look up from her data pad. “Nine infected down. Good haul. We’ll head back in ten.”

While the others joked, Lyra sat on a low stump, watching the steam rise off her skin in the cool morning air. Her limbs ached, and the memory of the cave still pulled behind her eyes like a shadow—but here, with her friends and the sky cracked open in pale gold above them, the weight felt a little lighter.

Saraya came to sit beside her, silent for a moment before saying softly, “Is everything okay with you and Hassian?” she asked.

Lyra looked down at her hands, “Hassian is so great. I don’t know where I’d be without him.”

Saraya reached out and gave a little rub to Lyra’s shoulder. “WelI, I don’t know what's happening with you. I don’t need to. Just know we love you—and we’re here.”

Lyra blinked, throat tight. She nodded once.

Then Hassian was beside her again, offering a piece of dried fruit without a word. She took it, their fingers brushing.

He didn’t say much. He didn’t have to. His nearness was enough.

Together, they’d keep going.

By early evening, the hunt had run its course—and then some. Between the three teams, they brought down eighty infected ogopuu. Subira was already tallying the essence yields, muttering to herself in satisfied tones.

The air buzzed with the particular brand of tired pride that only came after a successful field operation. Clothes were torn, boots soaked, muscles sore—but in the end the work was done.

Lexi declared she deserved a trophy and a snack in equal measure.

Simon offered to carve her one out of ogopuu scales, which made her reconsider.

Rex lobbied for a full roast dinner and two days off. “Minimum. My legs hurt in places I didn’t know had legs.”

Saraya just rolled her eyes and shouldered her pack like she was born for it.

When they started the walk back, Lyra felt it too—that ache of effort, the hum of shared accomplishment. She wasn’t fully healed. The cave still lingered in the corners of her mind. But this? Being out here, doing something that mattered, side by side with people who loved her—it helped.

Hassian walked beside her in companionable silence, his bow slung low, his hand brushing hers every so often. He’d said little all day, but stayed close. Always close.

The essence was secured. The team was intact.

They returned to Kilima weary, muddy, and victorious—just the way a good hunt should end.