Raif pushed himself up slowly, feeling the familiar ache in his bones, his muscles stiff from sleeping on the damp ground. The shelter was cramped, the air thick and stale, filled with the scent of sweat and mildew. His mouth was dry, and the fire had died down to nothing more than a few glowing embers, struggling to keep some semblance of warmth alive.
The forest outside was still, but there was something unnatural about it. No chirping insects. No croaking frogs. Even the usual drip of water from the canopy had stopped, leaving a kind of oppressive stillness hanging in the air.
Raif sat up, his stomach gnawing at him. The hunger felt like a weight on his spine, the constant reminder of just how little they had to eat. Two days here, and all he'd had was a half-eaten fern stalk and a piece of some weird fungal strip Naera had given him. His stomach hadn't growled in hours. It had simply stopped, resigned to the emptiness.
The others weren't faring any better.
Eloin shifted in his sleep, groaning, his shirt soaked with sweat. Lira sat near the edge of the shelter, curled in on herself, eyes half-closed. Thomund was pacing, every few steps stopping to crouch and dry heave into the underbrush. Goss muttered something, his words too slurred to make out, buried beneath the heavy cloak of woven ferns he'd wrapped around himself.
Raif pushed himself up, legs unsteady, and stumbled toward the Rainleaf Basin at the edge of the clearing. Yesterday, it had seemed like a small victory: a collection of leaves strung across bark frames, pooling rainwater into a stone trough. The basin had been a lifeline then, a simple solution to their thirst. But now, it felt more like a reminder of everything they were lacking.
Raif scooped a small cupful of water from the basin and took a sip.
It tasted sour.
He swallowed anyway. What choice did he have?
"Goss?" he called, his voice rough.
No answer.
Raif found Goss curled up under one of the lean-tos, shivering despite the humidity. His lips were cracked, the skin raw and dry. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
"I'm fine," Goss mumbled weakly.
"Doesn't look like it."
"Didn't sleep," Goss groaned, rubbing his face. "Kept seeing things in the trees. Furry things. With eyes."
Raif looked around. Thomund was sitting, rubbing his legs. Lira hadn't moved, except to clutch her stomach like it hurt. Eloin sat nearby, staring at the ground, his hands trembling too much to hold the charcoal properly.
Only Naera moved like she was unaffected. She crouched at the Rainleaf Basin, her hand resting lightly on the edge. Her eyes were sharp, scanning the surface of the water with the kind of attention that felt... calculating. She'd drunk from the same basin, eaten the same food. Or had she? She'd been careful about it. Always waiting for someone else to go first. Watching them before she took her share. Now, it felt like foresight.
Raif didn't speak, just watched her watch them. The tremble in Eloin's fingers, the dazed look in Goss's eyes, the tightness in Lira's posture, it was clear they were all slipping, and he was struggling to keep it all from falling apart.
Naera reached out, trailing her fingers along the basin's edge, where a faint residue clung to the surface. She didn't say anything at first, but Raif could feel her hesitation, the silent calculation in her gaze.
He crouched beside her.
"Something's wrong," she said softly, her voice steady, but with a faint edge of concern.
"I know," Raif muttered. "They're fading."
She pointed to the water. A half-rotted fruit had settled near the back of the basin, mostly submerged. It was bloated, streaked with white threads. Mold, or something worse.
Raif knelt closer. "That wasn't there last night."
"It fell from the tree above," Naera replied. "The tree drops them seasonally."
"Is it toxic?"
"Not usually. But... spores," she said, tracing the residue with her fingertip. "If the fruit fermented overnight in the water, and we drank it-"
Raif stood abruptly, his stomach lurching.
"Everyone away from the basin. Don't drink from it again."
Lira turned sharply. "What now?"
"Contamination," Raif said. "A rotting fruit fell in. Naera thinks there are spores."
Goss groaned from his shelter. "We're dying because of fruit?"
"Because we didn't think," Lira snapped. "We just drank it. Like children."
"Oh, please," Goss grunted. "Like you didn't gulp it down like the rest of us."
"Better than starving," Thomund muttered, rubbing his stomach. "I'd rather be sick than dry."
"You're both sick and dry," Eloin croaked.
Raif raised his hands, trying to cut through the rising tension. "Enough. No one drinks from it again. We burn it. Boil everything from now on."
"And what if we don't have anything to boil it in?" Goss growled. "You going to magic us a pot?"
"We'll make one," Raif said, his voice calm despite the growing frustration.
"Oh sure," Goss scoffed. "Let's carve it out of the same bark that tried to poison us. That'll end well."
"You have a better idea?" Lira shot back, stepping toward him.
"Yeah, I do. Stop pretending we're soldiers and admit we're going to die out here."
Raif stepped between them. "I don't care who's angry. I care that we fix this. We survived worse yesterday."
Lira sneered. "You keep saying 'we' like you've done anything but talk."
Raif clenched his fists. "Then give me something to do, Lira. You want a fight, or a leader?"
There was a pause. Goss scowled. Thomund stood quietly, his gaze flicking between them all.
Then, Naera stepped back from the basin. Her voice was soft, but cut through the tension like a knife. "We dismantle it. Burn it all. Boil what we can. Filter with charcoal. Moss ash."
Raif nodded. "We'll do both. Eloin, can you help rebuild it?"
Eloin looked weak, but he nodded. "Yeah. I'll need dry vine and a flat plate of bark. We'll burn it first."
"I'll help," Thomund said, his voice firm.
Raif turned to Lira. "We need food. Real food. Can you take Goss and check the fungal ridge again?"
"Yeah," she muttered. "Fine."
She didn't meet his eyes.
Naera had already started picking through clean vines, separating them from the ones near the basin. Her movements were steady, precise.
Raif exhaled. It wasn't war. It wasn't beasts or blades.
It was a rotten fruit.
And it had almost ended them.
By midday, the basin was gone. Eloin had pried it apart with Raif's help, cutting through the slick leaves with a sharpened stone. The water was dumped far beyond the clearing, out of their reach. Naera had burned the worst of the material, anything with visible spores, anything that might have posed a risk. Even Goss, swaying with exhaustion, helped carry the charred debris into a pit and buried it under wet leaves and dirt.
Raif didn't bark orders. He didn't need to. His voice was steady, but calm. Inside, though, doubts gnawed at him. Was he doing enough? Was he making the right choices? Every glance from Lira felt like a test, every moment of silence from Naera like a judgment. He pushed those thoughts aside, forcing a sense of calm into his movements. If he faltered, they all would.
Thomund was digging narrow latrines, muttering about "disease spread through footsteps." He marked danger zones with vines and placed rocks to guide safe paths. Goss, once steady enough, went to the ridge for dry grass to use as fuel.
Eloin rebuilt the basin with Naera, this time layering stone fragments they'd collected into a shallow bowl. Naera lined it with moss ash and charred bark, a filtration layer. She explained it as she worked, how boiling was still best, but this would filter out most spores and fungi.
"Charcoal remembers what the leaf forgets," she murmured, more to herself than anyone.
Raif observed it all. He didn't lift a finger unless necessary. His stomach twisted, his body hollow, but he kept moving.
That evening, Naera emerged from the woods, her form swallowed by shadows until she stepped fully into the clearing. Her boots were damp with moss, her arms wrapped around a bundled cloth full of her harvest. She eyed each of them, not just assessing their health, but reading the tension in their postures, the slackness in Goss's jaw, the quick glances Lira shot toward Raif. She wasn't just observing. She was evaluating. Noticing the cracks forming between them.
She approached the fire with slow, deliberate steps, knelt, and opened the bundle.
Inside were pale mushrooms, resting atop curled fern fronds. Their caps were broad, translucent, tinged with lilac. Thin purple gills pulsed faintly underneath. Some were dusted with spores, others clean, their stems freshly snapped.
Naera brushed a strand of hair from her face, turning one of the caps gently in her fingers. "Sporeless. Gilled. Grew near shaded roots, away from rot. I tested them with flame."
She held up a sliver of cooked mushroom, letting it steam in the firelight.
"If they hiss, they're poison. If they steam, they're safe. These steamed."
Her voice was flat, but there was a flicker of pride beneath it, a sense of purpose. She looked at Raif once, as if silently showing him that she wasn't just surviving, she was proving she could protect in her own way.
No smile. But there was confidence in her eyes.
Raif nodded. He was grateful. She was proving something.
As the others gathered around the fire, Raif noticed something strange, near Lira's bedroll, tucked beneath a split piece of bark. A small bundle of dried mushrooms. Different from Naera's. Hidden.
He waited until most of them were eating before confronting her, his voice low.
"You had these the whole time?"
Lira didn't deny it. "Didn't know if they were safe."
"You still kept them."
"Better than starving. And I didn't eat them, did I?"
Raif stared at her. "That's not the point."
"The point is, I survived." She glanced toward the fire. "Don't start treating me like I'm part of a choir. We're not singing in harmony."
Raif held her gaze for a moment before looking back at the fire. He didn't forget.
Eloin set up a new fire ring, carefully laying the coals. Goss collected dry bark chips and tore the mushrooms into strips. Lira returned, saying nothing more. She sat with the group, tension in her shoulders, but she ate.
They sat in a loose circle. Not like before, forced by circumstance.
This time, it was quieter. Not peace, but something closer.
The mushrooms were bitter, the vine tough. But it filled the ache.
Raif chewed slowly, staring into the fire.
The orb pulsed gently in its stone.
[Loyalty Increase Detected: +1 KE]
[Survival Milestone: Water Protocols
+5 KE]
No one celebrated. No one spoke.
But no one argued.
And that, Raif thought, was enough. For now.
He glanced at the orb embedded in the stone,it pulsed once, a soft blue heartbeat in the shadows. A reminder that survival wasn't victory.