Ares stared out one of the caravan's windows. The tall academy buildings had already faded into a distant blur, swallowed by the lingering fog that hung over the horizon.
He let out a deep sigh.
He'd grown used to the academy—especially his dorm room. Having a space of his own had felt incredible, a far cry from the cramped room back home where his mother would check on him every few minutes.
His thoughts lingered on her. She'd lost her husband not long ago, and now her only son was heading into the Wildlands to survive on his own.
"At least Grandfather is there," he muttered, reassuring himself, hoping she was managing without him.
Before he could dwell on his family's well-being any longer, the instructor's voice sliced through the silence that filled the caravan.
"There have been some changes to our journey. The frontlines have shifted since the last battle. Our forces were pushed back, so we'll need to avoid certain areas…"
Ares snapped to attention, every word pulling him in.
We're losing the war? The thought struck him like a blow. Confusion flared, but before he could speak, the instructor continued.
"…the journey will now take five to seven months, depending on the weather. We'll make occasional camps along the way to break the strain. Eventually, we'll reach the southern outpost, where we'll begin operations along the Wildlands' edge, engaging only with Category E Mana Beasts."
Category E Mana Beasts—monsters with the weakest mana cores and thinnest defenses. But "weakest" didn't mean harmless. Even those low-ranked beasts, enhanced by mana, could kill. A moment of carelessness was all it took. Many had fallen to them. Even an expert.
Still, Ares wasn't focused on the beasts. He'd already read everything there was to know about them.
What rattled him was the journey.
"Five to seven months…" The words echoed in his mind.
The original estimated time was just two to three months. The new timeline was staggering—and it only deepened the growing knot of unease in his chest.
"What's really happening on the frontlines?" the question lingered in his mind.
A heavy silence settled over the group, broken only by the occasional creak of the wooden caravan as it rolled forward.
The interior was surprisingly spacious. Each of them had their own oversized chair, padded with layers of soft fabric that tried—but failed—to bring comfort to the tension hanging in the air.
Ares glanced around at his companions.
Selene and Lucian sat lost in thought, their gazes distant and unmoving. The twins, in contrast, whispered quietly to each other, sharing hushed laughter and the occasional glance at the others, trying to mask their nerves with mischief.
The instructor sat motionless, his eyes closed, but his expression was far from peaceful. There was a sharpness to his face—a readiness, as though he were bracing for battle even while resting.
Then, after countless failed attempts to remember, it finally came to Ares.
His instructor's name. More specifically, his family name.
Highseor.
His breath caught. That was the same last name as his old mentor—Nicholas Highseor.
He remembered overhearing it once, in a conversation between his mother and his grandfather, but he paid it little mind. But now, the memory hit him like a jolt.
"Could it be…?" His gaze drifted to the instructor, studying his features, combing through fragments of old memories, searching for anything familiar.
"Could they be related?"
Just as the thought took root, the instructor's gaze shifted away from the window, drifting back into the caravan.
He caught Ares staring—eyes sharp, as if trying to pierce through him. The instructor tilted his head slightly, a questioning look forming on his face.
Ares blinked, snapping out of his thoughts.
"If I may ask…" he began, his voice cutting through the quiet and drawing everyone's attention. "Do you have any siblings, sir?"
The instructor paused for a moment, his expression unreadable.
"I do," he said at last. "A brother."
Then, without another word, his eyes turned back to the window, shutting the door on the conversation.
Silence settled once more.
Ares's thoughts clung to the man's brief reply—the way he had deflected so quickly.
"Sensitive topic?" he wondered, still watching the instructor from the corner of his eye.
The caravan continued its steady journey across the lands, wooden wheels groaning softly beneath them as the wilderness crept closer.
But it wasn't long before the caravan came to a sudden, jarring halt. The momentum threw Ares slightly forward in his seat.
A loud shout rang out from outside—sharp, urgent.
Everyone inside stiffened.
The instructor's eyes snapped open. In one swift motion, he rose from his chair and made his way to the door without a word.
Ares's heart pounded in his chest. He exchanged glances with Selene and Lucian. Even the twins had gone quiet, their earlier mischief wiped from their faces.
Another shout echoed—closer this time.
Then silence.
"Too quiet," Ares thought, his senses sharpening.
The instructor pushed the door open just a crack, peering outside.
Without a word, the instructor jumped down from the caravan, closing the door behind him with a firm thud.
Ares shot to his feet and moved toward the door—but before he could reach it, he felt it.
The air shifted.
A sudden, heavy presence settled over him—a dense surge of mana flooding in from outside. It pressed against his skin like a rising tide, thick and unnatural.
Something was out there.
Something powerful.