I left the camp behind, stepping into the wilderness. The night was thick—pitch black. Clouds choked the sky, heavy with the scent of rain, swallowing even the faintest glimmers of light. My eyes struggled to adjust.

  I moved carefully, navigating through unseen terrain, until I found what I was looking for—a small clearing, wide open and exposed. The trees loomed on all sides, their jagged forms shifting in the dark, whispering secrets in the wind. It was dangerous to be out here, but danger wasn’t what brought me.

  Tonight was Wrakin, the second day of the week. The first of Karrim, the seventh month. The day spring began.

  But that wasn’t why I came.

  This was the day I was reborn.

  I didn’t remember my past. I only knew what I’d been told—that I had been dying, fever-ridden and slipping away. And for reasons unknown, the Coldians took me in. Changed me. Reforged me into one of their own. They said amnesia was part of it—transformation, rebirth, reincarnation. Call it what you will.

  But deep inside, I still hungered for my past.

  So every year, on this night, I came alone. And I sang.

  A song.

  The only thing I remembered from before.

  I didn’t know why. Maybe I hoped it would bring something back—a fragment, a face, a name. Maybe I had a family. Friends. A lover. A life stolen from me, lingering just beyond my grasp.

  So I sang:

  Sleep, my child, so soft and bright,

  While moonlight dims in velvet night.

  It slumbers now in silver deep,

  As you drift to dream and sleep.

  Rest, my star, let whispers weave,

  Of ancient winds and golden leaves.

  The moon will wake when dawn is new,

  And so shall wisdom grow in you.

  Rise, my child, with morning’s light,

  Your heart is strong, your soul takes flight.

  Like moon that climbs the endless skies,

  You shall shine as years arise.

  The melody hung in the air, swallowed by the trees, lost in the dark.

  A lullaby.

  Had someone sung it to me? A mother? A father? Or—Cold One forbid—had I once sung it to a child of my own?

  The thought sat heavy in my chest.

  I turned back toward camp.

  Leon was asleep, despite all his talk of fate keeping him awake. Manach, on the other hand, snored loud enough to be mistaken for a dying boar or a bear in its death throes—either worked.

  I dropped to the ground and let exhaustion take me.

  No dreams.

  At least, none I could remember.

  I woke to the scent of black tea and fresh-cut apples.

  Manach sat nearby, stripped down to his undershirt, methodically polishing his daggers. His arrows lay arranged in precise lines, each fletched by his own hand. His bow—a weapon he claimed to dislike but wielded better than any man I’d ever met—rested beside him, strung and ready.

  Leon, on the other hand, knelt motionless. Eyes shut. Hands loose at his sides. Silent. He wasn't sleeping. He wasn't even breathing in any way I could hear. Meditation? Prayer? Something else?

  Manach glanced up. Grinning.

  “Rise and shine.”

  I stretched, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “Morning. You good?”

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  “Oh, I’m great.” He flicked a dagger into its sheath with practiced ease. “Leon filled me in. Can’t wait to get my hands dirty.”

  Of course, he was eager. Manach loved the fight. He didn’t take prisoners. Neither did I—not when the blood started flowing. Whatever else we were, on the battlefield, we were a symphony of death and slaughter.

  I nodded toward Leon. “How long’s the mage been like that?”

  “Three hours, give or take,” Manach said, scratching his head. “But something’s off about him.”

  I raised a brow. “Off how?”

  Manach hesitated, then shrugged. “I tried to kick him.”

  Of course he did.

  “Tried?”

  “Tried. First time, I slipped.” He frowned, recalling it. “Second time, I missed.”

  I smirked. “Maybe you’re hungover.”

  “No,” he said flatly. “I tried twenty times.”

  I blinked. “You missed... twenty times?”

  “Out of those twenty?” He counted on his fingers. “Missed two. The other times? Slipped. A leaf got in my face. A damn bird flew into me. Shit like that.”

  I couldn’t hold back a laugh.

  “Maybe I should take the bow.” I smirked. “I mean, if you can’t hit a motionless target with twenty tries, what hope do you have at range?”

  Manach’s grin flickered. He stood fast, twirling a dagger in his fingers.

  “I should cut you open right now.”

  “You and I both know,” I grinned wider, “that you’d miss.”

  He struck fast, a sharp arc from right to left. I didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. His blade whispered past my throat, leaving the faintest of cuts. A warning.

  Then he smirked.

  “But you get it, don’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  Leon stirred. Opened his eyes. He smiled, far too kind for a man who unnerved even Manach.

  “Apologies, gentlemen. I hope I didn’t cause any trouble.”

  “You just stood there,” Manach muttered, sheathing his blade. “The trees were more of a damn problem than you.”

  I stretched my arms. “Drink up. Eat up. Leon, get your things. We’re moving.”

  “No.”

  Both Manach and I turned to him at the same time.

  “No?”

  Leon sat back, resting his hands on his knees. “I’ll stay. I am not a fighter, nor would I be of use in battle.”

  Honest. And my gut told me he meant it.

  I turned to Manach. “He’d only slow us down.”

  Manach nodded. “Agreed.” Then, to Leon, “Tell us, human. Where exactly are these bandits?”

  Leon unrolled a map and pointed. Our position. The camp.

  “It’s a cave entrance near the water,” he explained. “They have guards outside. Lookouts. Scouts. Hunting parties. They’re well-organized.”

  Manach’s grin widened. “All that?”

  “How many?” I asked.

  Leon hesitated. “I don’t know for sure. Perhaps thirty. Maybe more.”

  Manach clicked his tongue. “I like those odds.”

  I clapped him on the shoulder. “Then let’s move.”

  We turned, leaving Leon behind. He looked like he wanted to say something—good luck, maybe. Goodbye.

  But we were already gone.

  We moved in silence.

  Armored. Geared. Weapons ready.

  My shield rested over my shoulder, poised for a swift draw with a single slide down my arm. In my grip, my sword—a Coldian blade, forged from deathplate and coated in sheer-cold runes. When activated, it shimmered with a pale, blue glow, channeling the infamous Coldian Slice—a blade-stroke so sharp it cleaved the air itself, sending out a magic-laced arc that could cut at range as easily as it did up close.

  Hours stretched between us and the camp, but readiness wasn’t an option. It was instinct.

  The information we had was simple. But to me, it told the whole story.

  Hunters. Poachers. That meant they had a supply chain—hides, meat, coin. They weren’t just surviving; they were profiting.

  Lookouts. They wanted to stay hidden. Secluded. Protected.

  Guards. A vanguard. That meant they weren’t just passing through. They were here to stay.

  Scouts. They weren’t just defending their ground—they were mapping it. Either for security. Or plunder. Probably both.

  This wasn’t some ramshackle band of outlaws. This was organized. Structured. A company with a purpose. Mercenaries, maybe. Or something worse.

  Then there was the wildcard.

  Leon’s friend. His bodyguard. A presumed royal.

  If these bandits had taken him by mistake, they were in over their heads—either scrambling to negotiate a ransom or figuring out how to disappear. But the likelier truth? They knew exactly who they had. They had tracked him. Followed him. This wasn’t some random capture. There was a bigger game at play.

  The weight of my race, my Empire, sat heavily on this field. The world knew what happened when a Coldian was killed. There had never been an instance where it went unnoticed. Or unpunished.

  I could parley. I could leverage our names and our nation.

  But Manach?

  Manach didn’t parley.

  Which meant this was going to end in blood.

  I whispered to him as we walked.

  “Manach. We clear the outside. Fast and clean. I approach alone. You shoot from cover.”

  He nodded.

  “When the outer guards are dead, we go in blind. But first, we take out the lookouts. Then we hunt the hunters. We don’t leave scouts alive. No one watches our backs.”

  Manach raised two fingers. His index. His middle.

  Then, he lowered the middle one.

  I murmured, “Agreed.”

  It was our silent sign. We split up. But not truly.

  He moved first. Manach was fast. Acrobatic. His armor was lighter, his steps near silent. He would go ahead, cutting them down in the dark, while I made noise—a decoy, drawing their blades and arrows toward me.

  Like a patient predator, Manach would thin the herd.

  And I would butcher the rest.

  I moved in close. Too close.

  The whispers came first—low voices, unintelligible. Then, a man stepped forward. Human. Leather armor. Twin daggers. He wasn’t alone. The fact that he dared approach a Coldian meant there were at least two more in the brush, flanking me.