Night had fallen. The fire crackled weakly at the center of the camp, casting flickering light across weary faces—sometimes warm, sometimes shadowed.
Victor had settled by a small rock, not far from the circle. He had barely eaten. His fingers toyed with a piece of bark, slowly crumbling it to dust, his mind still trapped in the battle. Emma had fallen asleep early, curled on a blanket nearby, exhausted by the day. Every sound—a footstep, a snapping branch—jolted Victor's thoughts into alertness.
He barely flinched, though, when a figure stepped in front of him.
"You're still awake?"
It was Edric. He stood stiffly, the wound in his shoulder carried with a feigned ease, but Victor noticed the way he lowered himself with more care than usual.
"No," Victor murmured.
"Good. We need to talk about the watch shifts for tonight."
Victor nodded and straightened slightly.
"Adam told me you're used to doing it in pairs. We can keep that."
Edric gave a brief nod but didn't respond right away. His gaze swept across the camp. The figures were slumped down now, either bundled in blankets or leaning against trunks. Some still whispered. Others had long since gone quiet.
Deran was there too, off to the side. He sat alone, a hood drawn over his face. He was casting sour glances around, arms crossed, simmering with frustration at being excluded from the fight. No one had given him a task. No one had looked for him.
Victor followed Edric's gaze.
"He's still here," he said.
"Yeah," Edric grunted. "For now."
A silence followed.
Then Edric turned to Victor.
"You didn't do too badly."
Victor pressed his lips together.
"I mostly didn't think. I just grabbed a sword from the cart like that would be enough."
"And it was."
Victor shrugged uncomfortably.
"I was scared. Mostly for Emma."
"That's normal. It's healthy."
Another pause.
Then Edric continued, voice lower:
"You did a bit of fencing, didn't you?"
"When I was a kid. A few years, like all the little nobles, I guess. Nothing serious."
"You hold the blade right. But you overthink. You back off when you should push forward. And you don't have the muscle to let your instincts make up for it."
Victor lowered his eyes, then looked up slowly.
"You mean... I should train?"
"I mean I can help you. If you want."
He saw a flicker of surprise in Victor's eyes. Then something calmer, more solemn.
"I'd like that."
Edric nodded slowly, as if it were obvious.
"Tomorrow. Early. My arm'll still hurt."
Victor smiled in spite of himself.
"Deal."
They sat for a while side by side, without speaking. This silence felt different. Not oppressive.
In the distance, Deran was tossing pebbles into the fire without aim, jaw clenched.
Edric was already awake when the sun rose. He waited near the circle, two worn swords leaning against a tree trunk. His own, and another—shorter, lighter.
"Catch. Let's see what you've got in you," he said without preamble.
Victor approached, still stiff from the day before. He grabbed the weapon, tested its weight and feel in his fingers. Then they began. Stances. Simple movements. Edric corrected him, demonstrated, repeated. He didn't say much. But his movements were clear.
A little farther away, Adam was adjusting his bow.
"Want to do a round?" he offered Emma.
She'd already tied her hair back, Robin's knife tucked at her belt.
"I'll head up the north ridge at some point. I want to check if there are still tracks up there."
Adam hesitated.
"Not too far. Not too long."
She nodded.
They set off together, boots pressing into the damp earth. Then their paths split—two lines diverging in the quiet.
Emma was walking alone now. The wind through the leaves seemed too quiet. There were no birds. Just a tension in the air, coiling in her muscles.
A crack.
She stopped.
And then that voice—slick and greasy—spilling out like a familiar threat:
"Nice spot for a walk, isn't it?"
Deran.
He emerged from behind a trunk, arms crossed, eyes clouded. His smile was fake, twisted, and his boots kicked up the mulch as he stepped closer.
"Saw you yesterday, playing all high and mighty. You think you're different? You're not, Emma."
"Leave me alone."
She gripped the knife in her palm, heart pounding.
"What you need is a real man. Not some boy playing prince."
She stepped back. He stepped forward.
"I saw the way you looked at me. You act like you don't want it, but you're just waiting for someone to teach you, aren't you?"
"Take one more step and I'll stab you."
He laughed. Harsh. Disgusting.
"You won't dare."
And he lunged.
The impact was brutal. He slammed her against a tree, hands already searching beneath her vest. She screamed, tried to punch, scratch—but he was stronger, heavier. He twisted her wrist until the knife fell. His breath stank of sweat and worse. Her knees buckled.
She screamed again. Thought she might black out. She thought of Robin. Of Victor. Of dying like this, defiled.
And then—chaos.
Adam.
He came out of nowhere, slamming into Deran like a wild beast. The blow he dealt knocked him to the ground. Adam didn't shout. He didn't speak. He hit. Again and again, until Deran stopped moving.
Only then did he turn to Emma.
She was slumped at the base of the tree, her eyes hollow.
"Emma…"
He knelt carefully.
"Look at me. Are you hurt?"
She shook her head. It wasn't true. She hurt everywhere, but there were no visible wounds. Just fear. Fear so sharp it burned in her muscles.
"You're safe now. It's over."
She nodded slowly.
Adam stood, grabbed Deran by the collar, and dragged him through the brambles. Still without a word.
When they returned to the camp, silence dropped like a stone. No one spoke. No one moved.
Emma walked, supported by Adam. Her face was pale, her gaze fixed. Deran, dragged behind like a sack of filth, was barely conscious.
Victor leapt up without thinking. Blood rushed in his ears.
"Emma?"
She looked up, dazed, and collapsed against him without a word. He caught her just in time, held her close, tight, tighter still. His heart was racing. He felt her fingers curl into his back, shaking. And inside him, something primal began to rise—a brutal, wordless fury.
Then he saw. Deran.
And he understood.
Victor slowly loosened his embrace. Emma didn't want to let go. He did, reluctantly. Then Edric approached. His eyes were black as night.
"What did he do?" he asked, low and tight.
Victor opened his mouth—but there was no need.
Edric had seen. He understood. And he didn't hold back.
The punch came without a word. His right arm—his only usable one—lashed out like a spring. His fist landed squarely on Deran's jaw. A sharp crack. The body crumpled, spat a tooth, blood trailing from his lip.
"If he moves again, I'll cut his throat," Edric growled. "I swear it."
He meant it. Deep inside, an old, bitter hatred stirred. It was always the same. The ones who said "it's just how it is in war." That you could take what you wanted—especially women. He'd always found it monstrous. But back then, he'd stayed silent.
Not today. Not this time.
Aldous arrived, calm, cold.
"We tie him up. When we leave tomorrow, we abandon him. Sack over his head, hands and feet bound. He deserves nothing more."
No one objected. Even the veterans looked away.
They tied Deran on the spot, seated at the base of a young tree, hands bound behind him. He was no longer a man. Just something foul to discard.
Victor was still holding Emma, kneeling against him. He hadn't done anything. He hadn't been there when it mattered. Hadn't had the chance to punish Deran himself. And that— that ran through his veins like poison.
Later, as the light faded and the camp slowly folded into sleep, Victor went looking for Adam. He found him alone, on the edge of the woods. The dying light traced the lines of his tired face.
Victor stepped forward, then stopped. Hesitated a second. And without a word, pulled him into a hug.
Not a clumsy one. A real one. Rough. Honest. Necessary.
— Thank you, he murmured. I wasn't there. Without you… I wouldn't have Emma. I'd have nothing.
Adam hugged him back. One hand on his shoulder. The other to his back.
— It's alright. Don't worry.
Victor closed his eyes for a moment. There was still blood on his tunic. But something new had taken root in his chest. A loyalty. Raw and unshakable.
The next morning stretched slowly. Preparations were quiet. Wounds were dressed, packs gathered, carts pulled closer to the path.
Emma had barely slept. Too many thoughts. Too many images. But Victor had stayed with her through the night, not saying a word too many. His presence had kept her afloat. Just enough. He hadn't let go of her for a second. He'd fallen asleep holding her, arms crossed over her like a barrier.
Not far away, Deran was still tied to the tree. Arms bound, sack over his head. He had started to understand that this wasn't a game. That this time, there would be no forgiveness.
— Hey, he called, his voice low at first. Hey, Aldous? Can I talk? It's not… it's not what you think.
No one answered. No one even looked. He tried again.
— I— I wasn't myself, I'd been drinking… It was all a blur, I just wanted to talk to Emma, she screamed for no reason!
Édric clenched his jaw so tight his teeth nearly cracked. He turned sharply and walked away from the fire, fists balled.
He could have given him another beating.
Adam kept his back turned. Pretending to sort arrows, though his hands were trembling. He said nothing. But it cost him.
The others ignored him, too. The older women. Even those who'd once shared a fire with him, laughing, drinking. It was over. There was nothing left to say.
Deran began to feel it.
The shift.
His breathing quickened under the sack, his body twitching.
— You can't do this to me. I'm one of you, for fuck's sake! You're not really leaving me here, are you? You're not— you're not gonna kill me like this, right?
Still nothing.
So he screamed.
— She's the bitch, goddammit! She's fucking the little prince, playing you all from the start! Pretending she's a victim, but she loves it, huh? Huh, Emma? You act all pure, but you just need a real man!
Silence.
Emma didn't even turn her head. Not a single muscle moved. She watched the flames like they could burn him in her place.
Aldous rose slowly, jaw locked. He stepped forward with heavy intent, hands ready to shut him up. One last time.
But Deran fell silent.
His body tensed. As if he understood, too late.
Victor had just arrived behind him. A heavy stone in hand. And he brought it down without a word.
Crack.
Just one blow. Not fatal. Not too hard. But enough.
Deran collapsed onto his side, the sack slipping halfway from his head, a thin line of blood trailing from his temple. Dazed.
Victor stood over him, breathing hard, hand still clenched around the stone.
— I've heard enough.
No one moved.
Édric, farther off, looked over his shoulder. He blinked, exhaled through his nose. And slowly, one corner of his mouth lifted. A half-smile. Surprised. But genuinely pleased.
Emma felt something release inside her. A deep, buried tension. It wasn't the shock. Not the violence. It was… the certainty. Victor had acted. Out of anger, yes. But also out of instinct. For her.
And that warmed her chest.
It wasn't revenge. It was protection. Instinctive. Unquestionable.
And maybe, deep down, it was all she had needed.