Lucian stirred.

  The faint scent of aged wood lingered in the room, mingling with the distant aroma of damp earth. His body ached—a dull, throbbing pain pulsing through his limbs, a lingering reminder of the battle that had nearly cost them everything.

  His fingers twitched against the coarse fabric of the blanket covering him. He flexed his hand, testing his strength. It was faint, but he could move now. The exhaustion that had buried him before had loosened its hold, though the bruises and wounds still weighed him down like shackles.

  He exhaled sharply, pushing the blanket aside and shifting into a seated position. A sharp ache crawled up his spine, but he ignored it. He had rested long enough.

  Then—

  A knock.

  The door creaked open slowly, and Elara stepped inside.

  She paused for a moment, eyes scanning him from head to toe. Seeing him awake, sitting upright, brought the faintest hint of relief to her features—but only for a second.

  "Good," she said. "We don’t have time to waste."

  Lucian blinked, rubbing his temples before meeting her gaze. "What’s wrong?"

  Elara crossed her arms. "Isla’s condition is worsening."

  Lucian stiffened.

  "How bad?" His voice was steady, but the weight behind it was unmistakable.

  Elara’s golden eyes darkened. "She hasn’t woken up since the battle. Her Ascen—it’s unstable, scattered inside her. She can’t control it."

  Lucian’s fingers curled into the sheets.

  "We need to get her to the Wise One," Elara continued, her tone clipped, urgent. "Tarek and Holt are making preparations. We leave immediately."

  Lucian pushed himself off the bed, his legs unsteady beneath him for a moment. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to move. There was no time for weakness.

  Elara didn’t wait for him to recover fully. She turned on her heel, already heading toward the door. Lucian followed.

  The crisp morning air greeted him the moment he stepped outside. The village was quiet, its people still reeling from the aftermath of the battle. But near the wagon, his companions were already prepared to leave.

  He saw Isla lying inside, her face pale, her breathing shallow.

  Tarek sat at the front, gripping the reins, his eyes sharp but shadowed with exhaustion. Holt sat beside him, adjusting his grip on his axe.

  Fey was sitting near Isla, her posture tense, protective.

  Lucian’s chest tightened.

  She’s alive.

  A brief flicker of relief surged through him. But as quickly as it came, it was crushed beneath the weight of reality.

  The cost.

  The battlefield had left more than scars—it had left them broken.

  His gaze shifted to Elara, who stood near the horses the villagers had given them.

  Three horses.

  One for her.

  One for Renn.

  One for him.

  His eyes found Renn.

  She was adjusting her cloak, draping it carefully over her shoulder—hiding the absence of her right arm.

  Lucian felt a pang of something heavy and bitter.

  He wanted to say something. Anything.

  But when she finally looked at him, she only gave a slow nod.

  Lucian’s throat tightened.

  She had already accepted it.

  He clenched his jaw, looking away.

  Elara was speaking with the village elder nearby. Lucian caught fragments of the conversation.

  The elder was bowing slightly, his expression filled with both gratitude and sorrow.

  "Thank you… and forgive us," the elder said, his voice worn and weary. "Had we known the dangers you would face—"

  Elara shook her head. "It’s our job," she said simply. "We knew the risks. You don’t have to apologize."

  The elder hesitated, then lowered his head once more. "Even so… we will never forget this."

  Elara didn’t say anything else. Instead, she turned toward her waiting horse.

  Lucian moved to mount his own.

  Then—

  "Wait!"

  A small voice.

  Lucian turned, just as a young boy came running toward him, struggling to keep up with the pace of his horse.

  It was the same boy who had given him the charm.

  Lucian pulled on the reins, slowing the horse.

  The boy stopped in front of him, panting, his small frame trembling—but his eyes were determined.

  "You came back," the boy said. Then, he bowed deeply. "Thank you. Thank you for coming back alive."

  Lucian stared at him.

  Something inside him—something cold and hollow—lessened, just slightly.

  He leaned forward slightly in his saddle, studying the boy’s expression. Then, he smiled—just a little.

  "It’s because of your charm," Lucian said. "It kept me… me."

  The boy's eyes widened slightly.

  Lucian gave a slight nod of thanks before guiding his horse forward.

  They had wasted enough time.

  The road to Emberfang Fortress was long.

  And they had someone to save.

  The village slowly faded behind them.

  Lucian gave it one last glance over his shoulder.

  The villagers stood at the edge of the road, their faces a mixture of sorrow and gratitude. The village elder stood at the front, his back slightly bent as he bowed deeply. The others followed suit, dipping their heads in unison, offering their silent thanks and a quiet wish for safe passage.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Lucian felt a strange tightness in his chest.

  A slight relief. A warmth beneath the weight of everything he carried.

  But it was fleeting.

  He turned back toward the road.

  Elara led the group, her posture straight, her presence commanding as always. The wagon followed closely behind her, its wheels rolling over the dirt with a steady rhythm. Tarek held the reins, his eyes sharp as he kept the horses in line. Holt sat beside him, occasionally glancing back at Isla, whose pale figure lay motionless beneath the thin blankets. Fey sat inside the wagon as well, her gaze distant, lost in thought.

  Lucian and Renn rode at the flank.

  The journey stretched in silence at first. Only the sound of hooves against dirt and the occasional creak of the wagon filled the air.

  Lucian tightened his grip on the reins.

  He needed to speak.

  He swallowed hard, forcing the words to come out.

  “…Thank you.”

  Renn didn’t react at first.

  Lucian hesitated before continuing, his voice quieter this time. “For saving me.”

  Renn remained silent, her eyes fixed ahead.

  Lucian exhaled, staring at the ground beneath his horse. “And… I’m sorry. For your leg.”

  Then, a pause.

  He clenched his jaw, struggling with the next part.

  “…And your arm.”

  His voice barely above a whisper.

  He didn’t dare look at her. His hands trembled slightly, gripping the reins tighter as guilt churned inside him.

  A slow sigh.

  Lucian flinched slightly when Renn finally spoke.

  "You don’t have to apologize," she said, her tone calm, steady. "This is the cost of war."

  Lucian turned his head slightly, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

  She wasn’t looking at him.

  She simply rode forward, her cloak still carefully draped over her missing arm.

  Then, after a moment, she called his name.

  "Lucian."

  He looked at her properly this time.

  She met his gaze with a smirk, one that was both tired and reassuring.

  "You’re still the same kid I knew when this mission started," she said. "That gives me some peace of mind."

  Lucian blinked.

  "You shouldn’t carry all of this on your shoulders," Renn continued, her voice softer now. "We knew the risks when we accepted this job. This is the life we chose."

  Lucian stared at her for a long moment before his lips curved into the faintest of smiles.

  Sad. But grateful.

  "…Thank you," he whispered.

  Renn gave him another quick smirk before looking back at the road.

  Lucian exhaled slowly.

  The burden inside him eased—just a little.

  The sun dipped beyond the horizon, casting the world in hues of deep orange and purple.

  Elara pulled her horse to a stop, glancing back at the group.

  "This will be our only stop before we push forward to Emberfang," she announced. "After tonight, we move without rest for three days straight."

  No one objected. They all understood the urgency.

  This stop was necessary—it would allow them to recover just enough to endure the final stretch.

  Without another word, they dismounted.

  Holt and Tarek moved quickly, setting up a tent for Isla. The moment it was secure, they carefully transferred her inside, ensuring she was as stable as possible.

  Lucian lingered for a moment, watching from a short distance before his eyes drifted elsewhere.

  Fey sat near the center of their small campsite, arranging wood for the fire.

  Without thinking, Lucian walked toward her.

  He wasn’t sure what he was going to say.

  But he knew he needed to say something.

  Lucian stepped forward, hesitating only for a moment before speaking.

  "Can I sit with you?"

  Fey glanced at him, her expression unreadable at first. Then, she gave a small nod.

  Lucian lowered himself to the ground beside her, the warmth of the fire casting flickering shadows across their faces.

  Silence stretched between them.

  Lucian searched for words, but before he could find them, Fey spoke first.

  “…I’m sorry.”

  Lucian’s head turned slightly.

  Fey's fingers curled into her lap, her shoulders trembling.

  "I'm sorry for being weak," she whispered. "For not being able to protect everyone."

  Lucian’s breath hitched as he saw the tears welling up in her eyes.

  "I remember it all," she continued, her voice shaking. "The darkness… the cold… the feeling of being alone. It swallowed me whole."

  Lucian’s hands clenched against his knees.

  "I died, Lucian." Fey’s voice was barely above a whisper. "And then… I was pulled back. Dragged from that place by light—by Isla."

  She inhaled sharply, blinking away tears. "But at what cost?"

  Lucian remained silent.

  Fey shook her head, her voice breaking. "Her Ascen… it’s burning away. She might not get it back. She might—" She choked on the words. "She might die."

  Lucian swallowed hard.

  He knew.

  He had already heard it from Elara, from Tarek. But hearing it from Fey, hearing the guilt in her voice—felt different.

  Fey turned to him then, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

  "And you," she murmured.

  Lucian stiffened.

  "I heard what you did."

  Her lips quivered as she fought back a sob. "I heard you broke down after seeing me die."

  Lucian’s heart pounded against his ribs.

  He didn’t want to talk about it.

  Didn’t want to relive that moment.

  Fey’s voice trembled.

  "You let yourself be swallowed by that darkness."

  Lucian exhaled sharply, turning his gaze away.

  "I don't know what price you paid," Fey continued, "but I know… I know you did it for us."

  Lucian’s throat tightened.

  Then—Fey moved closer.

  Before he could react, she wrapped her arms around him, pressing her forehead against his shoulder.

  Lucian’s body stiffened.

  "You became a monster to bring down a monster," she whispered.

  Her grip tightened.

  Lucian slowly exhaled, his shoulders slumping.

  "You’re too young to bear all of this," Fey murmured, her voice barely audible.

  Lucian shut his eyes.

  He knew.

  But it didn’t change the fact that he would do it again.

  Fey clung to him for a moment longer before her grip finally loosened.

  Lucian didn’t say anything.

  Because right now, words weren’t enough.

  They simply sat there, the fire crackling beside them, the weight of everything they had endured settling between them.

  The camp was silent.

  The crackling of dying embers. The soft rustle of leaves in the night breeze. The rhythmic breathing of those who had succumbed to exhaustion.

  Lucian lay awake, staring at the fabric of the tent above him, the weight of the past few days pressing against his chest.

  He sighed, sitting up slowly. His body ached, but at least it listened to him now.

  As he stepped out into the cool night air, his eyes instinctively scanned the surroundings. The moonlight reflected off the slow-moving river nearby, casting a gentle glow across the land.

  And there—sitting near the water’s edge, keeping watch—was Holt.

  Lucian took a slow step forward, then another.

  Before he could say anything, Holt’s voice rumbled through the quiet.

  "If you can’t sleep, you might as well sit down."

  Lucian blinked in mild surprise. He hadn’t made a sound.

  Holt let out a small chuckle. "Kid, you might be quick on your feet, but I know when someone’s near."

  Lucian hesitated for a moment before stepping forward and lowering himself onto the grass beside him.

  They sat in comfortable silence, both watching the river as the moon’s reflection rippled across its surface.

  Holt was the first to speak again.

  "I’m not good with words," he muttered, his voice low, steady.

  Lucian glanced at him, waiting.

  "But I want you to know this," Holt continued, his eyes fixed ahead. "I respect you. Not as a kid. Not as someone we had to protect." He turned slightly, meeting Lucian’s gaze. "But as a warrior."

  Lucian’s breath hitched.

  Holt exhaled deeply, shaking his head. "You’re willing to give anything—everything—just to protect the people you care about."

  Lucian didn’t respond.

  Because it was true.

  And Holt knew it.

  "That’s why," Holt went on, his voice firmer now, "I don’t care what anyone else thinks when they see that side of you."

  Lucian’s hands clenched slightly.

  Holt leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "If the day ever comes when the world turns against you, I want you to remember something."

  Lucian turned toward him, listening intently.

  "I’ll stand with you."

  Lucian’s chest tightened.

  No hesitation. No doubt. Just quiet, unwavering certainty.

  Holt glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "So, don’t carry this alone."

  Lucian swallowed hard, struggling to find the right words.

  In the end, all he could say was, "Thank you."

  Holt smirked, giving him a small tap on the shoulder. "Just remind me from time to time not to piss you off, alright?"

  Lucian let out a small chuckle, shaking his head.

  Holt laughed, a genuine, hearty sound that carried into the night.

  For a moment, they simply sat there, watching the river, enjoying the rare peace.

  From a short distance away, hidden near the tents, Elara stood watching them.

  Her sharp golden eyes softened slightly.

  She didn’t say anything.

  Didn’t interrupt.

  Instead, she simply turned and walked back inside her tent.

  A quiet smile on her face.

  The first rays of dawn stretched across the sky, painting the horizon in soft hues of orange and gold.

  The gentle warmth of the rising sun kissed the remnants of the night’s cold, chasing away the lingering shadows of exhaustion and grief.

  Elara stepped out of her tent, rolling her shoulders as she took a deep breath of the crisp morning air. Her golden eyes swept over the camp, taking note of their supplies, the resting forms of her comrades, and the faint glow of the embers in the fire pit.

  It was time.

  With steady steps, she moved through the camp, waking the others one by one.

  “Holt, Tarek—get the wagon ready.”

  Holt stretched with a grunt, rubbing the back of his neck as he moved to do as she ordered. Tarek was already moving, checking on Isla before preparing their supplies.

  “Fey, pack whatever’s left. Renn, saddle up the horses,” Elara continued, her voice firm yet calm.

  Lucian stirred at the sound, his body still aching, but far more responsive than the day before. He slowly sat up, running a hand through his dark hair before pushing himself onto his feet.

  His eyes scanned the camp, watching as everyone moved with quiet efficiency.

  They were leaving.

  Lucian inhaled deeply, steadying himself.

  This time, they wouldn’t be running from a battle.

  This time, they were heading home.

  The road stretched endlessly before them, winding through vast fields and rolling hills.

  Lucian exhaled softly.

  The weight in his chest wasn’t gone. The wounds in his heart hadn’t healed.

  But something was different.

  The uncertainty, the doubt—had settled.

  A quiet, burning resolve took its place.

  Lucian clenched his fists.

  He couldn’t stay like this.

  He wouldn’t stay like this.

  He needed to grow stronger. Faster.

  And when they returned to Emberfang—

  He would find Orin Kael.

  He would speak to him.

  And he would finally begin to understand what was inside him.