The lift from the Root Temple surfaced at dusk, stones grinding apart to reveal a haze-purple sky over Cindralis’s western farms. Kaiden inhaled crisp air that, for once, didn’t smell of rot. Beside him, Naō rolled his shoulders, the alchemist’s cloak still flecked with dried spores.

  “Back to the city, stock up, then south,” Kaiden said.

  Naō gave a tired thumbs-up. “And keep an eye out for Crow leads before the whole world decides you’re plotting the next expansion.”

  Sunspire Plaza — Two Hours Later

  Cindralis pulsed with festival lanterns and the gauzy banners of the Harvest Bloom week-end. Players clustered in the fountain hub: trading event crops, spamming emotes, launching fireworks that cracked overhead. Kaiden and Naō threaded through the noise toward the market arcades.

  Snippets of chat floated past:

  “The Water-Reaper Ghost is back, saw him walking by the northern vendor!”

  “Ghosts aren’t real, bro. Devs would’ve patched that already.”

  “Tell that to my raid tank. He swears the guy one-shotted a Matriarch.”

  Kaiden kept his hood up. Ghost—he still wasn’t used to the slang, but it spread faster than the spores.

  At Forgewright’s Armory they traded rot-touched shards for fresh plating: Naō purchased lightweight bracers etched with silver antidote runes; Kaiden upgraded his cloak lining to Salt-Proof Weave—handy for whatever lay beyond the desert.

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  A traveling courier materialized near the exit, his satchel icon blinking.

  [Courier Delivery]

  Message from: Ironstride

  “Heard you two survived something nasty underground. I’m on contract up north, but rumor says Crow’s old crewmate, calls himself Ashlander, is hanging around Port Thalos. Might be worth a chat. Stay sharp.”

  Kaiden read it twice, then showed Naō.

  “Port Thalos,” Naō repeated. “Didn’t that place used to be level-locked behind the Salt Wastes?”

  “Still is,” Kaiden said. “But we’re strong enough now. And if Ashlander was in Crow’s circle, he’s our best lead.”

  South Gate — Midnight

  They met at the granite arch where caravans queued for desert runs. Kaiden checked supplies: rot-clearing tonics, spare water skins, a travel map stamped with the Sulken Trail’s relay shrines. Naō adjusted the new bracers and slung his potion satchel over one shoulder.

  System pings rippled across their HUDs:

  [Travel Objective Unlocked: Sulken Trail → Salt Wastes → Port Thalos]

  Weather advisory banners flashed: Heat fatigue, salt-blight winds, corrupted cactus hazards. Naō whistled. “Sounds like a spa day.”

  Kaiden smirked, then sobered. “When we find Crow—or whoever Ashlander points us to—I need answers. Alex, the Photosphere, all of it.”

  “And your sister,” Naō added.

  Kaiden nodded once. “And Mina.”

  Torchlights flickered along the roadway, casting long shadows toward the open desert. The music of Cindralis faded behind them, replaced by the lonely howl of wind over distant dunes.

  They stepped beyond the gate. The ground changed from packed earth to cracked, sun-bleached clay. In the distance, lightning flickered across low, black clouds, the edge of the Salt Wastes’ nightly storm cycle.

  Kaiden tightened the straps on his cloak. “Let’s move. Every level we earn out here is one step closer to the truth.”

  Side by side, they walked into the darkening south, the Photosphere pulsing beneath Kaiden’s armor like a steady, impatient heartbeat.