They reached the river by midday.
It was wider than the map had suggested — swollen from recent rains, dark and fast-moving. The water wasn't clear. It churned with sediment, brown and gray, with pieces of half-rotted branches spinning along the current like forgotten bones.
The forest thinned at the bank, revealing a narrow stony shore, littered with broken logs and tangled vines. Across the water, the trees began again — thicker, darker, rising like a wall.
Phoenix leaned against a rock, breath slow beneath his helm. He hadn't said much that morning. His side was still wrapped, ribs likely cracked worse than he'd admitted. But he hadn't stumbled.
Not once.
Ryliegh stood at the water's edge, testing the current with the tip of his blade. The force nearly took it from his hand.
"We can't ford this," Vale said behind him.
"No bridge," added Bram. "And I don't see a fallen tree worth balancing on."
Soren kicked at a stone. "We swim?"
"Not Phoenix," Ryliegh said immediately.
"I'm fine," Phoenix said.
"You're not."
There was a beat.
Then, the sixth green knight — silent until now — stepped forward. He was tall, built more like a brawler than a soldier. His armor bore no insignia. He pulled off his helmet, revealing a square jaw, cropped blond hair, and a scar running from ear to collarbone.
"Name's Elric," he said simply.
Phoenix blinked. "You've been with us this whole time?"
"Wasn't asked anything worth answering."
Elric looked at the water, then at Phoenix. "You stay dry. We'll ferry you."
Phoenix made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "Haven't been carried like a bride since knight initiation."
"Hope you remember how to blush, then," Elric replied, already moving.
They found a log thick enough to float and long enough to balance weight. Soren and Vale stripped off their cloaks and looped them around the trunk, using them as grips. Elric handled the front, muscles straining against the current.
Phoenix was laid across the log — face down, arms braced, helm on. He said nothing as the water swallowed the edges of his armor. He just held on.
The crossing was slow.
Cold bit through the steel. The current tugged hard, and every shift in weight threatened to flip them. But they made it — soaked, breathless, intact.
Ryliegh was last, wading through the strongest part of the current without assistance. His shield floated behind him, tethered by rope.
On the far bank, the six knights regrouped. Dripping. Shivering. Silent.
Phoenix staggered to his feet, leaning against a boulder.
"Would've been easier if I'd just grown wings," he muttered.
"You don't fly," Ryliegh said, wringing water from his gauntlet.
"I fall with style," Phoenix replied.
Soren laughed.
Vale looked upstream. "We'll make for high ground. If there's a checkpoint, that's where they'd signal from."
Elric gave a quiet grunt of agreement.
As they began moving again, Ryliegh took one last look at the river behind them.
It wasn't just a crossing.
It was a line.
Behind them: exhaustion, beasts, memory.
Ahead: whatever the Darkzone hadn't shown them yet.
And still, six walked forward.