The third night fell over the Cursed Basin like a velvet curtain soaked in shadow, thunder, and dread.
Warm rain still drizzled over the translucent barrier we set up, soft patters tapping against its dome like a lullaby from hell. The air was thick with petrichor and ozone, the scent of rich soil and charged clouds mingling in a strangely soothing way. The Endless Storm pulsed around us, lightning sketching arcs across the sky every few minutes, as if the basin itself were flexing its power in slow intervals.
Despite the chaos, our camp had taken on a rhythm. Dinner, surprisingly, had become one of the more... pleasant moments of the day.
We sat in a rough semi-circle, legs sore from hiking and sprinting, backs aching from gear weight, but stomachs rumbling in unison. Our fire core was set to a gentle blue flame that offered just enough heat for warmth and just enough light to keep us from going completely feral.
As usual, I popped open my bracelet's storage inventory, and out came the meal: a steaming bowl of creamy saffron stew loaded with chunked meats, root vegetables, and a side of baked flatbread that was actually soft. The aroma alone was criminal in a place like this. Rythe's eyes sparkled the second I nudged a bowl her way.
"Again?"
.She whispered, almost guilty.
"You keep quiet about me not screaming in that mole chase, I'll keep giving you soup," I grinned, handing her another portion.
She beamed and started eating with silent joy.
The men, meanwhile, had offered me 10% of their Synsiline haul, voluntarily this time. No threats, no egos, no complaints. They were finally understanding the ancient bartering law of "Don't piss off the person with the five-star meals."
"Alright," Baldie muttered as he chewed down on the grilled herb meat I handed him, "what the hell is this? My soul just ascended."
"It's lemon-garlic venison with infused root oil," I said, smirking.
Sunglasses raised an eyebrow. "Infused what?"
"It means good stuff," Buzzcut answered before inhaling a spoonful.
I chuckled, leaning back against my gearbag, letting the sound of their chewing and the distant thunder roll around us like a strange harmony. Then, curiosity got the better of me.
"So," I said, turning the spoon in my bowl. "This mission was optional, right?"
Four sets of eyes turned to me. No one spoke, but I saw the flicker of surprise in all their expressions. Like none of them expected the question but all of them had been quietly waiting for it to come up.
"Why'd you even come here?" I asked, more genuinely this time. "This place has a 25% survival rate. Like, are you all nuts?"
Sunglasses was the first to speak.
"Money," he said flatly, licking the last drop of stew from his fingers. "It's always about the money."
He leaned back on his arms, eyes scanning the storm clouds above as if they were spreadsheets.
"You know the difference between a Rating 9 and a Rating 3?" he asked. "Everything."
He gestured to his bracelet. "This? This thing's good for a week because your sponsor is an Ennéa. Me? I get five days. Some of the others? They only got three. We don't get premium meals or custom armor. We don't get medkits made by certified healers or weapons forged by good forgers. Most of us are scraping by on favors, rentals, and debt."
"Damn," I muttered, my voice quieter than I expected.
He shrugged. "So yeah. This mission's not just about the ore. It's about the info. If we survive and come back with data—locations, weather records, creature types, mining formations—we get paid extra. A lot extra, especially if we're the first group to document it."
Baldie nodded. "He's right. I'm here for the money too. I've got twin sisters in the Októ district who need to eat. And my rent's late. So yeah… this suicidal trip? It's a solid investment."
Buzzcut tapped his bowl with a dull spoon.
"Ore," he said, short and simple. "If I get good quality Synsiline, I can get someone to forge armor that will pass inspection for combat-class missions."
I blinked. "You're trying to fight?"
He looked at me like I just asked if he liked breathing.
"Everyone wants to fight," Rythe said softly, from my side.
All eyes turned to her now.
"I'm not here for money," she admitted, poking at the stew. "I signed up because I wanted to. I thought... maybe if I came here, I'd prove something to myself."
"Your brother's a Pente Three, right?" Sunglasses asked.
She nodded. "Yeah. He's a fighter. A real one. He gets off-world missions. The kind that actually matter. I'm not even close."
Buzzcut leaned in. "Only Pente and above get combat deployments. The rest below, like us, we're stuck in adventurer missions. Gathering, exploration, maybe a few beast culls. You don't get a pass to fight unless a rank from Epta, Októ, or Ennéa vouches for you."
"Which almost never happens," Baldie added.
They all seemed to watch Rythe a little differently now. Like she was more than just a quiet shadow clinging to survival. Like she had guts to come here.
And then, they turned to me.
"What about you?" Baldie asked.
I paused, staring into my half-empty bowl.
"I'm here because..." I began slowly, "...I want to get better at surviving. And not dying."
Their brows rose. I went on.
"I know people think I'm being favored. That because my sponsor is Phaser, Second-in-Command of Reversal Cradlepoint and brother to a freaking Suprema, that I'm just skating by."
Sunglasses whistled low. "You are his lover."
"No," I said sharply. "I'm an Ennéa. That's all."
They didn't interrupt.
"I didn't ask for the title or the bracelet or the food. But I'm not gonna reject it, either. If I get a head start, fine. Then let me use it. I'm here because this is my test run. I don't want to be someone's shadow or 'that girl with connections.' I want to survive on my own merit. And if I can get ore? Even better. Proves I'm not dead weight."
For a long moment, none of them said a word. Then Baldie let out a long breath.
"Well... damn."
Sunglasses glanced away, scratching the back of his neck. "Kinda makes our reasons look shallow."
"Didn't mean to flex on you," I teased.
Buzzcut gave a faint smile. "You've got guts."
They all looked a bit... different now. Less condescending. Less cold. And maybe, just maybe, more human.
Then Baldie cleared his throat. "Alright, alright. Camp rule. No deep emotional confessions after 8 p.m."
We all laughed.
Rythe leaned over and bumped my shoulder. "Thanks for the stew."
I grinned. "Just remember, twenty percent tomorrow. Deal's a deal."
"Thought you said ten," Sunglasses grumbled.
"Inflation," I said with a smirk. "Emotional inflation. You got closure tonight."
Buzzcut groaned. "We're gonna starve."
But we all laughed again. Just a bunch of tired weak under a storm-filled sky, finally learning how to get along.