All they could do was tremble in the aftermath of Ashergon's destructive flames. The world was hot, even where they hid among the boulders. If that could even be considered a hiding spot. It had happened so quickly—Ashergon rising from his nest and, in an instant, eviscerating the demon army. Surely, the demons must have had powerful fighters, higher-ranked warriors among them. But there was no resistance, only fire and death. Damon held Sylvia's waist, hugging her as they pressed against a boulder, the others hidden among the rocks. He remained quiet, feeling her breath on his neck and the low tremble of her hands. Then, in the span of a heartbeat, the distance that had taken them days to cross was breached by the wyvern. It flew toward the chasm, slowing as it reached the other side. The beast growled in their direction but stopped short, hesitating at the chasm's edge. Its reptilian eyes darted between the abyss and the shattered remnants of the bridge, claws scraping against the stone as it deliberated. It growled low, its menacing gaze sweeping the scattered rocks where Damon and his party lay hidden. For a few tense moments, it remained still, scrutinizing their cover. Then, just as it turned to leave— A soft sound echoed from the other side of the chasm. A small rock had rolled off a boulder where Xander had been hiding, nudged away by his foot. Evangeline paled. "Oh no…" she whispered, hand tightening around her sword. Still hidden in the shadows, Damon raised a hand, signaling against any movement. The wyvern, however, was now certain something lurked nearby. It raised its wings, glancing at the chasm with what seemed like unease, yet resolved itself to cross. With a powerful flap, it soared over the abyss. Leona paled when she heard the beat of its massive wings. She could see the wyvern's reflection glinting off the polished steel of Xander's spear. The beast was a monstrous reptilian, nearly twenty meters long, with a single set of powerful legs and bat-like wings fused to its arms. Its teeth were longer than Leona's sword, and its entire body rippled with muscle. From where they hid, they could feel the dreadful aura of a third-rank monster. It crossed the chasm effortlessly. Matia's face was ashen as she imagined how quickly they would die beneath those fangs and claws. Damon bit his lip, holding Sylvia tightly in his arms as he waited. "Come on, come on, come on…" he muttered. The wyvern stretched its talons toward the edge of the chasm, certain its prey was nearby. It could smell them. It swooped down— And then, like a bolt of black lightning, something shot up from the depths of the chasm. A monstrous blur of blackness. Before the wyvern could even scream, a gaping, circular maw opened wide and chomped down, consuming the beast. The impact sent an explosion of blood and shattered flesh raining down. The remains of the wyvern—chunks of flesh and massive sprays of blood—flew toward Damon and his party, drenching them in warm gore. The sticky sensation clung to their skin, but they were too frozen in fear to react. They had just witnessed something far worse than the wyvern. A creature that had devoured a third-rank monster as effortlessly as swallowing air. They remained in their hiding spot, quiet like mice, as the sun slowly dipped below the horizon. The blood caking their skin and clothes began to dry, forming a brittle layer over them. Only then did they allow themselves to move, pushing away the hardened crust like shedding a cocoon. Damon stepped out from behind a boulder, his face still covered in blood. His eyes scanned the gruesome scene before him—what remained of the wyvern lay in scattered pieces. A severed head, half a torso, and a lone wing lay among pools of thick, slowly hardening blood. The others followed cautiously, unwilling to go anywhere near the chasm. In just one day, they had learned the true meaning of dread. Their previous excitement over reaching their first class advancement now seemed laughable. Their egos had no time to inflate; Aetherus had crushed them before they could even dream of arrogance. Leona gritted her teeth, her hair matted with dried blood. "We... we..." "We have food." Damon cut her off. "We were worried about our exhausted rations. Now, we have more than enough." He kicked the massive head of the dead wyvern, his jaw clenched. He couldn't let them despair now. Maybe this was their first time feeling weak, but he was used to it. Accepting death was one thing—but rolling over and dying was another. "We need to keep moving soon." Xander gripped his spear. "What's the point? We... we're all going to die anyway..." Damon nodded. "You're right. But even so, I'm not giving up. Not yet." His gaze darkened, his resolve solidifying. "You only live once... that's the biggest lie ever told... We all die. That's just how the world works. But you can only die once. You live every single day. And while you're alive, every moment is a struggle. Just breathing is a struggle—if you don't do it, you suffocate and die. You need to eat to live, or you starve and die. How is this any different?" He clenched his fist, his voice steady. "This is just another struggle. Ancient horrors, forbidden lands, death zones—all they can offer is one thing: a mundane death. Whether it's today or tomorrow, death will come. Until then, we struggle." His words were just as much for himself as for his party. Slowly, their eyes began to regain their luster, the fog of fear lifting. He chuckled coldly. "We never decided on a party motto, right? Now's as good a time as any. The options don't favor us. That's fine." The others looked at him as he turned towards the distant Whispering Forest. Taking a deep breath, he spoke their motto: "IN THE ABSENCE OF THE DESIRABLE, LET THE AVAILABLE BE THE DESIRABLE." He clenched his fist, and the shadows around him stirred. "Our desirable is the Whispering Forest... and the Ruined City. Come what may, we will survive by taking whatever path is available. We kill everything in our way—or we die fighting." The others sucked in a breath of cold air, their auras flaring. One by one, they stepped forward, their weapons drawn. Either to victory—or to certain death.