The camp was slowly coming to life, ready to leave Dunleigh behind. Everywhere, tents were being folded, belongings packed away, straps tightened with care. Victor, hunched over a map spread across a crate, had spent several hours the night before helping Aldous choose their next destination. A hunters' village to the east seemed the best option — a place where the troupe could find resources, offer their services, and trade what they had to give. A necessary stop, but also a new beginning. And that wasn't easy to accept.
Victor was fastening the final strap on his pack, his hands trembling slightly despite himself. That's when Adam approached, watching him with quiet attention.
"Alright? Not too hard to leave?" he asked gently.
Victor looked up, eyes tired, almost melancholic. He gave a small shrug, searching for the right words.
"No, it's not easy. I thought it would be. But… staying here would've been worse."
Adam placed a solid hand on his shoulder, a steadying gesture.
"You'll get used to it. You're stronger than you think."
Victor offered a faint smile, but his fingers barely resumed their motion.
"Maybe out there, I'll find what I'm looking for. Or at least something new. I can't just wait here, doing nothing."
Adam smiled, genuinely.
"I know you'll make it."
Nearby, Emma was already busy gathering tools, her expression focused and determined. She moved easily amid the bustle, as if drawing strength from the very act of movement.
The air was crisp, tinged with the slow approach of autumn: a light breeze made the leaves still clinging to the trees shiver, while the sky remained clear — promising a mild day for their departure.
Edric, meanwhile, was overseeing every detail with heightened vigilance, assisting Aldous with final checks. Since the incident at the celebration, his gaze had never quite left Deran. The younger man stood not far off, arms crossed, under a cold, almost threatening watch. Edric didn't need words to make his stance clear: this behavior would not be tolerated again.
The weight of the past week and its tensions seemed to linger in the air, pressing down on them all — but the time had come.
The carts creaked into motion behind the few horses of the troupe. Aldous walked in front, with Adam beside him, scanning the road from the corner of his eye. Emma walked midway through the column, just behind the cart where the two old women rode. She smiled at their bickering, clearly enjoying it. Victor remained silent, lost in thought. What answers would he find, if any? And would it have been better not to find them at all? Could they break him?
A burst of laughter snapped him from the spiral. Emma. She hadn't been able to hold it in after hearing Adam tell yet another absurd regimental story to a clearly unimpressed Aldous. Smiling, she glanced back at Victor and shot him a conspiratorial wink. He returned it, suddenly lighter.
"I won't break," he thought. "Not while she's here."
The troupe climbed a gentle rise, where the trees grew thinner, revealing glimpses of the landscape behind them. Early afternoon light filtered in pale patches over the dry earth and rust-colored ferns. The wheels groaned, boots crunched against stones. They were making good progress.
Victor glanced over his shoulder — more out of habit than curiosity. And then he saw it. His eyes fixed instantly on a familiar shape in the distance. Nestled in a fold of the valley, the manor still stood, dark and motionless, dwarfed by the sweeping landscape. Almost ridiculous, from here.
He froze. Instinctively.
It was the first time he had seen it from this far. The first time he had truly looked away from it. He didn't know why his chest clenched so tightly. The past. The silence. The rage. He had left ghosts behind there — but whose?
Behind him, footsteps slowed. Edric, who had been bringing up the rear, stopped beside him in silence. He followed Victor's gaze, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
"Funny how small it looks from here," he said at last, voice neutral.
Victor blinked, as if waking from a dream. He nodded, wordless.
Edric turned his head slightly toward him.
"You know, we think some things will follow us all our lives… but eventually, they fade. Sometimes they come back, sometimes they don't. What matters is not walking backward."
Victor looked at him, curious. There was no mockery in Edric's voice. No grand lesson. Just a gentle weariness, touched with experience.
"You're right," he said simply.
Edric shrugged, then resumed walking without another word. Victor followed, his back a little straighter.
The manor vanished behind the trees.
---
They had been in the woods less than an hour. Light filtered through the canopy, golden and shifting. Footsteps on the leaf-covered ground, muffled animal sounds, the carts creaking over exposed roots. Then… nothing.
Adam suddenly raised a hand, palm open to the rear. He stopped, tense, and the whole column slowed in a hush of surprise. He squinted, face suddenly pale.
"Something wrong?" Aldous whispered.
Adam didn't answer right away. His eyes swept the forest — bushes, trunks, branches. His fingers almost trembled.
"That silence…" he murmured. "That's not natural."
His heart pounded. He remembered. Robin. The silence before it happened. The same silence.
"They're coming."
The words had barely left his lips when a howl tore through the air — a rough, guttural scream — followed by a harsh rustling: the raiders burst from every direction at once, shrieking, wild-eyed, armed with filthy blades and short axes.
Chaos erupted.
Aldous drew his weapon like an old warhound, cursing through his teeth. Edric already had his sword in hand, eyes hard as flint. Adam's blade flashed into view without thought — instinct carved by years of battle. He stepped back to get a better vantage, to cover.
Emma leapt back, knife already drawn — Robin's knife. She had never fought, but she knew how to survive. Her eyes scanned the frenzy, trying to guess where the blow would come from. Her heart pounded hard enough to break.
Victor, for his part, had spotted a sword tied to one of the carts. He didn't hesitate: he grabbed it, clumsily, fingers slick with sweat. It was heavier than the ones from his childhood fencing lessons, where elegance mattered more than instinct. But he knew how to hold a guard. He could pivot. Parry. And he would not stand still. He refused to be dead weight.
The first impacts shook the earth. A raider tried to get to a horse — Aldous struck so hard he nearly cleaved him in half. Edric moved with practiced calm, every motion clean and lethal. Adam held the flank, searching — Victor? Emma?
Emma. He spotted her between two trees. She crouched, half-sheltered behind a trunk. A man charged at her, axe raised. Adam tried to yell, but it was too late. She raised her knife, stabbed blind — straight into his gut. The man gave a strangled cry and collapsed.
She froze, panting, blood on her fingers. Robin's knife. Something burned in Adam's throat — fear, yes, but also a fierce, painful pride.
Farther off, he saw Victor. He'd ended up near Edric without meaning to, drawn perhaps by his steadiness. He held the sword with both hands, arms rigid. An attacker rushed him — Edric kicked the man off balance, and Victor struck at that exact instant. Awkward, but clean. The man screamed and fell. Victor gagged — but stood his ground.
A scream cut the air. Edric staggered. An arrow had pierced his shoulder from behind. He took a step back, grimacing, but didn't drop his blade. Victor, without thinking, moved behind him, back to back. Shaking.
The fight lasted a few more minutes — brutal, chaotic. Then the raiders broke. They hadn't expected such resistance. They scattered into the woods, leaving groans, broken branches, and the iron tang of blood behind.
Silence fell. This time, it was real. The silence after violence. Victor let out a breath he could no longer hold. He searched for Emma with his eyes and spotted her in the distance. She was still standing, weapon in hand, speckled with red. Their eyes met. He ran to her.
She saw him coming. Her breath was short, her body trembling despite herself. When he took her by the shoulders to look at her, she relaxed all at once. He said nothing. Neither did she. They were alive. That was all that mattered, for now.
Adam joined them soon after. He was covered in dirt and sweat, a thin line of blood running from his temple, following the curve of his scar like a gutter.
"Shit... you two alright?!"
Victor nodded, still holding Emma in his gaze.
"Yes."
Emma spoke, out of breath, needing to say it aloud.
"I struck at random."
"Better than nothing," Adam replied, panting. "You stabbed a guy with Robin's knife. He would've been proud. I'm proud."
She blushed but didn't answer. Her hands were still shaking.
Victor took a slow breath.
"Edric's hurt."
"I know," Adam said. "I'll check on him."
He turned and headed toward the wounded, already being gathered by Aldous.
Emma and Victor stood there a while longer, side by side, in the midst of crushed ferns.
---
They didn't stop right away.
Aldous swept the area with his eyes, jaw clenched. Then he raised a fist.
"We move. A bit further," he barked.
No question of lingering here. Too risky. Too much fresh blood on the ground. Others could be lurking. Waiting.
As the first members of the group began to move again, Adam caught up to Edric, who had drifted slightly from the others, one hand pressed against his side. He was about to speak when he saw the arrow.
It was sticking out from the top of Edric's back, lodged deep in his left shoulder blade. The black shaft still quivered faintly with each of his steps.
Adam frowned and stepped in, voice sharp.
"Christ, Edric... you're bleeding."
The man turned his head, unfazed, his face already pale.
"Not now. We move first."
"It's deep."
"I know."
He wasn't shaking. But Adam saw it—the tightness in his jaw, the too-quick breaths. He was holding on through sheer will.
"We'll deal with me once the others are settled," Edric said, his tone sharp as a blade.
Adam wanted to argue, but thought better of it. With Edric, that was pointless.
He watched as Edric grabbed the shaft with a grunt and snapped it off in one harsh movement, teeth clenched. The rest stayed buried in his flesh, invisible, but still there.
So they moved on.
The injured were helped along. Weapons were packed into carts with hands still sticky from blood. Victor walked close to Edric, silent. He kept glancing at the dark stain spreading across his back. He wanted to say something, but didn't dare.
They eventually found a small clearing among the pines, halfway down a wooded slope. Sheltered, open. Wide enough for the group. This was it.
"We camp here," said Aldous. "Move fast. Wide circle. Central fire."
Orders flew. The movements were practiced, though slower now, dulled by fatigue and bruises. Mud clung to boots, muscles ached. Some set up a tent while others gathered dry wood.
Victor and Emma had settled a few paces from the fire being assembled. He'd dropped onto a mossy rock, still shaken. His breath had steadied, but tension lingered, wedged between his shoulder blades.
Adam joined them silently, then turned and made his way to Edric, who had sat down apart, leaning against a tree trunk.
"Let me see," he said.
Edric sighed, but didn't argue. He pulled aside the flaps of his leather jacket. The fabric was torn, soaked with dried blood. The arrow had embedded itself high in his left shoulder blade. The snapped shaft barely protruded.
Adam knelt, inspecting the wound with a practiced eye.
"We've got to get it out now. You've waited long enough."
"Do it," Edric growled through clenched teeth.
Adam took a short knife, heated it quickly over the fire, and returned. He placed a steady hand on Edric's right shoulder.
"You're gonna curse, but don't move."
He didn't give time for a reply.
He made a clean incision around the impact, exposing the flesh, then slowly pushed his fingers in. Edric arched his back, a rough groan tearing from his throat, but he didn't flinch. Adam pulled. The arrowhead slid out with a wet sound, trailed by a stream of blood.
Edric froze for a second, breath held, then let out a long, painful exhale.
Adam pressed a clean cloth against the wound.
"Gonna need stitches. You'll have one hell of a scar. Lucky for you, I'm a damn expert."
"What's one more…"
Victor watched from a distance. He had never seen a man stay so composed with a piece of wood in his back.
Emma, beside him, hadn't moved. She stared into the fire, face unreadable, but her knee trembled slightly.