Haste retreat, woods south of Engel

  The 15th Vulcarian day, year 2025

  “We should keep moving,” Torin urged, as the first rays of sunlight began to shine through the oaks of the woods they were traversing.

  After their retreat into the woods following the failed raid on Engel, the bandits had split into their individual cells and immediately moved out of the region. There was nothing left to gain by staying, and smaller groups would be harder to spot.

  “Are you in a hurry to get branded, Torin? We’ll have something in common once you get the hot iron,” Rita provoked with a slight smile. She wouldn’t normally bait him, but the moment presented itself, and though he was a real threat, he wasn’t the same as before.

  After the battle, Torin had arrived at camp with his hand bloodied and nearly severed. Only a remarkable level of resistance, coupled with a tourniquet and a precise axe strike, had saved his life. Despite being feverish, pale, and exhausted, the dunner carried most of the valuables the Cell had previously acquired and showed more determination than the rest.

  Torin didn’t rise to the young smuggler’s challenge. ‘She’s trying to undermine me,’ he thought. “The brotherhood doesn’t brand a member for following orders,” he said firmly. “We don’t need to fear our brothers.”

  “We don’t need to fear our brothers,” Gary chimed in, gesturing to himself and the others, pointedly excluding Torin. “The vice-leader of a half-dead Cell? I’m not so sure about that.”

  The twelve remaining members of what was now Torin’s Cell made their way back toward Larianos, intending to report the failed raid. They hoped that the fact they had witnessed a powerful figure – a probable high-born with considerable influence – would be enough to soften their punishment. At least, that was Torin’s hope. While they didn’t know exactly who the mysterious swordsman was, it was clear that high stakes were at play in the region.

  “We’ve still got at least four days of walking. Let’s go,” Torin replied, his tone carrying a mix of frustration and determination. The majority of his group were newcomers, with less than two years in the brotherhood, which led Torin to adopt a harsh, almost defensive approach to leadership.

  “We’re carrying supplies for twenty, Torin, damn it. Don’t rush us,” complained Will, a thief in his late thirties, while he tied heavy sacks over his shoulders. Still, he trudged forward.

  Will had been in the brotherhood for less than a year, tired of his life as a farmer. His petty thefts had supplemented his income for years, but after his mother died, he had nothing left to hold him in his miserable chicken coop. The brotherhood was his escape from the life he despised.

  They moved in silence, single file, through the trail. Rita led the group, her steps calculated and quiet, while Torin brought up the rear, watching for anyone who might think of running. When the cell attacked Engel, they’d taken only weapons and personal belongings; the rest of their loot – several jewels, dozens of Liras, along with bagful’s of Cinaras, Quintas and Pennys – were safely stashed back at camp. They wouldn’t abandon it, no matter the cost.

  They avoided using lights, moving at a slower pace, but Torin wanted to cover more ground before stopping to rest. As the first rays of sunlight broke through the trees, it was the ideal time to push ahead a few more miles. The march was wearing on them, and Will, walking just behind Rita, muttered to himself, “I should slit Torin’s throat while he sleeps. We’ve got enough money for ourselves.”

  Rita’s voice cut through the murmur like a blade. “You want him to kill us all? Even with one hand, he’d kill every last one of us before we could blink.” Her tone was sharp, but there was no anger in it – just cold practicality.

  Will fell silent, but Rita noticed the tightness in his lips, the simmering discontent. The situation might be under control now, but she wasn’t sure how long that would last. She could see how Torin’s leadership, or lack thereof, was grinding on everyone. But a direct challenge would be foolish, and she had no intention of putting herself in the middle of it. Undermining him, however, could still serve her purpose, just not in a way that would spark an immediate confrontation.

  On one hand, a slower pace might be easier. They could find an inn, have some ale, and sleep the night in relative comfort. There were plenty of villages between Engel and Larianos, most with no real control over who passed through. With the coin they had in reserve, they’d be in and out without a problem.

  On the other hand, pushing farther away from the region was the safer choice. The farther they went, the less likely they’d be caught by anyone who might be looking for them. That would also get her closer to some real work – hopefully something worth her time. She wasn’t looking for the comfort of an inn, and she certainly wasn’t going to waste the opportunity to escape any unwanted entanglements. It was better to stay under Torin’s leadership, at least for now.

  They couldn’t risk traveling on open roads under the sunlight, and everyone needed rest. So, a couple of hours after sunrise, they stopped at the edge of some woods. With minimal words, they took cover and set up camp. The air was thick with exhaustion, but Rita didn’t let any of it show. She kept to the shadows, her presence barely acknowledged as she busied herself with the mundane tasks – finding a spot to sit, checking her gear, and keeping a sharp eye on the others.

  They would wait for the night, when the dark would cover their movements and the eyes on the horizon would grow less effective. It was a small sacrifice – rest, for the safety of travel when it mattered most. Rita ate a few biscuits and a slice of dried meat before pulling her travel bag close and settling down to sleep, one eye open.

  Inner turmoil, Luanda’s house

  The 15th Vulcarian day, year 2025

  Luanda’s legs felt heavy, each step toward home dragging as if she were wading through mud. She wanted to walk faster, but exhaustion clung to her like the sweat still dampening her clothes. The summer night had done nothing to cool the heat of her frantic movements earlier, and now, everything about her felt messy – her hair, her dress, her thoughts. The inadequacy from before still lingered, twisting inside her like a thorn she couldn’t pull free. As if the looming threat to her family’s future wasn’t enough, now she had to wrestle with emotions she had no name for.

  When she finally pushed open the front door, Malya barely acknowledged her before slipping out, her urgency clear – she was going to find her parents. Luanda didn’t stop her. She had done the same not long ago; now, it was her turn.

  Every parent in the village had, at some point, housed a big group of children, and Luanda was no exception. Without hesitation, she took control, gently but firmly guiding them to sleep. Their nerves still buzzed with the fear of what had almost been, but none of those present had lost their parents today. Soon, one by one, their families would come and take them home, restoring – if only a little – the sense of normalcy that felt so far out of reach.

  With the help of the older children, it didn’t take long before everyone had settled – some in the bed, some on the sofa, and others curled up on the soft rug that covered half of Luanda’s living room. As artisans, she and Tommy were among Engel’s wealthiest, though that wasn’t saying much. Wealth, in their village, meant basic comforts, not luxury.

  Once the house had quieted, she took a lantern and stepped outside, kneeling just beyond the open back door. She hiked up her skirt to a more comfortable position and immediately set to work on cleaning Adrian’s leather armor. Tommy’s gambeson, however, was in ruins. That would take time, and tonight, she had none left to give.

  Focusing on practical matters helped her push away the unease that had followed her since first laying eyes on Adrian. The sight of her husband, gravely wounded, should have been enough turmoil for one night. She didn’t need more.

  For years, Luanda had considered herself a lucky woman. She had three children, a kind husband, and a promising future in a village that grew more important to the barony by the day. Life could be tiring at times, monotonous at others, but wasn’t that just a matter of perspective? What some called dull, others called peaceful. What some called exhausting, others called fulfilling.

  The rough texture of the cloth scraped against her hands as she scrubbed the armor, but she welcomed the discomfort. She could have used magic to make the work easier, but she didn’t. The sting in her fingers grounded her, gave her something tangible to focus on – anything to keep her mind from wandering to places it shouldn’t. Because it was getting harder and harder to see the cup as half-full.

  What am I going to do? The question circled in her mind like an albatross riding the winds of a stormy ocean. If Tommy loses his arm, how will we provide for our children? An artisan’s workshop was expensive to furnish. They weren’t even sure yet what their children’s futures would hold, only that they needed to be able to support them, no matter what.

  And then there was the thought she refused to acknowledge – the one she shoved deep down, as if denying it would erase it completely. ‘Would he take care of me if I gave myself to him?’

  She scrubbed harder.

  For almost an hour, she worked in silence, until every child – save for her own – had been taken home by their parents. At last, she could rest, though the bed felt unfamiliar without Tommy beside her. She lay there, staring at the ceiling, exhaustion pressing down on her, but sleep refused to come.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  When the tears started, she wasn’t sure why. She told herself it was everything – the relief of surviving, the fear and uncertainty that future now held. But her mind betrayed her, replaying an image she didn’t want to hold onto. Somewhere between her thoughts, she drifted into sleep.

  She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she heard it – movement. The front door opening. Her heart lurched.

  She bolted upright, her pulse hammering. Could it be bandits again? Someone who had infiltrated the village? She rushed out of bed, fear making her movements sharp and quick – only to stop dead in her tracks.

  A shadow stood in the doorway. For a moment, she thought she was still dreaming. Was he dead? Was this his ghost? But then he stepped forward, and the lantern’s glow caught his face.

  “Who are you?” Her voice came out as a whisper, barely forming the words. “Tommy? How…?” She stood frozen, holding her breath as if she had forgotten how to breathe, staring at him, waiting for her mind to catch up with what her eyes were seeing. Only when he closed the distance and pulled her into an embrace did she finally break.

  The tears came fast, overwhelming, and she clung to him, her body shaking with the force of everything she hadn’t let herself feel. He was well. And that meant everything. She ran her hands over his arm, searching for the wound she had seen, the one she had helped treat – but it was gone.

  “It was Adrian… You know, the young hero,” Tommy said, his voice carrying the weight of what had happened. The shock still clung to him, but he sounded… strong. Whole. As if he had never been hurt at all. His embrace was warm, firm, real.

  She pressed herself closer, uncaring of the dirt, the sweat, the smell of the day still clinging to him. He was here. That was all that mattered.

  “We should talk more in the morning,” he murmured. “I see you need rest.” He guided her back to bed with the same gentleness as always. And this time, when she lay down, it didn’t feel so empty.

  Luanda let her feelings flow, the weight of her worries dissolving in Tommy’s embrace. He was here and now she was safe. That was all that mattered. Exhaustion pulled at her, wrapping her in the comfort she had denied herself all night. But just as sleep was about to claim her, one last thought flickered through her mind – unbidden, unwelcome. The way Adrian looked at me.

  And then, finally, she slept.

  Luanda woke to the sound of knocking – Lea at her door. Tommy was already gone, having taken Golias and Julian to Engel’s house for the morning repast. Elza had nursed and drifted back to sleep, and for a brief moment, Luanda allowed herself a little more rest, even though her mind buzzed with the tasks awaiting her. But in her heart, she felt the weight of the day press harder than the work ever could.

  “Hello, Miss Luanda,” Lea said, as she opened the door. The young girl looked exhausted, her eyes red from crying, her face drawn with fatigue.

  “Come in, my girl,” Luanda said, her voice soft. She stepped aside to let her in. “Would you like some tea?”

  “No, thank you. I must go back and help my mother,” Lea replied quietly, as if even speaking took effort.

  “I’m so sorry for your father,” Luanda murmured, her heart aching for the girl. “I can hardly believe something like this could happen here. If you need anything, you only have to ask.”

  Luanda led her to the table and gestured for her to sit, but Lea declined. She had duties, even in the wake of such loss.

  “Wait here a moment, and I’ll get the twins’ adjusted clothes,” Luanda said, her voice steady, though her mind was elsewhere, tangled in grief for Lea’s loss. It was strange, how life demanded so much of the living, even in the face of death. There was no time to mourn for the ones left behind, no time to stop and reflect.

  As she entered her atelier, her gaze fell on the neatly folded pile of the twins’ clothes, already altered and ready to be picked up. Her eyes then moved to the corner of the room, where a bucket of water sat, its contents a deep, unsettling red. Adrian’s clothes, soaked the night before to prevent the blood from drying, lay in the water, stained with the remnants of battle.

  She could still feel the fabric through the faint pulse of her magic – the softness of his tunic and breeches, now torn and marred by the gore of so many bandits. Even in their soaked state, they seemed to carry the weight of violence and loss, an unspoken reminder of the chaos that had unfolded.

  The reality of the day struck her with renewed force. There was no time to mourn, no space for grief – just work. Just the pressing weight of it all. At least for her. After all, she was the lucky one; she got her husband back. For that, she had someone to be grateful for. She would need to repay her debt somehow.

  “If there’s nothing urgent to do on the orchard, just go home today, Lea,” Luanda said, handing over the bundle of clothes. Her voice softened. “You should rest. At least until tomorrow, after the wake.”

  Lea nodded, her lips tight. “Thank you, Miss Luanda. Actually, I checked before I came in – the fruits need thinning, but there are no pests. It can wait a few days.”

  Luanda gave her a small smile. Despite her deep mourning, Lea had already fulfilled her part of their agreement. The girl didn’t hesitate to put aside her own grief, focusing instead on the orchard. Luanda couldn’t help but admire that strength.

  When the door closed behind Lea, Luanda’s stomach twisted. Her emotions were in turmoil. She had to start somewhere.

  ‘But what is most important now?’ she thought. Nothing here is urgent. Even if I am late, there won’t be severe consequences. Tommy’s new gambeson or Adrian’s clothes – both should be high priority, but where to start?

  Her husband had nearly lost his arm, and if it weren’t for Adrian’s healing magic, he might not have made it through. The gambeson had saved him – it had protected him when nothing else could. She needed to make him a new one. He couldn’t be left unprotected again, especially after such a close call. Who knew if those bandits would return?

  Her hands shook slightly as she picked up the heavy fabric she’d set aside. She could feel Adrian’s presence in her mind – the way he’d looked at her in the aftermath of the battle. There was something about the way he looked at her that stirred a longing inside her. Her love for Tommy was fierce and true, yet there was a spark of something else, something she wasn’t ready to acknowledge. She couldn’t let Adrian see her as weak, consumed only by her role as a wife. She couldn’t let herself be just Tommy’s wife, not entirely.

  She set the fabric down and exhaled, her breath uneven. She promised Engel she would fix Adrian’s clothes. She had to admit she was afraid of it. She had been so excited to do something for the young hero last night, but following through now scared her. But she had to. Finally, she made her decision.

  Luanda concentrated on her magic. Adrian’s tunic rose from the water, the fabric stretching and twisting until it was clean. Now, she only had to mend it. She had to make the most of this time. Soon, Golias and Julian would be home, and Elza would be awake. She reminded herself that she was a mother, a Weaver, and so much more – not someone lost in fleeting desires.

  Man of priorities, Village of Engel

  The 15th Vulcarian day, year 2025

  Jias didn’t dare go back to the citadel of Ruthy – he feared both the monsters lurking outside and the reprimand he might receive for fleeing and leaving his letter undelivered. So after resting a bit with Gallop, they started walking back. As soon as his friend was ready, he mounted and raced toward Engel. His Night Rider achievement proved more than useful as he kept a strong pace, unbothered by the darkness. His and Gallop’s perception worked in perfect sync, avoiding every peril of the road.

  The fear of returning to a burned village or a violated wife made him quicken the pace all the more. The moment he arrived, he searched for them. They weren’t home. So he kept searching.

  At the Guardhouse, he heard movement inside. Dismounting, he ran a hand along Gallop’s neck. “Good job,” he murmured. The horse had earned his rest.

  Yan stepped out, glancing up as he heard someone approach. His expression shifted in surprise. “You’re back! Any news from the barony?”

  Jias ignored the question. “Yan. My wife. The twins. Where?”

  Yan straightened. “Oh, uh…” He hesitated. “Jias, I’m sorry – your in-law died in battle. They’re at her parents’ house, preparing for the wake.” His voice softened.

  “The letter. I delivered it. Who do I report to?” Jias asked, releasing a breath of relief. His wife was well, and that was what mattered most. The man was just like this – practical to the core. He had little time for distractions. His life revolved around a handful of things: his wife, his children, and his horses. The rest was nothing more than obligations to be carried out. He would handle them, but they didn’t occupy his thoughts.

  Yan knew this about him – his eccentricities, his almost cold demeanor. He didn’t disrespect it; in fact, he admired it. For all the bluntness in Jias’ actions, the man was undeniably one of the most upstanding and responsible people he knew. Anyone who worked with him could see that Jias’ word was his bond, and his integrity was beyond question. Some villagers, however, found him difficult to read. They saw him as distant, perhaps even indifferent, but those who really knew him understood that he simply didn’t waste energy on anything he didn’t consider essential.

  “Maybe talk to Hugo at the Chapel. Reeve Engel and Lieutenant James are resting.”

  Jias nodded. That was all he needed.

  After reporting to the priest, which earned him a scolding for not waiting to receive a response personally from the Baron, Jias took his friend to the stable to treat his wounds. He found Lea already there, waiting for him. As he dismounted, she ran into his arms, and he petted her head, used to her excessive affection.

  Jias didn’t like to be touched, not by anyone, but Lea was different. She was the one exception – the only person who could hug him without making him feel suffocated.

  She wept in his arms, her tears flowing freely. She didn’t need to say much. The grief of her father’s death still clung to her, too fresh to be ignored, but his presence always made it a little more bearable.

  A while later, when she was ready to speak, he listened intently. He didn’t have much to say in response, but that was all she needed anyway – someone to listen, and so he did.

  “I knew I’d find you here. I’ve been waiting for you for almost an hour. When I arrived and you were nowhere to be seen, I got so worried,” she said. “I can’t lose you too. I’ll be home with Mother and the girls – please, come stay with us.”

  Jias simply nodded. “Okay. I will, after I treat Gallop. He’s hurt.”

  “Hurt? What happened?” she asked, concern creeping back into her voice.

  The problem with Jias’ practicality was that, even in his report to Priest Hugo, he only mentioned being attacked by monsters because the priest had pressured him to explain why he delivered the letter to the gate instead of directly to the Baron. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have bothered. With Lea, it was the same. She knew that unless she asked, he wouldn’t offer up any details, but she had too much of her own grief to think about asking him about his mission.

  “Umbral Imps attacked Ruthy’s Gate,” Jias said, his focus on Gallop rather than the monsters or the danger. “Gallop was faster, though. He’s a strong boy.” He ignored his own feats – upgrading his class and earning an achievement that many would consider grand – and instead praised his horse.

  “You were attacked by monsters? Are you well?” Lea asked, her hands moving over him, searching for any sign of injury. Only when he confirmed he was unharmed did she let out a breath of relief.

  Jias didn’t answer further; his attention had already shifted to his work. No matter what had happened that night, the animals still needed tending. The [Goatherd] would handle most of the nanny goats, but the stables had to be cleaned, and every beast under his care needed checking.

  Lea kissed him goodbye and said, “I’ll go by Luanda and then home, don’t take too long, we need you today.” Jias barely spared her a glance, already sorting through his tools. ‘First, I must clean and treat Gallop’s scratches – if infection sets in, it’ll be trouble.’ He thought to himself.

  She waited for a moment, as if expecting something more. But when it didn’t come, she simply nodded and turned to leave.

  Not long after, an immense stallion was led into the stable – a messenger’s horse, sent from the Barony with urgent news. But to Jias, the message was secondary. He had a new friend to tend to, and that was his priority. He would probably be late.