The dead burned as names were spoken, oer another.

  The Sostrist priests called them with voices like cracked bells, each sylble hammering grief deeper into the ribs of the living. The Animist priests followed, whispering rites over the pyres in the old toheir voices swallowed by the crackle of fire and the low keening of mourners. The air stank of burning flesh, woodsmoke, and bitter herbs meant to guide the dead beyond the veil.

  Elderwynd had no patience for theological debates. Faith ractical here. You prayed to the Emperor because his reach was long. You hohe old spirits because they had never abandoned you. The rest of the Imperium s this tradi. The Valeans saw no tradi at all.

  Wulfric stood at the edge of the firelight, arms crossed, jaw tight. He listeo the names, felt them crawl under his skile i of his stomach like stones. He kneas responsible for this. And wheurned, he would kill the bastard himself.

  “You’re brooding again.”

  Garett’s voice was easy, but his stance wasn’t. Even behind the visor of his helm, Wulfric could tell he was watg him too closely.

  In another life, Garett had been alone. A man of numbers, of ledgers, of responsibilities that meant nothing in the end. He had no brothers, no rades—only the dull, stant panionship ret. But here, in this war-torn world of fire and steel, Wulfric stood beside him, burdened by his own ghosts. Garett wao reach out, to say something, to make it different this time.

  “I brood. It’s what I do.”

  “Fair enough.” A pause. “You want to talk about it?”

  Wulfric exhaled, long and slow. “No.”

  “Alright.” Another pause. “You want to get drunk instead?”

  This time, Wulfric huffed a ugh. “Yeah. That I do.”

  The town was a ruin, but for tonight, there was food, drink, and fire.

  Kegs from Vallorien had been cracked open, the thick ale flowing freely. They had butchered foats and a dozen snatchfowls—scaly, mean little bastards that tasted better than they looked. The smell of roasti filled the air, mingling with the tang of blood still drying in the dirt.

  Wulfric drank like he was trying to drown something. Garett, still helmed, drank slower, measuring the room. They toasted the Helmed Man, the town’s mysterious savior, and Garett pyed along, though the irony nearly choked him.

  Lyra nudged his arm, her voice lilting with mischief. "You know, it's not every day a masked warrior saves a town."

  Garett exhaled, his smirk hiddeh the helm. "Oh? And what does o for such heroics?"

  She leaned in just enough that he could hear the teasing ione. "Maybe I'll show you—if you e with me."

  His brow arched beh the metal. "That so? Lead the way, then."

  Lyra led him away from the hrough winding dirt paths and half-colpsed houses, until they reached a loree by a creek. Its roots curled into the water, tangled and a. The moonlight turhe ripples silver.

  She crossed her arms. “You don’t talk about yourself.”

  “Not much to say.”

  She gave him a look. “You fight like a warlord and sulk like a poet, but there’s nothing to say?”

  He exhaled. “Fine.”

  He looked at the sky, as if searg for something. “I was a man of numbers once. A man of ledgers, of deadlines, of things that don’t matter. I tracked things. But I never lived.”

  Lyra tilted her head. “And now?”

  He looked at her then, really looked at her. “Now, I live.”

  A pause. A shift in the air. Then, a smirk tugged at his lips.

  “And if I’m being ho—” he stepped closer, voice dropping—“I only did all this so I could get under your skirt.”

  Lyra punched him. Hard.

  Then, seeing the amused glint in his eyes, she ughed.

  The kiss wasn’t an act. The moment stretched betweeaut and breathless, as moonlight traced the curve of Lyra’s lips and the delicate slope of her throat. Garett’s gaze swept over her—how the silvery glow illumihe soft lines of her colrbohe way her hair caught the night breeze like strands of woven starlight.

  Lyra, in tur her pulse qui. His pierg blue eyes, cool as the vast expanse of the os, pinned her in pce. A, behind that unwavering gaze, she saw something else—heat, hunger, a fire barely tained beh his steady exterior.

  Images fshed in her mind, unbidden. The Helmed Man, stripped of armor, skin glistening with sweat, muscles taut from battle. She swallowed hard. The fantasy had been harmless before. But now, standing here, his fingers just barely grazing her wrist—he was close enough to be real.

  Garett smirked, a knowing gleam in his eyes. "You’re staring."

  Lyra blinked, caught, and scoffed to cover her embarrassment. "You wish."

  But when he dipped his head lower, his breath warm against her cheek, she fot how to breathe. The kiss came slow, deliberate—aability rather than an act. And when their lips met, the world faded, leaving only the fire that burned between them.

  Behind them, hidden among the trees—

  Leona scowled, arms crossed. "What the hell are you doing here, Anya? This isn't your business."

  Anya, perfectly posed as always, tilted her head, the ghost of a smirk pying at her lips. "I could ask you the same thing. But I suppose watg over our dear Garett is your sworn duty, isn’t it?"

  Leona narrowed her eyes. "That’s right. And Nyx is here for Lyra. What’s your excuse?"

  Anya’s expression didn’t ge, but a keen observer might have noticed the faiwitch at the er of her mouth. "Let’s just say... I like to keep a close eye on valuable assets."

  Nyx chuckled, silver eyes glinting. "Admit it, you’re obsessed with him."

  Anya scoffed. "Obsessed? Please. I am simply—"

  Leona cut in, deadpan. "Always vely around when he's shirtless."

  Anya's cool demeanor cracked for half a sed. "ce."

  Nyx grinned. "Sure. And I suppose you just happeo be here, in the middle of nowhere, watg him get all romantider the moonlight?"

  Anya folded her arms, feigning indifference. "If you must know, I was ensuring our esteemed Helmed Man wasn't being lured into some promising situation."

  Leona rolled her eyes. "Yeah, real noble of you."

  Nyx sighed dramatically. "Shall we pce bets on how long before they stop talking?"

  Leona groaned. "Ugh, I do not hat mental image."

  Anya, eyes locked on the couple, murmured under her breath, "I do."

  Leona sighed. “Well. That’s happening.”

  Anya snorted. “Took him long enough.”

  Nyx, watg with her silver eyes, smirked. “Shall we pce bets?”

  The town of Elderwynd stirred with life once more.

  Adventurers from Vellmont, Kaelhurst, and Bck Hollow arrived to help with rebuilding, reinf the town’s defewo Lumiurrets were being assembled to bolster the town guard, and farmers had begun pnting again. The Vale had seen its share of war, but it endured.

  At the gates, Wulfric csped Garett’s forearm in a warririp, then pulled him into a brotherly half-hug. His clothes were still smudged with dirt and sweat from rebuilding efforts. "You ever find yourself needing a real drink, Helmed Man, e to Bck Hollow. We'll see if you hold your liquor."

  He grihen added, "And maybe find you a woman. Hell, the whores of Bck Hollow have the least hairy ts in the Vale. Might be worth the trip."

  They ughed, the rough camaraderie of warriors unspoken but uood.

  Nearby, Cedric hobbled forward on a crutch. He studied Garett for a long moment. "Seen my daughter tely?"

  Garett stiffened. Sweat beaded under his helm.

  Leona, Nyx, and Anya sighed in unison.

  Jerik, Brenn, and Brody exged gnces, intrigued.

  Nissa adjusted her gsses, her expression unreadable—but her lenses fogged ever so slightly.

  Garett winced. "Gods, I need another drink."