The river still whispered beside them, its slow current catching the last light of the setting sun. The

  campfire crackled low, reflecting off the water in fractured bands of gold. Portable burners hissed softly

  as ration packs simmered over their heat. The faint scent of seared protein mixed with the metallic tang

  of spent ammunition and drying blood from the day’s battles.

  They’d chosen to stay close to the riverbank for the night, easy water access, clear visibility, and

  enough open ground to see anything that might approach. The air was cooler here, heavy with mist

  rising off the surface.

  Rixor sat cross-legged near the fire, tightening the haft of his hammer with a strip of composite tape.

  Nyra had her rifle broken down across her lap, cleaning each component with the same focus she’d

  shown in battle. Calen and Liora worked in silence, checking arrows and blades, while Taren leaned

  back against a smooth rock, eyes closed but still alert.

  “We’ll move out at first light,” Bash said, lowering his pack beside the flames. “If we’re ready before

  sunrise, we can clear another site before it heats up.”

  “Good,” Rixor grunted. “We all need a normal fight for once.”

  Taren opened one eye. “Define normal.”

  “Anything that doesn’t fly or sting.”

  That earned a quiet chuckle from a few of them, exhausted laughter, but genuine.

  Bash activated his wrist display, the faint blue hologram lighting his face. Two new markers pulsed

  near the river region, one individual, one swarm. “Fresh readings. Individual about a klick northeast,

  swarm around five klicks. We’ll hit the single mark first thing tomorrow.”

  “Fine by me,” Nyra said. “Swarm can wait.”

  “Agreed,” Bash replied. “Every dense pocket’s given us major point gains, but the individual’s close.

  Easier recovery window.”

  They ate the rest of their rations quietly. The fire’s light shimmered over their gear and the faint ripples

  of the river beside them. Conversation drifted from tactics to exhaustion to short bursts of silence.

  When Bash finally stood to take first watch, the night had turned silver with moonlight. Mist clung low

  to the river, and the sound of distant wings echoed somewhere far upstream.

  After about an hour, Bash gave the horizon one last slow scan, calm, still, secure. Satisfied, he crossed

  back through the faint glow of the fire, nudged Rixor awake, and sank into his sleeping sack. The

  steady rhythm of the river filled the silence, and sleep claimed him almost at once.

  They rose before dawn. Mist clung to the low ground, pale against the dark rock of the slope. They ate

  in silence, protein bars, electrolyte packs, a quick water ration, and ran the inventory check.

  “Sidearms, three hundred rounds for Taren and him each,” Bash confirmed. “Nyra, two-fifty

  remaining.”

  Nyra nodded, checking her counters. “That’s right.”

  “Arrows?” Bash looked at Calen.

  “One-seventy. Lost a few to the river. Still solid.”

  “Good. We’re stocked.”

  They broke camp within minutes, following the incline northeast. The terrain grew steeper, carved with

  narrow ridges and tufts of pale grass that shimmered faintly under the rising light. After an hour’s

  climb, Bash raised a hand for silence and crouched near the ridge’s edge.

  Below, the valley opened wide, a stretch of rocky plain dotted with sparse brush and jagged stone.

  Movement rippled through it. Dozens of pale shapes grazing in loose clusters.

  Each stood nearly two meters tall at the shoulder, bodies broad and heavy-limbed. A single black horn

  grew from the center of the skull, spiraling upward almost a meter and a half, glowing faintly gold

  whenever two of them brushed against each other.

  “Energy signature consistent with low-tier healing resonance,” S-C confirmed. “Healer class.

  Probability, Tier One Common or Greater.”

  “Figures,” Bash muttered.

  Rixor peered down beside him. “You think they’ll rush like the first herd?”

  “Unknown. Healers don’t usually swarm. But if they’re herd-bonded…” He let the sentence die. They

  all remembered the stampede.

  “Let’s test it.” Taren holstered one sidearm, drawing the other. “One at a time.”

  The first engagement was clumsy. They descended halfway down the slope, set their firing line, and

  targeted an isolated beast near the edge of the herd.

  Bash gave the signal.

  Sidearms flared. Arrows hissed. The first volley struck across its flank, but before the second could

  land, the horn ignited. A faint pulse spread through the creature’s body, golden light sealing the shallow

  wounds almost instantly.

  Taren blinked. “It’s healing itself?”

  “Confirmed,” S-C said in Bash’s mind. “Localized restoration. Output minimal, duration short.”

  “Not minimal enough,” he muttered.

  The beast lowered its head and charged, surprisingly fast for its size. Bash and Taren’s second volley

  landed squarely in its chest, slowing it but not stopping it. Rixor braced, hammer forward, catching the

  impact across his shoulder and rolling aside. Calen’s next arrow hit just behind the shoulder joint, an

  exposed gap, and the creature stumbled.

  Bash closed in, firing three rapid shots into the leg joint. The horn flared again, trying to knit the

  damage, but too slowly this time. The others converged, blades flashing, gunfire overlapping until the

  creature collapsed under the combined assault.

  When it stilled, Bash felt the pulse. Faint, electric. Familiar.

  “Another T1C,” he thought to S-C. “Could’ve guessed it from the intensity.”

  “Confirmed. Essence matches common classification.”

  “Still nothing unlocked.”

  “No deviation detected.”

  Bash’s jaw tightened. He could count them in sequence now, durability, speed, power, water, wind,

  healing. Six distinct signatures. Six different pulses. No progress.

  They harvested the horn, the tip glowing faintly before shrinking into a coin-sized fragment.

  After that, efficiency replaced experimentation.

  They learned quickly: isolate, flank, overwhelm. When the horns glowed, they fell back for five

  seconds, letting the light dim before striking again. Once the timing locked in, it became a rhythm, like

  breathing.

  By the fifth beast, no one needed orders. The front line, Rixor, Darik, Liora, held position, intercepting

  charges and anchoring the movement. Taren and Bash rotated reloads seamlessly, keeping suppressive

  fire steady while Nyra and Calen picked off joints and eyes from mid-range.

  The horns pulsed gold in every skirmish, brief flashes of resistance. The air filled with the scent of

  scorched grass and faint ozone from Nyra’s rifle. Within minutes, each creature dropped, wounds

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  closing too slowly to matter under coordinated fire.

  After a dozen, the shock of seeing the golden healing light faded. After twenty, the process became

  clockwork. Bash directed from mid-line, calm, efficient, counting ammunition, calling reloads,

  adjusting angle. His internal counter ticked with every pulse he felt: a soft electric beat under his

  sternum, steady as a metronome.

  By the time they reached thirty, the team moved as a single organism. Communication dropped to hand

  signals and instinct.

  When they finally cleared the last cluster, the valley had gone still again. Over a hundred bodies lay

  scattered across the slope, each one dissolving slowly into dust as their horns detached and shrank to

  glowing fragments.

  They gathered them carefully, stacking them in mesh pouches, 107 fragments in total. The soft gold

  light flickered against their fatigues as the last one dimmed.

  “Good work,” Bash said, voice calm but clipped. “Check ammo.”

  “Down to two-sixty,” Taren replied.

  “Two-thirty,” Nyra said.

  “Arrows one-fifty-eight,” Calen added.

  “All acceptable,” Bash confirmed.

  He glanced at his watch, 2.17 of 3.00.

  “We should start angling back toward the QTP,” he said. “If we keep a steady pace, we’ll reach it by

  sundown. That’ll give us four hours after sunrise tomorrow for one final hunt before extraction.”

  They all nodded. The satisfaction was subdued, efficient victory, clean and without injury, but the

  fatigue was showing. Still, morale was high.

  As they packed the last of the fragments, S-C’s voice brushed his thoughts.

  “Consistent Tier One Common pulses. Healer-type resonance confirmed. No core

  reaction.”

  “No unlock,” Bash muttered.

  “None detected. Statistical deviation remains, significant.”

  He exhaled slowly. “That’s six now,” he thought. “Six classes. And not one channel open.”

  “Observation: improbable but not impossible.”

  “Yeah. That helps.”

  He turned toward the ridge. “Move out.”

  The descent was quiet. The herd valley faded behind them, replaced by sparse trees and open grassland.

  Conversation returned only when the terrain leveled and the tension eased.

  “Those horns,” Rixor said, tapping one of the fragments in his pack. “They actually glowed brighter

  when they were healing.”

  Taren nodded. “Could see it pulse through their skin. Every time we hit one, it was like the light was

  fighting back.”

  “At least they weren’t aggressive,” Calen added. “I’ll take glowing healers over stampedes any day.”

  Rixor smirked. “Yeah, and if you pair that with my durability and your wind tricks, we’ve got a proper

  tank-and-support setup now.”

  “Don’t forget my part,” Taren said, nudging his arm. “Durability’s useless without someone to patch

  the dents.”

  Bash allowed a faint smile. “Good. Keep refining it. Talk to your Cores. Figure out how to apply those

  traits in live combat. The more we understand before the next run, the better our odds.”

  Taren adjusted the strap on her sidearm, thoughtful. “You know… I didn’t feel the pulse every time one

  of those things went down,” she said quietly. “Maybe half of them. But after each one I did feel, it was

  like a boost, more energy to work with. Easier to channel the healing flow.”

  Rixor grinned. “Guess you’re getting stronger already.”

  “Maybe,” she said, still half-uncertain. “Or maybe the resonance just lines up sometimes.”

  Bash didn’t respond right away. He had felt the same uneven rhythm, the soft electric thrum through his

  chest with each death, but unlike her, his came without benefit, no strength, no ability, just that faint

  reminder of something misaligned.

  “She’s describing the same pattern,” he thought.

  “Confirmed,” S-C replied. “Her Core is converting the resonance into energy flow. Yours continues to

  register transfer events with no resulting unlock.”

  “So it’s not shared energy?”

  “Unlikely. Parallel reaction, not connection.”

  Bash exhaled through his nose, keeping his expression neutral. “Whatever it is,” he said aloud, “keep

  tracking it. If you can feel the rhythm, we can use it.”

  Taren nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Already am.”

  Rixor chuckled. “Good. Means you can keep patching me up when I start breaking things again.”

  That earned a few tired laughs, and the tension eased as they continued down the slope, the sun warm

  on their backs and the faint glimmer of the valley ahead.

  They walked in silence for a while after that, the sun rising higher, light spreading across the plain.

  Bash flicked his wrist display open again. The map shimmered faint blue over his arm, the familiar grid

  of terrain updating to reflect their movement.

  A few klicks away, on open terrain, movement flickered. They walked in silence for a while after that,

  the sun rising higher, light spreading across the plain. The terrain here was unfamiliar, their route back

  toward the QTP cut straight through open country they hadn’t traveled before. Every detour they’d

  taken the last two days, after the first herd fields, through the mountain ridge, the river, had pulled them

  wide around this region. Now, retracing toward the exit point, they were taking the most direct path for

  the first time.

  Bash flicked his wrist display open again. The map shimmered faint blue over his arm, showing their

  previous routes curving in arcs around this stretch of terrain. “We’re off the known path,” he

  murmured. “This is the straight line back to the QTP. No scan data beyond the ridge.”

  “Means we’re in unlogged ground,” Nyra said. “Could be nothing. Could be everything.”

  A few klicks ahead, movement caught the light, figures grazing in the open, leaner and smaller than the

  last herd they’d encountered. Their hides gleamed bronze and tan, sleek and muscular;. From their

  crowns rose enormous branching antlers, wide and complex, sweeping upward like living spires of

  polished bone. Each set shimmered faintly in the morning light, the patterns along the ridges pulsing

  subtly as the creatures moved.

  They stood in scattered clusters, lowering their heads to feed, the massive antlers shifting like

  interlocking trees when they brushed past one another. Even at a distance, Bash could tell, those antlers

  weren’t ornamental. They were weapons, grown for combat as much as display.

  Bash raised his hand, signaling the group to halt. “Visual contact. Fifty, maybe more.”

  Rixor tightened his grip on his hammer. “Another herd?”

  “Looks like it,” Bash said after a moment’s study. “No reaction yet. They don’t even see us.”

  He let his hand fall. “Hold here. Rest. We’ll assess up close once we know their behavior.”