By the time Moss and his party returned to the settlement, the air smelled of wood smoke and iron. The makeshift forges had been stoked again, and the rhythmic ring of hammers echoed between the tents. Lines of people moved back and forth, hunters hauling game, miners carrying bags of rock, scribes counting and recording what little they had.
Dole dumped a bundle of meat onto a waiting cart and rolled his shoulders with a grunt. "Never thought I'd miss supply chains," he said.
Lyra smirked as she wiped sweat from her brow. "Never thought you'd say something that bureaucratic, either."
"Guess the Empire rubbed off on me more than I'd like."
Serra stood a short distance away, her coat smudged with soot, a pair of brass goggles hanging around her neck. When she saw them, she hurried over, curiosity already bright in her eyes. "You actually brought the crystal back," she said, breathless. "Did it work?"
Moss pulled it from his pack and handed it over. The crystal's faint blue light flickered weakly, already fading. "Not for long. It glowed for a while after the beast fell, then went dim halfway through the day."
Serra turned it over in her hands, watching the faint shimmer pulse once before vanishing completely. "So it dissipates faster than expected." Her voice had dropped into a tone of deep thought. "The aether concentration out here might be thinner than inside the veil. I'll need to see the site myself next time, to study the residue firsthand."
"Residue?" Dole raised an eyebrow. "You make it sound contagious."
"In a way, it is," Serra said, smiling faintly. "Aether always leaves traces, like smoke after fire. It lingers, reshapes what it touches. If the right materials were nearby, maybe even the earth itself absorbed part of it."
Lyra frowned, her voice soft. "Doesn't sound natural."
Serra looked up, her smile fading. "Neither is the Empire's magitek. But we made peace with that long ago."
Dole muttered, "Some more than others."
Serra tucked the crystal away in a padded case, tightening the straps. "I'll work on a stabilizer, something to slow dissipation. If it succeeds, we'll finally have a renewable source out here."
"Or a bigger target for the beasts," Dole said dryly.
Serra didn't answer, and the group dispersed, the fatigue of the day settling over them.
As night fell, word spread quickly through the camp, rumors of hunting groups that hadn't come back, miners swallowed by caves, mages burned alive when beasts erupted from the ground in bursts of corrupted aether.
Around the fire, Moss sat listening, watching the sparks drift into the dark. Some settlers already spoke of leaving, trying to reach the veil again. Others argued it was impossible.
Lyra joined him late, her healer's robes dusty and her expression drawn. "Two of the scouting groups didn't return," she said quietly. "The healers that went with them… none survived. The beasts' bodies turned to vapor. They couldn't even recover anyone."
Serra's head lifted at that, eyes distant. "Vapor. Then the aether concentration must spike before dispersal."
"Whatever it is," Moss said, "it's killing people."
Dole threw a twig into the fire, watching the sparks jump. "That's what happens when you send farmers and masons to fight things born of magic."
No one argued.
When Moss finally turned in for the night, the sound of the wind through the tents almost seemed to whisper. He closed his eyes and felt his pulse race for no reason, his chest tightening briefly before it eased again.
Something was stirring beyond the horizon. Waiting.