After several more hours of using Shadow Box until his MP ran out and then practicing his forms again, Jack’s morning training was finished.

  The sharp sting of exertion still lingered in his arms and back, muscles loose and warm from the steady rhythm of drills and forms. He’d pushed his body hard—harder than usual, even—but that was deliberate. He needed to stay sharp, needed the edge that only constant motion gave him. Especially now. Especially with what was coming.

  His breath misted slightly in the air as he moved through the undergrowth, boots crunching softly against fallen leaves. The early morning mist still clung low to the forest floor, a cool blanket of vapor that twisted and curled around his legs as he walked. It smelled faintly of damp wood and living things. Peaceful, but only on the surface.

  He moved with purpose, retracing yesterday’s steps. A slight turn by the broken stump, past the pair of leaning birch trees, and down a shallow incline covered in leaf mold. His boots found familiar footing without effort. The forest around him was quiet at this hour—no birdsong yet, just the occasional distant crack of shifting branches or the flutter of unseen wings above the canopy. He liked it better this way. No distractions.

  Soon he reached the place.

  A small clearing, half-lit by slanting morning light. Thin beams pierced the mist above, cutting through like golden blades and revealing the patch of disturbed earth where he’d buried the bear’s hide and gut. Jack paused for a moment on the edge, eyes scanning the spot. He’d marked it deliberately—a flat, heavy stone placed with care and surrounded by a ring of stripped branches laid in a loose square. Nothing fancy, just something unmistakable. Even with the mist and dimness, it stood out easily.

  He knelt beside the marker, resting one hand on the cold surface of the stone. His other hand reached down, fingertips brushing the earth. The soil was still damp with morning dew, and cool to the touch. It clung to his skin as he pressed in. This place hadn’t been disturbed since yesterday. That was good.

  With a short grunt, Jack shifted his weight and pushed the stone aside. It rolled over with a muffled thump, revealing the dark, soft soil beneath. He dug in without hesitation.

  The dirt came away easier than he expected. His enhanced strength—part of the stats he’d earned over time, through blood and grind and more than a few lucky breaks—made short work of it. His fingers moved like tools, clawing and scooping, palms hardened from years of labor and combat. The packed soil parted with little resistance. There was a rhythm to it, a muscle memory. He could almost hear Sun Wukongs voice in the back of his mind: Don’t waste motion. Dig like you mean it.

  Before long, the buried remains emerged.

  First, a glimpse of dark brown fur—matted and damp but unmistakable. Then, a pale coil of intestine, looped like thick rope, slightly shrunken from the cold night. Jack paused, catching his breath, and took a moment to inspect what he’d unearthed.

  The hide had changed.

  Even after only 24 hours beneath the earth, it already looked tougher. The contact with soil—and more specifically, the earth-aligned magic that lingered here—had done something to it. The Dungeon Avatar’s book had been right. The initial phase of tanning had started just by burying the pelt in the right place. He ran his hand along the edge, checking for rot. None. Instead, it felt thicker. Denser. Still wet, but promising. A good start.

  The gut, though—that would take more attention.

  Jack didn’t waste time. He gathered the bundle carefully, cradling it in his arms like a butcher handling fine cuts. He stood, dirt clinging to his knees and boots, and turned toward the Pool of Purity.

  The pool wasn’t far. It lay in a sunken hollow ringed with moss-covered stone, fed by a slow trickle of crystal-clear runoff from a spring deeper in the woods. Jack approached it with the same silent reverence he always did. There was something sacred about the place. It wasn’t just the magic—though that was real and potent—it was the stillness. The water shimmered faintly, lit from beneath by a subtle, inner glow that pulsed like a quiet heartbeat.

  He knelt at the edge, setting the hide aside and turning his full attention to the intestines. Carefully, he unrolled the coils, letting them ease into the water, bit by bit. The surface rippled, the magic reacting instantly, light bending in strange patterns as the gut submerged.

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  He began the cleaning process with slow, practiced hands.

  First came the rough work. Jack pulled each length taut, using his fingers to press along its length, squeezing out whatever remained inside—fluid, debris, anything left from the butchering. The cold water made the job more bearable, numbing his hands but keeping the tissue firm and manageable. He worked with quiet patience, using small circular motions to massage the cords clean, rinsing repeatedly and thoroughly.

  The Pool of Purity lived up to its name.

  With each rinse, the water responded—subtle changes in its clarity, swirls of pale gray or dull yellow drifting away like smoke underwater. Contaminants dissolved with no need for soap or lye. It was like the magic drew out impurities on its own, without fuss or flame. Jack stirred the water with a stick now and then, watching the currents shift, the waste pulled outward and away like it knew it didn’t belong.

  The smell faded too. What had begun as a faint, unpleasant tang was now little more than the scent of wet stone and forest air. The gut itself looked better—lighter, more supple, flexible without being mushy. After a time, Jack let it soak. He laid a flat stone across the top to hold it beneath the surface and stepped back.

  Only then did he return to the hide.

  He laid it out on another stone nearby, spreading it carefully fur-side down. He brushed away clumps of dirt and leaves, examining the flesh side for signs of spoilage. There were none. The skin had begun to firm, the first phase of tanning evident in its texture. No longer soft and raw, it was halfway to leather—pliable and thick. It would still need scraping to remove the membrane, and maybe some stretching, but the groundwork was done.

  He ran a hand slowly through the fur. Still damp, still coarse, but it would dry well. Once finished, it would make for excellent protection.

  Jack took a breath. The breeze was cool and steady, carrying with it the faint scent of moss, bark, and something faintly metallic—like wet stone. Peaceful again.

  Then came the rustling.

  Jack straightened automatically, hand drifting toward where Aetherspire rested on the nearby ground —but then he relaxed. The sound was too familiar. Too light-footed and clumsy to be a threat. Sure enough, a moment later, Cael stumbled into view.

  It soon became apparent why the Rogue was making so much noise. He was hunched over from the weight of his satchel—a beat-up thing made of scuffed leather and fraying seams. It bounced awkwardly with every step, clinking as vials jostled and tools knocked together. He looked tired. Sheepish. His large yellow eyes flicked toward Jack and then down again, avoiding direct contact.

  Jack stood and wiped his hands on his trousers. “Cael.”

  “Morning,” Cael mumbled, dropping the satchel near the water. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “You’re not interrupting,” Jack replied calmly. He eyed the satchel. “That your alchemy kit?”

  Cael nodded slowly, almost defensively.

  “You planning to make something?”

  Instead of answering, the goblin crouched and opened the satchel. He began unpacking it, laying out a careful spread of tools: small glass bottles, dried herbs in wax paper, a chipped mortar and pestle, a tiny copper brazier. His movements were slow, almost hesitant. Too deliberate to be casual.

  Jack frowned, stepped closer, arms crossed. “Cael.”

  The goblin flinched, shoulders tightening. Jack crouched down beside him.

  “What’s going on?”

  Cael scratched the back of his neck, ears twitching. “I just… I wanted to use the Pool again. For alchemy. Like before. For potions.”

  “Healing potions?” Jack asked.

  Cael nodded, then added quietly, “And others. Maybe things that could help… for the Ramkin fight.”

  Jack tilted his head slightly. “You look like you’re trying to sneak meat from my table. You don’t need to act like you’re stealing.”

  His friend didn’t answer. His fingers gripped a flask tightly.

  “I thought maybe if I asked after, not before… it’d be easier.” His voice was quiet. “Ask forgiveness, not permission.”

  “I don’t own the Pool, Cael “ Jack chuckled

  “You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.”

  But his friend didn’t meet his gaze. Instead, he sat down hard, elbows on his knees, staring into the pool. “I do, though.”

  Jack waited. Silent.

  The goblin’s voice was small when it came. “Back.. before. When the dagger took over. When I turned on you.”

  “You were possessed.”

  “I let it,” Cael said. His voice cracked on the words. “I was scared. And angry. And jealous. You’ve made so much progress in the time I’ve known you. Sure I might have advanced a bit too but that was mostly because of you. I was tired of feeling weak. That thing just… offered power. And I let it in. I made it easy.”

  Jack sat down beside him. “You didn’t choose that.”

  Cael shook his head. “But I chose to keep that dagger even after it started whispering in my head. I still tried to kill you. You saved me. And I kept thinking—how could you ever trust me again?”

  There was a long silence.

  “I don’t blame you,” Jack said finally. “We’ve all done things we regret. Half the time I survive, it’s because people like you are still willing to stand beside me after things go sideways.”

  Cael’s shoulders sank. The tension slowly bled from his posture.

  Jack bumped him lightly with an elbow. “And if you’re trying to cook up something to help us survive this next fight? I’m all for it. Just… don’t act like you’re sneaking poison into the well.”

  That got a small smile out of Cael. Weak, but real. “I’m still going to borrow a lot of water.”

  Jack stood and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll help you fill the flasks.”

  The goblin looked up, eyes wet but grateful. “Thanks, Jack. Truly.”

  “You’re already making it right, Cael. You’re here. That’s what matters.”

  Jack turned back toward the Pool, rolling his shoulders.

  “Now let’s get to work. You make the potions. I’ll finish the hide. And then we get ready for war.”