By the time night fell, Edrin had discovered something new about traveling.
It was exhausting in ways that fighting somehow wasn't.
"I would like to stop existing for a few hours," he announced, dropping his bag onto the ground the moment Lyra called for camp.
"That's called sleeping," Ronan said.
"Yes," Edrin replied, already sitting down. "I intend to do that aggressively."
Lyra ignored them both as she surveyed the area. "We'll stay here. It's open enough to see anything approaching."
Edrin looked around at the dark forest surrounding their small clearing. "…That's supposed to be comforting?"
"It is," she said.
"It isn't."
Ronan chuckled as he gathered wood. "You'll sleep anyway."
"I might pass out," Edrin corrected. "That feels different."
A small fire was soon burning between them, its light flickering against the trees. For a brief moment, things felt almost… normal.
Edrin stared into the flames.
"…That thing earlier," he said quietly. "It felt different."
Lyra sat across from him, her expression serious. "It was."
Ronan nodded. "Stronger. Smarter."
Edrin frowned. "It had multiple cores."
"Yes," Lyra said. "Which means they're evolving."
Edrin stared at her. "I don't like that word."
"You've said that."
"I mean it more every time."
The fire crackled softly between them.
Edrin hesitated. "…Is that because of me?"
Neither of them answered immediately.
Which was answer enough.
"…Right," he said, looking back at the fire. "That's what I thought."
Ronan leaned back slightly. "You're forcing them to adapt."
"I didn't mean to."
"Doesn't matter."
Edrin sighed. "It never does."
Lyra watched him carefully. "You're also adapting."
Edrin glanced up. "…Slower, I think."
"No," she said. "Differently."
Edrin frowned. "That sounds vague."
"It means you're not following a normal path."
"I didn't think there was a normal path for this."
"There isn't," Ronan said. "But you're still unusual."
Edrin pointed at himself. "I fall during fights."
"And win," Ronan added.
"That part still confuses me."
Lyra's gaze softened slightly. "You learn from every mistake."
"I make a lot of those."
"That's why you're improving."
Edrin blinked.
"…That sounded like a compliment."
"It wasn't meant to be."
"I'm counting it anyway."
Ronan laughed quietly.
For a moment, the tension eased.
Then—
Edrin looked back at the fire.
"…What happens if I can't keep up?" he asked.
Lyra didn't answer right away.
Ronan didn't joke this time.
"…Then we make sure you do," Lyra said finally.
Edrin shook his head. "That's not what I meant."
Silence.
The fire crackled louder in the stillness.
"…Then we adapt," Ronan said.
Edrin looked at him. "…That's what they're doing."
Ronan nodded. "Exactly."
Edrin exhaled slowly.
"…That's not comforting."
"No," Lyra said. "But it's the truth."
Edrin leaned back, staring up at the night sky.
The stars were faint.
Barely visible through thin, dark fractures stretching across the heavens.
"…That's getting worse," he said.
Lyra followed his gaze. "Yes."
Ronan crossed his arms. "And it won't stop."
Edrin swallowed.
"…So we have to."
Neither of them disagreed.
For once, there were no jokes.
No sarcasm.
Just the quiet weight of what lay ahead.
Edrin closed his eyes.
"…Wake me up if something tries to kill us," he said.
Ronan smirked. "That's likely."
"Good," Edrin murmured. "I like consistency."
Lyra shook her head slightly.
But as the fire burned low and the night deepened, she remained awake—watching the darkness beyond the light.
Because something had changed.
Not just in the Invaders.
Not just in Edrin.
But in the space between them.
And whatever was coming next—
Would not be easier.