Rynna glanced at the bloodied blade before sliding it back into her sleeve. Then, she walked over to retrieve the blade Fenn had thrown to save Bran, pulling it from where it was embedded in a tree trunk. Gripping the weapon, a single thought pulsed through her mind.
And so it begins. This was the first man she’d killed in this life. She knew it wouldn’t be the last.
“He’s dead!” Bran's voice rose, louder this time, tears welling in his eyes. “Why? Guide Fenn had our back. I was fine!”
“He almost killed you. I responded to the threat.” Rynna’s voice was cold, detached. Better they see this part of her now. Better they understand.
“He didn’t have to die,” Bran sobbed, his shoulders shaking as he stared at the body.
“No, he didn’t.” Fenn’s tone was low and hard. He gripped the boy’s shoulder, and Rynna flinched, surprised at how much it hurt to hear that edge in his voice.
She tossed his throwing knife to him with a quick flick of her wrist. He caught it easily and slid it back into his belt.
“You were foolish and arrogant,” the man growled, pulling Bran to his feet, his grip tightening as he spoke. “You were almost killed, and you forced your teammate to take a life to protect you. What if that knife had been thrown at Gran Hesta?”
Bran closed his eyes, his chest heaving. “Oh…oh....” His face crumbled. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Her voice was flat, drawing Fenn’s attention.
“It’s not.” Curiosity danced in his eyes before he turned back to the other Novices. “The life of a Hollow-born is often violent and full of blood.”
Elara, still pale, wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, her fingers trembling as she tried to compose herself.
“But life is precious,” Guide Fenn continued, his voice quieter now. “We can’t just waste it, or we become the very monsters we often fight.” He waved a hand toward the lifeless body of the thug. “Men like him who would harm an innocent old woman or kidnap children to control their parents.”
Bran swallowed hard, his head hanging low. “Yes,” he murmured, his voice small. “I understand.”
No one spoke for a long moment; the only sounds were the rustle of leaves and a faint trickle of a nearby stream.
Fenn finally broke the silence, his gaze lifting to the sky. “We should leave now. We can make it to the Waygate before night falls.” His voice was steady, but his eyes scanned the tree line, wary. “The fort around the gate is easily defendable and manned with Stone Reach soldiers. If there are more of the enemy, they won’t move on us there.”
Gran Hesta nodded slowly, her frail hands reaching for her pack. “They must have followed me from the village.”
Before she could lift it, Bran stepped forward, gently taking it himself. He slipped it onto his back, the weight of it resting over his own gear as he offered a small, silent nod.
Taren glanced toward the tied-up assailants. “What about them?”
“We leave them,” Fenn said without hesitation, already turning his focus forward. “The guards at the Waygate can pick them up and send them back to Ember Reach for questioning tomorrow morning. They can keep for a night. Let’s go.”
The group moved through the forest in silence, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpet of fallen leaves. The sun had begun its slow descent, casting long shadows through the dense canopy as they navigated around gnarled roots and low-hanging branches.
Approaching the Waygate, the trees gave way to a large, fortified structure looming ahead. Massive wooden beams, weathered by years of exposure, formed the high walls, their slanted roofs covered in layers of shingles, sharp and menacing. Stone foundations anchored the fortress, reminiscent of ancient outposts used by Hollow-born clans to guard their borders.
Fenn stepped ahead of the group, approaching the guards. Out of earshot, he spoke with them quietly, pulling a small set of papers from within his tunic. The guards scrutinized the documents, their eyes looking back to the rest of the unit with clear skepticism.
One of them laughed, tossing the papers back to the Unit Leader. “It’s your lives if you want to use the gate. Enjoy a painful death, for all I care.”
“Thank you,” Fenn replied with a slight bow. “And where can we spend the night? Are there any free rooms available?”
“Ha, rooms.” He exchanged a smirk with the other guard, who grinned. “Tell you what, since we’re feeling generous, you can use the barn. I hear the hay’s quite comfortable.”
“What?!” Bran started, but Rynna and Elara moved swiftly, covering his mouth with their hands before he could say more.
“That would be most amenable. Thank you.” Fenn bowed again. “This way.” He nodded to Fang Unit.
The barn was dusty, dimly lit by the fading sunlight that streamed through cracks in the wooden walls, the air thick with the scent of hay and earth. They set up their sleeping arrangements quietly, pulling their packs open and laying out bedrolls on the uneven floor.
Gran Hesta eased herself onto a bale of hay, her back hunched as she watched the group prepare. Passing around dried rations for dinner—hardtack and strips of cured meat, they ate in silence before lying down for the night.
