{The land remembers what men try to forget.}

  The snow had thinned to a steady drift by the time they left Tomas’s family cottage behind. Smoke rose faintly from the chimney, coiling up into the grey sky like a fragile tether holding the small home to the world. It was one of the few dwellings that remained near the estate—half an hour’s walk south of the scorched remains of the Baron’s manor The only sign of life in this hollowed land. Around them, abandoned homes sagged under their blankets of snow, doors hanging open like slack jaws. This was a place gutted twice—first by fire, then by fear.

  Kaavi walked at the front now, eyes locked ahead. He hadn't said much since leaving the boy’s home, only a brief exchange with the parents to confirm what they'd heard. The Baron had survived. He’d retreated southeast, toward the county of Branwyke, where the local garrison had been reinforced in recent months. That was where they were headed now.

  Viktor stayed quiet beside Gavril, pulling his cloak tighter as a gust of wind slid down from the ridgeline.

  Gavril broke the silence first. “Never seen a place gutted like that and left standing.” His axe gleamed dully at his side; its edge nicked from prying open a locked door in the ruins—one that had held nothing but ashes. “They meant to send a message, not just kill.”

  Kaavi didn’t turn. “They succeeded.”

  The snow muted everything—footsteps, breath, the creak of boots and leather. It wasn’t silence. It was a hush. A forced quiet, like the land itself was holding its breath.

  Viktor glanced back once, toward the black shape of the manor’s upper walls, just barely visible between the trees. He couldn’t shake the image: scorched stone, doors torn from hinges, snow mixed with ash. It reminded him of Oleg’s body back in the village—how violence had its own kind of signature. Not just in blood, but in absence. In what it left behind.

  "How do you think they knew about the layout?" Viktor finally asked.

  Gavril shook his head. “Could’ve been one of the servants. Maybe a guard who was bought off. Someone who knew the patrol routes, the hidden passages—hell, even the food schedules.”

  "They didn't just hit it fast. They hit it smart," Kaavi said quietly. "Came at night. Slipped past the outer patrols. No warning flares. Straight to the weak points."

  Viktor looked up. “A suicide mission, though? Why burn the whole place?”

  Kaavi stopped walking, his breath steaming in front of him.

  “To send a message,” he said again. “This wasn’t conquest. It was disruption. Disorient the Baron. Cut him off. Make the people here feel abandoned. If they’d wanted the manor for themselves, they wouldn’t have set it on fire.”

  Gavril exhaled slowly. “They were a splinter group. Maybe not even a full company. Just ten or twelve men, right?”

  Kaavi nodded. “That’s what Tomas’s parents said. The boy didn’t see the fighting—he hid when the shouting started. But his father helped pull bodies out of the snow. All of them dead. Every attacker.”

  “They didn’t care about living through it,” Viktor murmured.

  “No,” Kaavi said. “They cared about wounding something bigger than themselves.”

  They resumed walking. The trail curved southeast, dropping into a hollow where the snow deepened and the trees pressed tighter. Viktor let his thoughts wander, as they often did when the path stretched quiet and the trees felt close. He thought about the Baron. About Darian, the dying soldier they’d met days ago. About the satchel Kaavi still carried tucked beneath his cloak. A message. A warning. One the Baron needed to hear.

  They passed an old milestone—half-buried in ice, the inscription too faded to read. But the way the snow banked around it told Kaavi that they were still on the right track. Another hour and they'd reach the road to Branwyke.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Suddenly Kaavi stopped again.

  Gavril raised a brow. “You hear something?”

  Kaavi didn’t answer right away. He crouched, brushing snow from the base of a pine.

  Tracks. Barely visible, but there—lighter impressions, maybe a few hours old. Boots. Several. Not villagers. Too wide a gait, too clean.

  “Recent movement,” he said, motioning to the others. “Four, maybe five men. Not running, but not meandering either.”

  Gavril crouched beside him. “Scouts?”

  Kaavi frowned. “More refuges or stragglers from the attack. Could be retreating east, same as us.”

  “Think they saw us?”

  “No. If they had, we wouldn’t be talking right now.”

  Viktor's hand moved to the knife at his belt again, fingers brushing the hilt.

  “We follow?” Gavril asked.

  Kaavi shook his head. “No. We keep course. Branwyke’s too close to risk a fight here.”

  Gavril looked like he wanted to argue but thought better of it.

  They moved on. The wind began to shift again, carrying with it the scent of pine sap and something sharper—distant smoke, long-cooled. Viktor found his footing more carefully now, hyper-aware of every sound. Every crack in the ice, every gust through the branches overhead.

  It wasn’t long before the trail widened into a frozen road—packed earth beneath the snow, framed by tall pines on either side. Kaavi called for a brief stop. He knelt again, this time pulling a small roll of parchment from his satchel.

  “Map from Darian,” he said, unrolling it. “Branwyke’s here—four leagues east.”

  Viktor studied the marks. "And that’s where the Baron is?"

  “According to Tomas’s parents,” Gavril said. “They said he moved there two days after the fire. Took whoever he could. Civilians are heading there too. Seems the safest bet.”

  Kaavi nodded. “We go and deliver Darian’s message and leave as soon as possible.”

  The next hours passed slowly. The snow continued, never quite easing but never worsening either. A stubborn, quiet fall that settled in the folds of their cloaks and turned their beards stiff. By late afternoon, the sun had become a pale smear behind the clouds.

  When the outskirts of Branwyke finally appeared—low fences, wooden watchtowers, faint torchlight in the haze—it felt more like a reprieve than a destination.

  The guard at the gatehouse didn’t ask questions. He saw Kaavi’s face, his posture, and simply waved them through.

  “They’ll be in the eastern holdfast,” he said. “Barracks and war office. Tell them you came from Whitehold.”

  They did just that.

  The holdfast was a squat stone building built into a hill; its walls old but maintained. Warmth spilled from within—firelight and the low murmur of voices. Inside, soldiers moved briskly, tending weapons, distributing rations, passing scrolls between rooms. It was a place bracing for something.

  A lean man in a captain’s cloak approached them, eyeing the satchel.

  "You from the northern outpost?" he asked.

  Kaavi nodded. “Carrying a message from Commander Darian Vale. He’s dead.”

  The man’s expression flickered—pain, quickly masked.

  “Come,” he said. “The Baron will want to hear it himself.”

  —--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  The room was quiet when they entered. Baron stood near the hearth; arms folded behind his back. He looked older than Viktor remembered from the stories—tired eyes, greying beard, but still tall and broad-shouldered. A man not broken by what had happened, but changed.

  He turned when Kaavi stepped in.

  "You're not one of mine," he said simply.

  Kaavi inclined his head. “I am just a traveller and I found one of your commander “Darian” wounded, west of Whistler’s Rise. He asked me to bring this.”

  He handed over the satchel.

  The Baron took it. His hands were rough. Scarred. He opened the flap slowly, as though the weight inside was heavier than it looked.

  Inside were papers. Sealed letters. A leather-bound report.

  The Baron read quickly at first—then again, slower. By the end, his shoulders had sagged.

  “Vale knew,” he muttered. “He saw it coming. And we still weren’t ready.”

  He looked up, gaze sharper now.

  “Did you see the manor?”

  Kaavi nodded. “Yes, we saw. We arrived two days ago. The place was burned.”

  “What do you think was the objective?” asked Baron.

  “Controlled attack pattern. They hit the archives, the inner quarters, the communication towers. Avoided the barracks. Strategic. There was an informant.”

  The Baron’s jaw tightened. “I suspected. That’s why I left. Couldn’t risk a second wave.”

  “They were ten or twelve men,” Kaavi continued. “Killed themselves before capture. But they took some of yours with them.”

  The Baron looked down at the satchel. “They wanted chaos. And they got it.”

  He looked to Kaavi again. “What’s your name?”

  “Kaavi.”

  The Baron nodded slowly. “You’ve done more for me than some of my own men. Stay the night. Eat. Rest. We’ll talk in the morning. There’s more I need to know.”

  Kaavi bowed again. Gavril gave a quick nod. Viktor stayed still, just watching. Studying.

  The Baron hadn’t flinched once. Not at the news, not at the loss. But there was something simmering beneath the surface—a pressure in his voice. A promise of retaliation.

  —--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  That night, they were given beds in the soldiers’ quarters—thin mattresses, but warm. Real food. A basin of water to clean the road off their faces.

  Viktor lay awake for a while, staring at the wooden beams above. He thought about Darian. About the boy Tomas. About the ones who’d died at the manor. He didn’t have the words for what he felt—not anger, not grief exactly. Just a quiet understanding.

  The world was moving. Shifting. Lines were being drawn. And they were standing right on the edge of something vast.

  Beside him, Kaavi sat cross-legged, eyes closed.

  “Do you think it’s over?” Viktor asked softly.

  Kaavi opened his eyes.

  “No,” he said. “It’s just beginning.”

  !

  Viktor's Wrath. Your support means the world to me. If you're enjoying the story, please consider leaving a comment with your thoughts—I’d love to hear what you liked, what stood out, or even what you'd like to see more (or less) of in future chapters.