Magi of Sinlung 2

Larin and his friends were sitting inside the main hall at the entrance of the Great Tree. The quiet hum of the Natural Spring wove through the air, a comforting rhythm that contrasted the war outside. The roots of the tree stretched like great tendrils, sheltering them from the world beyond. Fireflies flickered in and out of the mist, their glow reflecting in the crystal-clear waters.

He had been so caught up in the war, in training, in survival, that he hadn't taken the time to simply be with his friends. And looking at them now, he realized how much they had all changed. War had carved lines into their faces, burdened their shoulders with weight beyond their years.

They had all seen things.

Felt things.

Survived things.

Yet, they were here, and for tonight, they were together again.

The smoke from the meat and rice hung thick in the air, and Larin saw how Rinku, Gwendon, and Ngieri fiddled with their food. They all went off and were sent away on their different assignments. Tonight, they came back, or at least, here they are.

He released the air. "I think I ought to name this place, then."

Rinku quirked an eyebrow, tossing a pebble into the water. "What, finally tired of calling it 'the spring' all the time?"

Larin smirked. "Yeah. Felt wrong to keep it nameless when it means so much now."

Ngieri tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. "So? What's the name?"

Larin hesitated, running his fingers over the rough bark of the tree. "Pialral."

The word was suspended between them, soft and weighted. Ngieri was the first to speak back, quiet. "From the old myths. The place where souls go after death. Where they meet Sinlung. Where they never have to work again."

Larin nodded. "Yeah. I sort of figured … in a way, we are all trying to find our way back to something. Whether that's home or our strength, or who we used to be before the war started."

Rinku grinned, nudging him. "Thought you didn't have a taste for metaphorical poetry."

Gwendon chuckled. "He's hanging out too much with the Dryads."

Larin rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

For a moment, there was something like peace. Laughter. Companionship. The war hadn't taken everything from them.

But as night deepened once again, reality crept back in.

Ngieri exhaled, her fingers trailing over the rim of her bowl. "Pamchai was worse than I expected." Her voice was tight. "I knew it would be bad, but the way they burn everything… they don't just want to defeat us. They want to erase us."

Larin could hear the weariness in her voice, the anger beneath it. Pamchai was a battlefield like no other, open plains where skirmishes became slaughter. And at no time did the Kirati forces dare show any regard for the land nor respect for people who called it home.

Rinku, who had been stationed in the Migolo Archipelago, nodded grimly. "Their machines don't stop. We saw them deploy some kind of new siege automaton near the outpost. It moved like a living thing, but it had no soul. It just… kept going." Her fingers curled around her bowl. "We barely destroyed it before it reached the settlement.

Gwendon exhaled sharply. "And the prisoners." His voice was quiet, controlled, but his eyes burned. "The ones they take—if they aren't executed on the spot, they're dragged back to Kirat's main war camp. The things they do there." He clenched his jaw. "Refugees are heading toward fortified cities in droves."

Larin stayed silent, listening. He had fought, he had killed, but hearing the weight in their voices, he realized the war had only begun to reveal its true horrors.

"We're not ready for the worst of it," Ngieri admitted. "But we're getting stronger."

Rinku dug into her pouch and pulled out a fistful of small rocks, sliding one across the table to each. "Now, this then-spoke of, I upgraded our tele-runes. Encrypted the channels, its range is longer now."

Larin picked his up, the hum of magic inside it. "Thanks,"

"Good luck keeping it," Rinku said with a smirk. "You're the most reckless of the lot."

Larin snorted. "Hey that's rich coming from you."

Gwendon chuckled, pocketing his own rune. "We'll check in whenever we can. But for now, we keep moving."

One by one, they exchanged nods. No words were needed. They each had their paths to walk, but in the end, they would always find their way back to one another.

Larin stood by the edge of the Great Tree, watching as they disappeared into the night, swallowed up by the dark shadows of the forest. He let the silence of Pialral settle about him before turning and heading back inside.

Oakenna waited for him near the entrance, eyes knowing and calm. "Your friends are strong," she noted. "They will carve their own legends."

Larin smirked, his hand rubbing over his face. "Yeah. And we're all just trying not to die before we get there."

Oakenna tilted her head. "You joke, but it is true. Survival is a victory in itself."

Larin exhaled, the weight of the night pressing down on his shoulders. "Speaking of surviving… I need work."

Oakenna raised an eyebrow. "Work?

"Practical experience," Larin clarified. "I can't just sit here and train. I need to be out there, doing something. I know I've been recovering, but I can't afford to waste any more time."

Oakenna regarded him for a long moment before nodding. "Then ask Sinlung."

Larin inhaled, closing his eyes, reaching out with his intent.

[Sinlung, hear my plea, please issue me a mission.]

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, the air around him shifted. A pulse, like a whisper against his skin. And then, the response.

[Mission Issued – Solo Assignment: Go into the World. Do whatever it takes. Your merit will be accounted by Sinlung]

Larin opened his eyes, a slow grin spreading across his face.

"Looks like I have work to do."

Larin and his friends did not know that they would be playing a pivotal role in the fate of Sinlung, and how they will come to be known as the MAGI OF SINLUNG.