Meanwhile...
Within the outerlands of the Southworn Frontier, the sky had already begun to churn into a steel-gray ocean of clouds, warning of what was coming.
A towering structure halfway built stood crooked yet solid — Hale Eryndor hammering away at the outer struts with radiant precision, his hair pulled back and sweat tracing down his brow. Below, the faint shimmer of wards and anchor-glyphs lit the base, tracing the geometry of defensive enchantments.
At the base of the tower, surrounded by crates and glowing vials:
Garrick grunted, elbow-deep in alchemical herbs as he crushed and mixed with weathered hands. Beside him, Goldie — precise and unflinching — dipped droppers into swirling blue, red, and golden liquids, bottling faster than most humans could count.
Nearby, Nico organized the potion racks by type, careful not to mix the volatile ones. A faint, dreamy glint lingered in his eyes, despite the weight of their situation.
And then, in the shade of a leaning pine, Riven stood, arms crossed behind his back, posture proud, his long coat flicking in the gusting wind. A faint smirk curled his lips as he stared up at the coming storm clouds.
> ⚠️ Systematic Alert — Weather Warning: 100% Storm Imminent.
The clouds thickened into shadows, lightning threading silently through the distance.
Hale's interface pulsed red as he received the message. He cursed under his breath and hopped down from the tower.
> "Storm's rolling in fast. Pull the gear back inside. We can't afford to lose even a single vial."
> "Tch," Garrick muttered, corking another healing potion. "One thousand down. Still not enough... Not nearly enough."
> "It never is," Goldie said quietly, snapping a seal on a bottle of Regeneration.
> "Should've brought a damn ceiling," Garrick growled as he started hauling the crates into the shelter.
Over 1,000 potions crafted, but they all knew the truth: with the coming battles, and the unpredictable flux of nature, double that wouldn't be enough.
And somewhere in the woods far beyond, Oliver was fighting through his own survival, unaware of just how much the others were preparing... and what they were truly preparing for.
---------
Under the deepening slate clouds, a brief calm settled among the group as Garrick and Nico uncorked two of the freshly bottled potions, curiosity overtaking routine.
"Let's see what these actually taste like for once," Garrick grunted, raising the healing potion.
Nico laughed lightly and followed with the regeneration bottle.
"I was just wondering that myself."
They clinked the vials together with a mock toast and drank.
> Healing Potion: A thick, soothing sweetness — like mashed strawberries, sun-warmed and freshly pulped. Garrick raised his brows in surprise.
Regeneration Potion: Tart and oddly earthy, gooseberries swirled with river water — not unpleasant, just unexpected. Nico swished his mouth like a wine critic.
> "Tastes like a berry died for my sins," Garrick muttered, smacking his lips.
> "It's not bad. Weirdly nostalgic," Nico said. "Like something you'd drink under a waterfall during childhood."
Goldie snorted quietly at the commentary. Aurelia, crouched nearby helping label the vials, glanced up.
Nico opened the Water Breathing potion next, took a hesitant sip — then gave a puzzled expression.
> "This one's hard to place… tastes like blueberry water, but muted… like it forgot it was supposed to be fruit."
As the laughter and tasting wound down, Aurelia, brushing her silver-blonde hair back, glanced toward Riven, who stood still at the edge of the cliff overlook, arms behind his back, his coat catching the wind like a flag.
> "Riven," she said teasingly, "we could invite more girls into this multiplayer run, you know. Might spice up your energy."
Riven let out a chuckle, one brow arching.
> "That won't be necessary," he said, voice amused, yet curt.
Aurelia tilted her head, intrigued.
"Wait… you don't like women or something?"
The question hit sharp and sudden, enough that even Garrick and Nico paused.
Riven blinked slowly — that polished exterior never cracking — but the air felt heavier for a moment. He gave a soft smile, the kind that said nothing and everything.
> "Let's just say... I don't find companionship necessary right now."
"The mission is more important than idle distractions."
Aurelia's eyes narrowed slightly with curiosity, but she didn't press. She could tell Riven's deflection was intentional — there was something deeper there, but buried under years of trained composure.
> "Hmm…" she murmured thoughtfully. "If you say so."
Just then, Garrick glanced at the sky, the first flickers of lightning reflecting in his eyes.
> ⚠️ "Storm's rolling right on us."
"We keep talking, we're gonna be soaked and smited."
Riven's posture straightened.
> "Then we pack. Goldie, Aurelia — finish wrapping the top crates. Hale, how's the structure?"
> "Stabilized and sealed," Hale called back. "But we're not surviving a lightning strike if we linger."
With practiced rhythm, everyone moved into motion.
Bottles packed. Scrolls secured. Wards sealed. The quiet before the downpour was nearly reverent — a brief human moment among storm and steel.
And far away, Oliver still wandered, unaware that the skies and fates were about to shift... for all of them.
------
The skies had darkened further — bruised clouds twisting above as the first cold droplets of rain began to splatter across the canopy and stone.
Nico Finnikin Faelwyn, tail puffed up like a soaked duster, let out a muffled groan of distaste as the first raindrop smacked his ear.
> "Ugh, I hate this!" Nico hissed, ears twitching, wrapping his cloak tighter and huddling hastily against Garrick's side like a fox seeking warmth.
Garrick grunted, almost losing his balance.
> "Will you stop shoving me like I'm a campfire log?" he barked. "I'm not here to warm your fluffy butt!"
> "You're warm and dry-ish! I'm contract-bound to fire, Garrick! My tail's hissing back there!"
Nico half-snapped, half-whimpered.
> "Sounds like a you problem," Garrick muttered, adjusting his grip on the crate while still marching forward through the sloshy grass.
Aurelia chuckled behind them, her tone bright despite the storm's mood.
She gently stroked Goldie's short golden hair, the quiet girl hugging a potion bundle close like a cherished pillow. The air smelled of ozone and wet leaves.
> "You two bicker like a couple," Aurelia teased, voice sing-song.
> "Please don't start that rumor," Garrick grumbled.
> "Noted," Riven said dryly from behind, the smirk in his voice unmistakable.
"Let's focus. Patience. We're almost there."
The half-built structure — a tall wooden tower-lodge hybrid stabilized with stone joints and reinforced beams — came into view ahead, the shimmering sigils from Hale's enchantments humming against the storm. A half-circle barrier glowed faintly at the entrance, shielding the inside from the wind and rain.
Hale Eryndor, soaked in sweat and rain, stood near the structure with his usual calm, looking over his shoulder.
> "Get in, quick. The foundation's dry inside," he called.
Nico darted inside first, almost tripping over his own feet, tail wagging frantically as he shook it out like a soggy mop.
> "Bless your soul, Hale," he mumbled, curling up near the internal fire node.
Garrick stomped in next, muttering something about tail hairs stuck to his tunic.
Aurelia followed, still laughing softly, Goldie in tow, while Riven was the last to step in — glancing at the storm one last time before sealing the barrier with a flick of his hand.
> "Let it pour," he said with a calm smile.
"We're just getting started."
-------
The rain drummed steadily against the roof of the wooden structure, a calming yet constant patter, broken only by the occasional creak of beams and soft crackle of the interior fire node.
Garrick lay sprawled on a woven rug, his boots kicked off, staring up at his phone — scrolling idly through local Systematic updates and notifications.
Riven sat across from him on a low bench, phone in hand, legs crossed with casual elegance.
Aurelia leaned beside Goldie, both girls sharing one screen, whispering occasionally, fingers tapping the screen with giggles and wide eyes.
On the other side, Hale stood focused in the makeshift kitchen nook. A worn wooden countertop, a set of rustic pans, and a floating Vita burner gave him just enough tools to work his calm magic. The smell of grilled root vegetables and soft herbs filled the room.
Nico, of course, was wrapped like a cat burrito in the thick Mysticoin-purchased blankets, a pillow over his head, soft tail barely twitching beneath the fabric. One foot poked out like a lazy flame.
The quiet was comfortable… but maybe too comfortable.
Garrick slowly put his phone down and blinked into the ceiling.
> "It's too quiet," he muttered.
Aurelia looked up first.
> "Too quiet for you? That's rare." She tilted her head. "Something wrong?"
Garrick scratched his chest through his shirt.
> "I dunno. We're just sitting here… all of us, together, and barely saying anything. It's kinda creepy."
Riven didn't look up at first, but his smirk widened. He slowly locked his phone and set it beside him.
> "You're right," he said thoughtfully. "It's almost unnatural."
He stood, adjusted his sleeves, then with precise mischief, turned to Hale.
> "Chef Eryndor," he announced grandly, "you have a new kitchen assistant."
Hale turned his head slightly, eyebrow raising in slow recognition.
> "Excuse me?"
Riven strolled past, picked up a bright red apron from the supply bag, turned to Garrick, and tossed it right onto his face.
> "Congratulations. You're on food duty. Effective immediately."
> "Wait—what—what is this!?" Garrick fumbled with the apron, sitting up in confusion. "I'm not—I'm not kitchen trained!"
> "You'll survive," Riven said, already returning to his seat with an overly satisfied grin.
"Besides, talking starts in the kitchen. Everyone knows that."
Aurelia giggled.
> "I like this idea. Let's see how long until Garrick burns the basil."
Goldie quietly clapped in approval.
Hale, now stirring something that smelled distinctly of citrus and roasted tubers, gave Garrick a tired but amused glance.
> "If you're helping," Hale said, "start by chopping those root caps. Carefully. Don't slice your fingers. They're not ingredients."
Garrick grumbled, dragging himself off the rug and towards the kitchen.
> "This is a setup," he mumbled, tying the apron with mild shame. "I swear Riven's doing this for drama."
Nico mumbled half-asleep from the blanket pile:
> "Can you not yell near the fire node… thanks…"
The storm outside continued, but now inside—
Laughter. Chatter. Knife chopping. Light bickering.
And the warmest smell of food.
The silence had been broken.
-------
Garrick stepped into the modest kitchen nook like a man entering a battlefield.
He stared at the oversized Furnace-Kiln, a brick-and-metal beast with Vita veins glowing dimly along its base. No touchscreen. No instructions. Just heat and willpower.
> "This is new," Garrick muttered, adjusting the red apron awkwardly.
Blue-ranked Travelers like him didn't often cook. Most preferred buying pre-made field rations or unlocking higher-tier Kitchens through Systematic shops.
But with Ovens costing 400+ locked Mysticoins, and time pressing down with the storm brewing outside—
this ancient Kiln was their best shot.
---
Today's Plan:
🫕 Steamed Vegetable Stew – Field-Fresh, Storm-Warmed.
Using what they'd bought and traded with Mysticoins earlier, Hale had already prepped a rough lineup of vibrant, unusual veggies from the surrounding zone.
---
🥕 Root Vegetable Lineup:
Sunroot: Pale orange with golden tips. It glowed faintly even now on the table, casting gentle halos on Hale's prep board. Garrick picked one up and squinted.
> "This thing's glowing. Is that safe?"
"Yes," Hale replied calmly. "Tastes like honeyed carrots. Cut it lengthwise."
Duskradish: Long and gnarled, its deep purple skin shimmered under the lantern light. When sliced, it released a pungent spicy aroma.
Garrick coughed.
> "What is this?"
"Grows under moonlight," Hale answered. "Adds heat. Don't rub your eyes after cutting it."
Emberyam: The orange skin had veins of faint red. It was slightly warm to the touch, naturally storing heat.
Aurelia peeked in, curious.
> "That one's good for winter. Used to eat it with soup as a kid," she said.
Ironbeet: Thick. Unreasonably hard. When Garrick tried to slice one, the knife bounced off.
> "Is this a rock?"
"No," said Riven, smirking. "Just beat it with the blunt end first."
Grumbleturnip: This one vibrated. No joke. When Garrick held it, it buzzed faintly, like a hummingbird heartbeat.
> "It's angry," Garrick blinked.
"Don't drop it," Hale warned, "they roll into fire if you do."
---
Cooking Process (Kiln-Style):
1. Hale soaked the chopped vegetables in warm Vita water to soften them.
2. Garrick carefully placed them in a steaming tray crafted from boiled bark and metal mesh.
3. Hale summoned a small controlled Vita spark and channeled it beneath the Kiln's base.
4. The Kiln roared awake—heat rippling, steam building.
> "Fifteen minutes," Hale muttered. "Keep it turning every five."
---
Meanwhile…
Aurelia fed Goldie some fresh diced Sunroot, who wagged her tail happily.
Nico stayed curled up, but his ears twitched at the scent wafting through.
Riven, still calm, watched the flickering firelight dance across the floor as he absentmindedly sharpened a blade.
---
By the time the stew finished, the aroma filled the entire structure with warmth—
sweetness, spice, earthy richness, and just a hint of Emberyam's heat.
Garrick tasted the broth from a wooden ladle and blinked.
> "Okay… that's actually good."
Hale gave a rare half-smile.
> "Told you."
Riven raised a brow.
> "Looks like we've found our backup cook."
> "Don't push it," Garrick replied, ladling out more stew for the others, cheeks red—but proud.
As bowls passed around and the storm raged on, they all finally sat, laughed, and ate.
Just Travelers in the rain.
----