Season 1. Chapter 89: Mission

Chapter: Departure of the Forgotten

Under the warm rays of the Lux Star, the newly awakened forest gleamed with dew and hope. Birds now nested in the trees the druids had raised, and the once-quiet clearing was now bustling with people—humans and demi-humans alike, old fighters and young wanderers, all drawn by a call that didn't come from nobility or coin... but from purpose.

Riven Blackstone stood atop a rusted metal platform with a grin stretching across his face, yellow wooly hat slightly crooked from the wind. Behind him—like a trophy of absurdity—sat the long-forgotten ice cream truck.

It was dented, covered in moss, with faded pastel paint barely clinging to its sides. The giant pink decal of a smiling bear holding a melting cone still clung to the back window like a ghost of childhood. The machine was patched with dwarven metal, druidic vine repairs, and a reinforced steel bumper someone (probably Garrick) had welded on "just in case."

Garrick Ironhart, arms crossed and apron still smudged with grease, squinted at the vehicle. "So. You are serious about this thing."

Riven gave a dramatic shrug. "It has four wheels and a soul. That's more than most things I've worked with."

"You gonna drive it?" Garrick asked, arching a brow.

Riven waved the idea away like a mosquito. "Absolutely not. That's suicide. I don't even know which pedal is the brake."

"Figures," Garrick muttered. "We're entrusting the revolution to a dessert ghost on wheels."

From the other side of the truck, Aurelia Dawnmere stepped up, tossing her braid over her shoulder and adjusting her gold-trimmed gloves.

"I'll drive," she said calmly, sliding into the seat like she'd done it her whole life. The engine coughed to life—barely. It sounded like a dying dragon inhaling frozen yogurt, but it ran.

Riven pointed dramatically. "See? This is why you're a Trustee."

While the movement's core stood near the truck, further off, Oliver Woods stood quietly beside Fern, both cloaked in shadow and calmness. The wind shifted Fern's hair slightly as she adjusted her gloves, glancing at Oliver.

"I'm willing to take any orders," she said softly.

Oliver turned toward her, his masked face unreadable, but his nod was firm. "Then follow me into the unknown."

Fern gave a rare, small smile. "Done."

They both looked to the road ahead—a winding dirt path that would lead through the edge of the surveillance forest and into the world of cities: stone towers, techno-arcane streets, concrete poverty, lights with no warmth, and people who had long stopped believing anyone cared.

The cities where children vanished, where systems recycled failure, and where potential was ignored if it came without status.

And now… they were going back.

Not as beggars.

Not as outcasts.

But as Travelers.

The ice cream truck sputtered to life again, vibrating slightly as Aurelia adjusted the gears. Nico jumped into the back with a shout, "Dibs on window seat with snacks!" Goldie already claimed the roof, lying on her back with a lollipop in her mouth.

Garrick muttered something about needing more coolant, while Basil hopped aboard carrying a bag of moss tea and scrolls. Cylde looked terrified, gripping the rail like a man boarding a storm.

Zack didn't say anything—but he was already sitting quietly in the back, arms folded, eyes half-closed as if asleep. He'd chosen to follow... without ever saying he would.

Riven hopped aboard last, calling out loud enough for the entire valley to hear:

"Next stop—the regular world! Let's go change a few destinies!"

The wheels turned.

The ice cream truck—creaky, clunky, enchanted, absurd—began to roll down the hill toward the horizon.

And thus, the first movement of the Travelers had begun.

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Chapter: The Warning Before the City

The ice cream truck rumbled through the dense forest path, tires crunching over roots and fallen leaves. The surrounding trees, grown by druidic hands, began to thin—no longer wild, no longer watching. The further they drove, the more the forest felt... silent. Too silent.

Inside the truck, vibrations from the uneven road hummed through the floor. Vines tied to the windows swayed like sleepy snakes, and the faint jingle of an ice cream melody—muted and warped—would occasionally sputter out of the speaker before cutting off again.

In the front seat, Aurelia gripped the steering wheel, eyes sharp. She drove like a knight preparing for siege—not fast, but steady, focused. Every bump was a calculated maneuver, and every twist of the road was met with the patience of someone who had once driven armored carts through warzones.

Next to her, Riven slouched in the passenger seat, one boot kicked up on the dashboard, lazily scrolling through his battered silver Systematic Guide—an enchanted phone-like artifact that pinged with updates, alerts, region scans, and old social net fragments.

He swiped through static for a moment, then—

⚠️ CIVILIZATION DETECTED CLOSE TO THE CORNER ⚠️

[Warning: Surveillance sectors increase past this point. Proceed with social caution.]

The words blinked in red and yellow, pulsing ominously across the screen.

Riven stared at it for a moment.

"...Well," he muttered.

He slowly lowered the Guide and placed it down in the cupholder between the seats, tapping his fingers on the glass twice. The screen faded to black.

He leaned his head back. "City's around the bend. We're past the edge of the wild now."

In the back of the truck, the others stirred from their half-dozing states.

Nico peeked through a side window, orange ears twitching. "Is it the shiny kind of city, or the trash-burning, keep-your-wallet-close kind?"

Garrick grunted. "If it's the second one, I'm keepin' my tools inside my boots again."

Goldie leaned down from the roof hatch above. "We're entering the outer buffer zone. The tech in these cities will smell us before they see us."

Fern, sitting beside Oliver with arms crossed, calmly murmured, "Then we act invisible. Speak only when needed. Observe everything."

Cylde hugged his knees near the supply crates. "I don't know how to act normal…"

Basil, eyes closed, added, "That's because you're not."

Zack, still in the corner with arms crossed and eyes narrowed, opened one eye. "Stop talking. Listen."

Everyone fell quiet.

A low, constant hum grew louder up ahead—distant engines, public announcement runes, power lines buzzing like stretched cords. The scent of iron and burned oil slipped into the air through the cracked window.

Then—at last—the trees gave way to open road.

And beyond it…

The outer edge of civilization.

Billboards with faded neon sigils. Broken lamp posts. Distant city towers reaching up like glass-and-steel spears. Streets half-repaired. Holograms flickering. People walking by with eyes dulled by routine.

This was the place the world had forgotten—and where the Travelers would now begin to remember them.

Riven stretched, sat upright, and grinned.

"Well," he said softly, "let's knock on the world's front door."

The truck rolled on, creaking into the outskirts.

The campaign was entering its next phase.