Chapter 37

  Rations were already being boxed, tagged, and carted into segmented crates. Some would head to Sinclair’s dungeon team. Others were designated for Ethan’s unit. A third pile went to a mobile defense squad that would patrol the outer edges of the operation. The last set? Support. The lifeblood of the effort — field medics, forward warders, auxiliary artificers, quartermasters, and mana-gatherers.

  Ren had been slotted there.

  Still in the field, still with the Order. But not charging into death.

  The air in the camp was tight with the kind of urgency that didn’t leave space for second thoughts. People moved like they already knew what would happen — or maybe like they were trying not to think about it at all.

  And then the transports arrived.

  Thundering hooves marked the arrival of the Order’s cavalry squads — lean mana-infused beasts with runic barding and saddlebags stuffed with field gear. Floating haulers followed, each one aloft on low hums of null-gravity arrays, tethered to anchor runes carved into scorched iron pylons.

  The quiet camp turned kinetic.

  “Sinclair team—north perimeter!”

  “Ethan’s squad, form up behind the northern gate!”

  “Support convoy to the southeast clearing!”

  Ren slung his satchel, tightened the reinforced straps on his arm’s shoulder bracer, and moved with the crowd.

  The forest clearing where they were being taken had changed overnight. New rune markers were embedded in the trees, glowing softly — marking safe paths. Quartermasters were handing out last-minute field packets. A few healers moved through the crowd, giving out minor buff salves and emergency mana pills.

  Ren paused to grab one last crate from the cooling unit — a set of ten meal packs he'd prepared with precision.

  The best buffs he could manage in as small and portable of a form as possible. He wasn’t sure who would get them. But he knew it would help someone out there stay alive. And that was enough.

  Then the call came:

  “All non-combat staff bound for Support Camp Three, mount up!”

  He turned and climbed into the hauler — a flat, rune-inscribed sled shaped like a massive open cart, flanked by sigil towers. Several other initiates and auxiliaries had already claimed space inside, some still getting their equipment ready, most resting or meditating and the others keeping watch.

  Ren settled into a corner, satchel between his feet.

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  A moment later, the hauler lurched.

  The forest rolled past them as they began the journey south — toward the ridge line that bordered the Aether-marked cave system and the sealed ruins where Sinclair’s dungeon lay.

  The air changed as they moved. Crisper. Older.

  He didn’t know how to describe it, but something in the air shifted, the birdsong stopped, the beautiful shadows of light grew heavier, almost watching.

  They reached the forward staging site by midafternoon. Support Camp Three wasn’t much to look at — a set of tiered platforms nestled into a rocky ridge, reinforced with wood and mana-steel, half-buried into the cliffside. From here, they could see the scar where the cave mouth had been unearthed.

  It gaped like a wound.

  Ren stepped down from the hauler and helped offload crates. The camp here was smaller than the forest base but more fortified. Enchanted tripwires were already in place. Spellcasters knelt over the perimeter casting detection and barrier spells to secure the area.

  He barely had time to settle in before Sinclair’s team arrived.

  They didn’t speak much — too focused. They’d moved fast from the forest base, faster than expected. The dungeon’s temporal fluctuations were getting worse, the scouts had said. Doors that didn’t exist one moment, rooms collapsing the next.

  Sinclair gave orders quietly but firmly, her voice calm even as his eyes stayed on the horizon.

  He passed by Ren once. Didn’t stop. Just gave him a small nod. One of acknowledgment.

  Ethan’s team was last to arrive.

  They rode light, their gear stripped down to just the essentials. Most of them carried tools rather than weapons — seismographs, Aether detectors, Resonance measures.

  This was a reconnaissance operation, technically. But everyone knew it could go sideways fast.

  Ethan himself was quieter than usual.

  He didn’t say much when he climbed down from his hauler. Just stood for a long time, staring at the cave entrance.

  Ren saw it in his face.

  The same look he’d seen on veterans before a suicide run.

  He made his way to him.

  “You good, Ethan?”

  Ethan turned. “Doesn’t matter if I am.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  A pause.

  Then Ethan gave a thin smile. “As good as I can be before walking into what could be the most dangerous mission I’ve ever been in. But I have confidence. Confidence in the crafters who made our weapons, confident in my men to use to weapons to pave a path to victory and confidence in me to lead them through that part. I’ll see you when I’m back, Ren and you better have a feast ready for me.”

  Ren smiled.

  Then he handed over a cloth-wrapped container.

  “Not enchanted,” he said. “But it’s the good kind.”

  Ethan opened it. Inside — a riceball, shaped by hand. Fresh vegetables. A slice of citrus-glazed pork. Tamago.

  “It’s a staple from my world, enjoy.”

  Ren gave him a final nod and walked away.

  A familiar voice came from behind. “Glad to see you two made up.”

  Ethan nodded at Sinclair “ I suppose we did.”

  “It’s tonight,” he said. “Final window opens after moonrise. We don’t know what happens after that.”

  “If we don’t make contact in seventy-two hours…” Sinclair didn’t finish the sentence.

  He didn’t have to

  “Come back in one piece, you idiot.”

  “You too.”

  Sinclair’s group descended first, vanishing into the horizon towards the dungeon.

  Ethan’s team turned toward the cave.

  And thus began The Collapse.