NORTHERN EAST MOUNTAINS–
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The caravan pushes deeper into the mountains, boots sinking into fresh powder. The wind whistles through the pines, carrying flecks of ice that sting the skin. Visibility shifts between open sky and drifting curtains of snow.
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Metro leads the front line, eyes narrowed, scanning the terrain.
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Behind him,
Archeus rides Angelo map and compass in hand. The group trudges in a staggered formation, each person alert, cold, and tired — but determined. Archeus dismounts and walks a few paces ahead, parchment in hand, comparing the rough map to the land around them. His breath fogs the air.
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Archeus:
“According to the ridge line, we should be close to a natural break in the forest. If the old hunters were right, there’s a creek nearby close.”
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Cornelius snorts, adjusting the straps on his pack.
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Snow-laden branches droop low, forcing the group to duck and weave. Every so often, a distant crack echoes — a shifting tree, or something moving.
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Metro slows, raising a hand.
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Metro:
“Hold up. Listen.”
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Everyone freezes. The wind hushes for a moment.
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Rose:
“…Water. I hear water.”
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Archeus’s eyes light up.
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Archeus:
“Then we’re close.”
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They push forward, following the thinning powdered trees. The ground slopes gently downward.
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Archeus steps through the last line of frosty pines — and stops. He spots it — a wide, open clearing tucked beside a narrow creek that cuts through the snow like a silver ribbon. He raises his hand, signaling the caravan to stop.
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Archeus:
“This is it. Plenty of space. Fresh water and a windbreak from the ridge.”
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The group wastes no time. The Camp starts to take shape.
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Paul and Strawhat jump off the wagon before it fully stops, already hauling poles and canvas.
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Paul:
“Alright! Big tents first! Let's go.”
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Within minutes, the clearing erupts into motion:
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-Kathryn and Blake unload crates, blankets, tools, and bundles of rope.
Lilly and Rose kneel by the creek, filling pots, already boiling water over a small fire.
Cornelius helps Metro unhitch Sally, while Metro starts gathering long branches for a lean‑to near the horses.
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The sound of axes, snapping branches, and bubbling water fills the air.
Three fires are lit:The horse fire — small, steady, built by Metro and Paul beside the lean‑to.
The cooking fire — where Lilly and Rose work in perfect rhythm, chopping, stirring, seasoning.
The hall fire — the largest, burning bright at the entrance is the temporary Main Hall Tent.
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It rises like a temporary cathedral — a massive box‑shaped structure layered with overlapping sheets, thick carpets, patterned tapestries and rugs pinned up like makeshift wallpaper.
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Lanterns hang from every beam, glowing gold against the fabric walls.
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Inside are cushioned bean bags, bedrolls are arranged in a circle, a single wooden table with candles flickering sits in the center, blankets stacked in the corner, the fire outside radiating heat through the tent’s open flap.
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Archeus immediately claims a corner near the front door, setting up his desk with almost religious precision.
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He arranges his quills.
He places his maps in a neat fan.
He sits cross‑legged, cloak wrapped tight, muttering about drafts and “primitive living conditions.”
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But he stays close to the heat, shivering every few minutes.
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Night approaches and people move constantly between fires, warming their hands, checking on food, adjusting ropes, tightening knots. The cold creeps in fast.
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The camp is barely holding together — tents up, fires lit, water boiling — just enough to survive the night.
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But the mood is warm.
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Laughter rises from the cooking fire.
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Paul lashes out at a stubborn tent pole and Cornelius tries to help.
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Metro steadies it, smirking.
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Rose and Lilly’s voices drift through the clearing, soft and steady as they prepare the first meal.
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