Verdenholt Mission - Part 1: Western Ruins.

The ruins stretched out before them — crumbled stone walls half-swallowed by vines, shattered pathways leading nowhere, and the remains of long-abandoned homes barely standing against the cold wind. Verdenholt had been dead for years, but today, it felt as if something ancient still clung to the bones of this place.

Kiyoshi adjusted the strap of his satchel absently, his washed-gray eyes narrowing as he stepped over a broken threshold. The air was heavier here. Off — like breathing through wet cloth.

"Feels like a haunted house," Kotaka muttered under his breath, swinging his staff loosely at his side. His voice was casual, but Kiyoshi caught the tension in his fingers, the way they twitched.

"Haunted?" Rin said, her brown ponytail whipping slightly as she turned to glance at the crumbling structures around them. "Nah. Just abandoned. Ghosts would be more polite than whatever's been living here."

Kiyoshi didn't laugh. He kept walking, boots scraping against stone littered with old ash and moss. Something tugged at his gut — not a memory exactly, but an instinct. A feeling he couldn't shake. Something beneath the earth was breathing. Watching. Waiting.

He crouched near a fallen statue, brushing dirt away with his gloved hand. Faint, almost imperceptible lines pulsed along the ground — old magic, woven into the stones themselves. It was fragmented, but not dead.

"Kiyoshi?" Rin called, noticing he'd stopped. "You good?"

He rose slowly, dusting his palm off against his thigh. "...Yeah," he lied.

But he wasn't good. Something was stirring.

He pressed two fingers to his comms device, crackling slightly with static. "West Team checking in. No hostiles, but..." He hesitated. The others exchanged glances. "...ambient mana levels are fluctuating. There's residual enchantment here. Possibly unstable."

"Copy that, West," crackled the reply — but even through the channel, there was a hint of distortion, like an echo speaking a second too late.

Rin frowned, tapping her comm. "Weird."

Kotaka twirled his staff once and let it rest against his shoulder. "Maybe it's just interference. Old ruins, old magic... not like they kept their wifi up to date."

Rin chuckled, but Kiyoshi's attention remained on the distant hills. Something unseen shifted, just at the edge of hearing — a low hum beneath the wind. He turned sharply.

"Kiyoshi?" Rin asked again, more cautious this time.

"...Nothing," he murmured.

But it wasn't nothing. It was something. And it was getting closer. Farther ahead, nestled in the half-sunken remains of a temple, the ground itself cracked quietly — spiderweb fractures running outward from a forgotten sigil buried beneath centuries of dust. The air shimmered faintly around it — a heartbeat, a pulse. Waiting.

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The wind atop the Northern Ridge carried a different bite — sharp, tinged with the metallic sting of unstable mana. Rajieru stood at the edge of a crumbling watchtower, his coat snapping lightly around him, golden eyes narrowed against the light. Below, etched into the valley's floor, the ancient protective runes that once shielded Verdenholt lay fractured — thin, webbing cracks bleeding faint wisps of blue light into the open air.

He clicked his tongue, annoyed. "...That's not normal."

Behind him, Reuel adjusted his gloves, sharp gaze following the lazy drift of corrupted mana upwards. "The barrier's collapsing faster than the initial reports suggested," he said, voice low and clinical. "Something is agitating it."

"No kidding," Rajieru muttered, pulling a small charm from his belt. He tossed it lightly — it spun midair, glowing faintly, then flickered violently before dropping dead into his hand.

Mana flow disruption. Severe.

Down the slope, Giyuu knelt silently beside the broken remains of a wardstone, his black hair falling around his face like a shadow. He pressed two fingers against the ground — feeling, listening.

"...The mana isn't just leaking," Giyuu said quietly after a beat. "It's being pulled. Distorted. As if something... alive is twisting the flow."

Rajieru grinned, but it was tight, humorless. "Alive, huh? Guess it's gonna be one of those days."

Reuel's mouth twitched — not a smile, but a recognition of what Rajieru meant. Bad omen. Their comms device buzzed faintly, distorting again for half a second — enough to set every trained nerve on edge.

Rajieru rolled his shoulders, casual on the surface, but anyone paying attention would have seen the way his fingers tightened at his sides. "I'm telling you, boys..." he said, flashing a lazy smile toward them. "Nothing good ever comes from old magic and bad weather."

He glanced up — storm clouds brewing on the far horizon. "...Hope you're warmed up."

Elsewhere along the ridge, the old barrier glyphs pulsed — faster, harder — fractures widening like spreading veins. Something beyond the ridge line shifted. Watching. Waiting.

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The woods beyond Verdenholt were dense — not wild, exactly, but wrong somehow.

A hush hung over the underbrush, heavier than the usual forest quiet, pressing against the skin like a damp, clinging fog.

Celosia stepped carefully over a gnarled root, her fingers brushing the hilt of her weapon almost absently, violet eyes scanning the shivering treeline. The spirits here were restless. Not malevolent — not yet — but agitated. As if something had stirred them awake.

"They're scared," she murmured, barely above a whisper.

Haruki, walking a few steps ahead, paused without turning. "Spirits?" he asked, voice crisp.

Celosia nodded once. "Something dark is moving near the village... not natural. Not... clean."

Behind them, Manjiro whistled low, hands tucked into his blazer pockets, white hair catching the dim morning light. "Great," he drawled with a grin. "Haunted forests. Definitely what I signed up for today."

Haruki shot him a sharp look, but Manjiro just shrugged. The tension was real, but so was the need to not crumble under it. A few meters deeper into the woods, a clearing opened — and that's where they saw it. Trees — huge ones, older than memory — twisted unnaturally. Bark shredded, sap bleeding black instead of amber. The ground was scarred with claw marks too large for any known beast. Manjiro's smile faltered for a fraction of a second. 

Haruki stepped forward, drawing a short-bladed weapon, the air around him subtly vibrating with gathered energy. "Tracks," he said, frowning. "But not from any spirit I recognize."

Celosia knelt by the marks, her face pale. "The wildlife's been... altered. Something corrupted them."

The wind shifted. For a moment, they could all hear it — a low, almost human whisper threading through the trees. Turn back. Manjiro stiffened, gaze flicking sharply to the trees. Haruki tightened his grip on his weapon.

Celosia simply closed her eyes, steadying herself. "...They're warning us," she said quietly. "Whatever did this... it's still nearby."

The treetops rustled, unnatural, like something was watching them from above. Their comm crackled — faint, broken snippets from the other teams struggling to come through. Warnings. Panic. Something about an attack.

Haruki's head snapped up. "Move," he ordered. "Now."

The East Team broke into a run, following the warped trail — unknowingly rushing toward the oncoming ambush.

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The southern stretch of Verdenholt was strangely open — rolling grassland bleeding into tangled brambles at the forest's edge. The sun was bright here, the wind stirring the tall grass in restless, shivering waves. At first glance, it seemed peaceful — almost too peaceful.

Zoltan was the first to pick up the scent. He slowed, nose wrinkling slightly, sharp crimson eyes scanning the trails ahead. "Blood," he muttered, low enough that only his companions could hear.

Sanae tightened her grip on her staff, instinctively moving closer to the group, her bun swaying as she moved. Asami, calm and unhurried, merely adjusted the glove on her hand and stepped forward. They didn't have to walk far before the scene revealed itself. A clearing — small, ringed by thorny shrubs — and in its center, the twisted remains of a stag.

Its body was torn apart violently, ribs cracked outward, eyes frozen in an expression of terror. Flies buzzed low over the corpse, the air thick with the stench of rot and magic. Sanae pressed a hand to her mouth. "What could do that...?"

Zoltan crouched beside the carcass, examining the deep gouges raked along the beast's flank. His white hair shifted in the breeze, his expression grim. "Not a wolf," he said, voice flat. "Not a bear either. The cuts are too clean. Almost surgical."

Asami moved past him, examining the torn grass around the edges. Her voice, usually unreadable, carried a faint note of unease. "Something hunted it for sport," she said. "And it didn't even eat the kill."

They exchanged glances — a silent, wordless agreement to stay sharp. The air shifted suddenly — a sharp crackle of unstable mana passing through the grass like a ripple. In the distance, faint but unmistakable, came the sound of a scream carried on the wind. All three of them snapped to attention.

Zoltan rose, brushing dust from his red blazer. "That wasn't an animal," he said, eyes narrowing. "And it's not finished yet."

Sanae nodded, heart pounding. Asami gave a small, sharp smile — like she had been waiting for something to happen.

Their communicators buzzed briefly — static, half a broken message about an attack — before cutting out entirely.

Zoltan glanced toward the village on the horizon.

"Move. Fast," he ordered, voice like steel.

The South Team sprinted through the tall grass, their silhouettes cutting through the gold and green — racing toward the smoke just beginning to rise in the distance.

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