The winding path dipped into a valley where the sound of rushing water grew louder with every step. Soon, they stood before a wide river—its current wild and relentless, hurling broken branches downstream like discarded toys.
Remnants of a wooden bridge clung desperately to either shore: torn ropes, half-sunken planks, and a few sad nails sticking out like crooked teeth.
—“Well, that’s just perfect…” Towan muttered, staring at the wreckage.
Leon took one look at the ruined crossing and casually sat on a large stone, as if this were all going exactly according to plan.
—“There used to be a bridge here,” Elliot observed, already analyzing.
Leon gave a small nod. “There was. Now there isn’t. So… how will you cross?”
Towan blinked. “You’re not gonna help?”
Leon stretched his legs out. “Only if you’re about to drown. Consider this your next lesson.”
Towan gave the river a squint of defiance. “We can just jump it using Essentia. A big enough burst and we’re across.”
Elliot frowned, watching the current drag away a whole tree trunk. “We’re not ready for something like that. If your landing’s off or your balance slips mid-jump, we’ll get swept away. That current’s no joke.”
Towan crossed his arms. “Then what? Build a new bridge with our good intentions?”
Elliot knelt beside the ruined rope ends. “Actually… maybe. The ropes are still anchored. If we retrieve the sturdier planks, we might be able to re-thread them and form a balance path. Not a bridge, but close.”
Towan groaned. “Ugh. That sounds like the least fun way to not die.”
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Elliot smirked. “Then by all means, leap heroically into the river. I’ll write a song about it.”
With a roll of his eyes, Towan grabbed the closest loose plank and started dragging it toward the shore.
They worked side by side—Towan doing the heavy lifting, Elliot tying knots with cautious precision. Neither of them spoke much, but something in the silence was different now. Focused. Coordinated.
Once the makeshift structure was in place, it looked… functional. Terrible. But functional.
—“Your turn, genius,” Towan said, gesturing dramatically toward the wobbling deathtrap they’d built.
Elliot nodded and stepped onto the first plank. His breathing slowed as he focused his Essentia—not for strength or force, but for flow. He channeled a low, steady pulse through the soles of his feet, keeping his weight even as he moved forward like a tightrope walker.
Towan followed a moment later, less subtle and far less graceful. He trusted more in momentum than finesse, and every few steps the plank groaned under him like it was reconsidering its life choices.
—“I swear if this thing breaks, I’m haunting this river,” he muttered, arms flailing with each near-slip.
Finally, with a mix of caution, complaints, and miracle-level luck, they reached the opposite bank.
They turned around just in time to see Leon still sitting peacefully on his rock.
—“Well?” Towan called out. “What now, Master of Watching from a Distance?”
Leon stood, dusted off his pants, walked calmly to the edge of the river, and picked up a long branch.
Then, with the casual confidence of someone who’d done this before breakfast, he planted the stick against the riverbank, bent his knees—and vaulted.
He soared over the river like a damn leaf on the wind and landed in a perfect crouch right in front of them.
Towan’s jaw dropped. “WHAT?! You could do that the whole time?!”
Leon just brushed off his hands. “Of course. But if I’d shown you first, you wouldn’t have learned anything useful.”
—“We could’ve died!”
—“Not with that impressive teamwork. And honestly? The drama would've been worth it.”
He walked on like nothing happened. Elliot and Towan stared at each other.
—“He definitely enjoys this,” Elliot muttered.
—“Yeah, but…” Towan exhaled with a grin, “…we did it. Without falling in.”
Elliot nodded, the corners of his mouth lifting. “Not bad, for two orphans and a bunch of planks.”
As they followed their master deeper into the woods, the tension eased. They were sore, tired, and soaked in river mist—but something had changed. They were starting to think like a team. And more importantly—they were starting to believe they could survive this journey.
Maybe even thrive.