Camp was already awake when Xyrion called them together. Canvas tents stood between old trees, ropes anchored deep into root systems that didn’t mind the intrusion. Smoke curled low from the cook fires, thin enough not to carry.

  Xyrion didn’t bother raising his voice.

  “Boar population’s out of control,” his tone calm and even. “They’ve torn up enough ground to start pulling predators in. That includes things we don’t want sniffing too close to the walls.”

  “Day one is scouts and terrain. North first. We map pressure, not bodies. If it’s moving toward the town, we flag it. If it’s clean, we leave it alone.”

  His gaze swept the group once.

  “No heroics. No noise. If you see signs of corruption, you don’t engage unless you have to. You mark it. You report it. We adjust.”

  “Once on trail—rotate.”

  “Follow the map.”

  “Sweep the perimeter.”

  “Villages first. Farms second.”

  His eyes flicked briefly toward Lysara and the other lifeward.

  “Rapid intervention. Minimal disruption.”

  The team broke without ceremony, and by the second morning, the shape of the operation took effect. All X-17 units were active. Xyrion took point more often.

  The hunt expanded outward, thinning the boar groups that had strayed too far, breaking up dense movement before it could build again. Kills were clean. Fast. The soil held. Roots stayed tight. Nothing shifted enough to leave a mark.

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  The work was methodical.

  Boars were driven off where possible, culled where necessary. Noise stayed low. No unnecessary pursuit. Along the forest edge, settlements quieted as the pressure eased—fences left standing, gardens intact.

  Lysara followed behind, reading what the land did once the animals were gone. Flow smoothed. Mana bled outward instead of building. The forest didn’t resist the change—it welcomed it.

  She felt that welcome in her bones.

  They encountered the wolves on the third day, not far from a narrow trail used by a pair of outer farms. The pack had already brought down a boar, the carcass half-hidden in brush, steam lifting in the cold air. The wolves paused when the team appeared, eyes sharp, bodies loose.

  They didn’t challenge.

  They didn’t flee.

  They simply resumed feeding.

  Xyrion signaled withdrawal with a small motion of his hand. Support squads were redirected to reinforce the nearest settlements, and a mage was assigned to strengthen warding along a stretch of barrier that had felt the increased movement overnight—not damage, just strain.

  Lysara traced the wolves’ approach path.

  Clean. Direct. No signs of panic or imbalance.

  They continued on, efficient and unhurried, and as the days settled into pattern teams rotated out from camp at first light, circling the forest edge, checking in on villages and farms before pushing deeper where boar traffic had been heaviest. Scout reports guided each adjustment, routes shifting before strain could build.

  Professor Hale arrived near the end of the week. Lab tents were raised within camp, placed where the ground had already been compacted, tables following, then instruments, containment frames, empty cages. The perimeter work continued unchanged, but the focus inside camp sharpened.

  When X-17 units were in the field, Lysara worked as lifeward. Back in camp, she handled observational tasks—logging flow recovery, stability checks, quiet measurements taken while the forest rested. She moved easily between the trees and the tables, the transition seamless.

  For now, the forest held steady, the settlements were safe, and the bond she felt—old, patient, and mutual—made the work feel less like duty and more like home.