Season 2. Chapter 9: TVT

Chapter: Foundation in the Mist

The sun had climbed just past the mountaintops, sending golden beams slicing through the early fog as the makeshift campgrounds buzzed with new life. Trees whispered under the wind's guidance, and the scent of wet earth and grass filled the valley.

At the heart of the activity stood Goldie, her white-and-brown cat ears perked up, megaphone gripped tightly in her small hands. She stood on top of an overturned crate near the central firepit, eyes sharp and commanding despite her small stature.

"Okay! All teams gather in your designated color zones! I'll call them out one by one!" she yelled into the mic, her voice crackling through old speakers scavenged from Riven's scrap storage.

"Red Team to the left hill near the supply sheds!"

A group scrambled.

"Green Team with Fern and Basil! South treeline, you're planting life barriers and herb rows!"

"Blue Team! Defensive formation training zone near Garrick and Hale—next to the lake!"

People moved quickly now, shifting between tents, crates, and marked zones. Everyone had been given color-coded cloth bands to tie around their arms. Organization was forming—chaos, slowly bending into structure.

Goldie raised her voice again:

"Orange Team! Report to Oliver! You're on terrain management, leveling and structure basics!"

That was their cue.

---

Oliver, his orange band tied just beneath his left shoulder, stood with arms crossed in front of a small patch of uneven land that had been cleared of rocks and thick roots. His orange team gathered around him: seventeen young men, still unfamiliar with one another but slowly gaining cohesion.

"All right," Oliver said, turning to face them. "We're going to flatten this ground, lay the foundation, and start sectioning off where the first housing tents will go."

A groan passed through the group, but they didn't resist. Oliver moved among them, showing how to use the basic tools—rakes, spades, pulleys connected to tree harnesses.

"No one here's expecting perfection," Oliver said quietly to one kid who struggled with a digging line. "They just want to see you care."

The boy nodded, gripping the spade tighter.

---

Meanwhile, Goldie continued pacing across the central area, clipboard in hand, tail swishing in rhythmic confidence. She occasionally barked out orders or reminded someone about water supply rotation or to tighten the rope lines on the canopy tents.

"Blue Team! Stop crowding the well line!"

"Red Team! Get those crates moved by noon or you're skipping evening stew!"

Aurelia was nearby, lifting logs like they weighed nothing. Garrick, soaked in sweat, was reinforcing the water filtration system. Riven stood at the ridge, arms behind his back, watching it all unfold like a chess game in motion.

---

Back in Orange's zone, Oliver finished helping set up the support beams for the first long tent.

"Let's take five," he said.

They slumped into the grass, panting, a few pulling out ration bars and flasks. Fern approached from the Green zone, glancing at their work with a faint nod of approval.

"They're learning fast," she admitted.

Oliver looked around, quiet pride in his voice. "They just needed something to work for."

She handed him a folded map—potential future expansions. "We'll need more space soon."

Oliver tucked it under his arm, looking toward the horizon.

"Then we build more."

From the discarded, the unwanted, and the overlooked—they were laying down something new. Not just a camp. But a home.

-----

Chapter Eighteen: Sparks Beneath the Trees

The air in the northern stretch of the camp was quieter—cooler beneath the shade of towering trees untouched by the bustle of construction. Zack Erebus leaned silently against one of them, half-shrouded in the shifting light. His black cloak [temporarily wear] hung loose, the folds blending him almost completely into the tree bark. A soft breeze stirred his ink-dark hair as his violet eyes stayed half-lidded in detached thought.

Crunch. Footsteps.

Zack's gaze shifted sideways.

Nico, the orange-haired foxkin, strolled toward him, tail swaying lazily behind him. His iron chestplate clicked with every step, and a faint grin pulled at his lips.

"Yo," Nico called out, resting his hands behind his head as he stopped a few feet away. "You just gonna sit here looking cool all day?"

Zack blinked slowly. "Maybe."

Nico grinned wider. "Wanna spar?"

Zack turned fully now, pushing off the tree. His expression remained blank, but a small twitch at the corner of his mouth could've been interest—or boredom. Hard to tell with him.

"…TVT?" Zack asked plainly.

"Yup. Travelers vs Travelers." Nico unsheathed his curved short sword, twirling it once in his grip. "Just a match. No killing, obviously. I mean, I'm not scared or anything—just don't want Riven yelling at me again."

Zack sighed through his nose, reaching into his cloak and pulling free a jagged steel-black dagger etched with faint glowing runes. "Fine. I guess I'll fight."

They stepped into the open clearing, dry leaves crunching underfoot. A few birds scattered at the sudden tension. Around them, quiet murmurs began to form as some of the younger recruits noticed what was happening.

"Is that Nico?"

"Who's the other guy?"

"Isn't that the quiet one who never talks to anyone?"

Goldie peeked from the food prep station. "Oh stars. This again…"

---

The spar began with no countdown.

Nico lunged first—wild, confident, flame-coated strikes. He wasn't reckless, just free. That was his style. His blade came down with a crackle, flame trailing like a whip.

Zack sidestepped without a word, his dagger flicking up. Sparks hissed in the air as steel kissed obsidian. He moved like smoke—tight footwork, small movements, conserving energy. A slash from Nico's sword missed by a thread, but the heat brushed Zack's cheek.

"You're faster than you look," Nico huffed, grin still sharp.

"You're louder than you fight," Zack replied dryly, deflecting another blow and twisting in close, blade flashing toward Nico's side.

Nico danced back, his tail flicking, flames swirling around his gauntlets. "No fire magic, huh?"

Zack spun the dagger in his fingers. "Don't need it."

They clashed again—steel to steel, flame against void. A short combo from Nico forced Zack back, but Zack responded with a sudden shift, darting in low and sweeping Nico's legs with a precise kick. Nico stumbled, rolled, came back up laughing.

"Alright," he breathed. "Now I'm having fun."

---

By the time Riven arrived—summoned by curious murmurs—the two were locked in a blur of movement. Goldie leaned next to him with a lollipop in her mouth.

"Let 'em go for a while," she muttered. "Good stress relief."

Riven nodded, arms crossed.

Back in the clearing, Zack ducked under another strike, got inside Nico's guard, and held the dagger to his neck.

"Match," Zack said simply.

Nico blinked, surprised, then raised both hands. "Okay okay! You win, assassin man. But you're gonna teach me that shadow-step thing sometime."

Zack pulled back, sheathing his dagger. "No."

"Worth a shot," Nico chuckled, offering a fist bump.

Zack stared for a moment. Then, with the slowest of movements, he returned it.

Behind them, a few of the newer recruits started clapping.

Zack ignored them, heading back toward the trees.

Nico watched him go, still grinning.

"Guy's got the personality of a haunted rock, but damn he's good."