The battlefield was a somber tableau of sacrifice and victory. Warriors from the coalition tribes gathered their fallen comrades, their faces etched with grief and determination. Makeshift pyres were constructed as each tribe honored their dead with quiet rituals, their spirits carried on smoke trails to the skies. The mingling scents of incense and burning wood filled the air, a stark reminder of the cost of freedom.

  Amidst the mourning, there was joy as captives were reunited with their tribes. Tearful embraces spread across the camp, voices choked with emotion as families were restored. Bonds of friendship and kinship were reignited, their strength renewed after enduring such harrowing circumstances.

  Ryden stumbled toward the camp, his steps uneven but driven by sheer determination. His face was swollen and bruised, his clothes torn and stained, but his gaze was steady, fixed ahead. As he emerged from the dim light of the plains, Rice and Darius spotted him, their expressions shifting from worry to relief in an instant.

  "Ryden!" Rice shouted, rushing forward, skidding to a halt just as Ryden's knees buckled slightly.

  Darius was at his side in moments, his strong hands steadying Ryden before he could fall. His sharp eyes quickly assessed the extent of Ryden's injuries, and his expression darkened. "What the hell happened to you?" he demanded, his voice low and furious.

  Ryden managed a lopsided grin, but it faltered as he stepped aside to reveal Lucy standing quietly behind him. Her small frame was barely visible, her face pale and tear-streaked, her bruises and burns stark under the flickering firelight and one of her beautiful green eyes still swollen shut.

  "I'm fine," Ryden said hoarsely, his voice cracking. "And Lucy's safe—that's all that matters."

  Lucy's single green eye darted between Rice and Darius before returning to Ryden. She stepped forward hesitantly, her trembling voice breaking the tense silence. "I… I almost killed you."

  Ryden immediately crouched down, ignoring the sharp pain in his body as he placed his hands gently on her shoulders. "No," he interrupted firmly, his voice surprisingly steady despite the emotion behind it. "She almost made you do it. You didn't do anything wrong. Do you hear me?"

  Lucy's lip quivered as tears welled up in her eyes. "But I—"

  "No," Ryden said again, shaking his head. His voice softened, his eyes locking onto hers with unwavering sincerity. "You didn't. And… I've realized something. I've been putting all my guilt onto you, trying to take responsibility for something that you never asked for. That wasn't fair to you."

  He paused, his voice catching for a moment. "But that doesn't change this, Lucy. I made a promise to your father, and it's not because of guilt anymore. It's because I want to. Rain or shine, no matter what happens, I'll be there for you. I'll protect you with my life."

  Lucy stared at him, her expression crumbling as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. With a sob, she threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. "I miss them," she whispered through her tears. "I miss them so much."

  Ryden wrapped his arms around her gently, holding her as she cried. "I know," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I miss them too."

  Behind them, Rice and Darius exchanged a glance. Neither spoke, but the unspoken understanding between them was clear. They stepped back slightly, giving the two space for a few minutes.

  Rice let out a long breath, his grin returning as he clapped Ryden on the back—gently, given Ryden's battered state. "Good to have you back, man. But seriously, how did this happen to you?"

  Ryden gestured vaguely toward the remnants of the battle, his eyes narrowing in confusion. "No, what… how did all this happen?" His gaze swept over the camp, the bound prisoners, and the coalition of tribes gathered in somber clusters.

  Rice laughed, the sound a mix of triumph and sheepishness. "Funny story," he said, scratching the back of his head. "So, remember the original plan? Lure the Stone Hoof tribe out with the promise of resources, sneak the captives out, and maybe—just maybe—avoid a bloodbath?"

  Ryden gave a slow nod, his expression skeptical. "Yeah, that plan. What happened?"

  "Well," Rice continued, his grin growing, "we may have had to, uh, improvise. After meeting some escapees, we went to their tribes and begged for help. At first, only the Iron Fang tribe agreed—loyal folks, by the way. Then we won over the Thunderstrider tribe by promising to teach them how to tame horses. I owe the Storm Scale tribe leader a private spirit lesson, and the Ash Coil tribe came on board once the majority of the big four tribes were in. The rest? They followed once the big four gave their blessing."

  Darius chimed in, arms crossed as he leaned against a nearby post. "Turns out the Blood Talon and Stone Hoof tribes were hated by pretty much everyone. We just gave them the push they needed to unite."

  Rice nodded toward the center of the camp, where Gastrar and Eris sat bound and guarded, their faces dark with defeat. "And look at them now. I guess that's karma for you," Rice said, his voice carrying a sharp edge.

  Ryden remained quiet for a moment, his gaze lingering on the mourning warriors scattered among the coalition. Some wept over fallen comrades, others stood in silent reflection, their weapons still clutched in trembling hands. He finally broke the silence, his voice low. "I thought we all agreed that giving more weapons and technology to tribes was a bad idea. Why did you arm another tribe, Rice?"

  Rice hesitated, rubbing his neck as he considered his response. "They wanted to fight too, Ryden. They wanted to free their loved ones. What were we supposed to do? Say no?"

  Ryden's eyes narrowed. "We would've done that anyways."

  "Would we have?" Rice shot back, his tone sharper now. "Because from what I can tell, we're damn lucky they came in to help us. And plus, that girl—Eris? She needed to go down. Do you think we could've managed this without them? We can regret our actions later, but we can't wallow in inaction because of our fear of not making the right choice."

  Ryden turned away, his gaze sweeping across the camp. He saw a Thunderstrider warrior silently burying a fallen comrade, the horse spirit of the deceased flickering faintly before disappearing into the night. Nearby, an Iron Fang woman clutched a bloodied pendant to her chest, her sobs audible over the crackling fires. The aftermath of the battle weighed heavily on him.

  "You may be right," Ryden said finally, his voice quiet. "Perhaps these tribes do deserve the chance to stand on equal footing. But we shouldn't be playing god without understanding the consequences."

  Rice sighed, his voice softer but still firm. "The consequences?" He gestured broadly to the camp and the surrounding devastation. "Nobody knows the consequences. The only one who would know is—well—God. And you already said we're not gods."

  He stepped closer, meeting Ryden's eyes with uncharacteristic seriousness. "So if we're not gods, and apparently we can't even give people the things we were sent her for, then who are we?"

  Darius interrupted softly, his voice steady but carrying the weight of his exhaustion. "We're nothing. We're broken men who were sent here for our skills. Three guys who can't even fight our own battles." He paused, his gaze sweeping over the smoldering battlefield and the tired faces of the warriors around them. "But look at us. We're also the same guys who saved hundreds from starvation. The same guys who gave people the ability to fight—gave them the ability to fight off monsters, to defend their homes."

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  He turned his sharp gaze to Ryden. "I am tired of you thinking that we're responsible for every single thing that happens as a result of our actions. And I'm tired of you"—he shifted his attention to Rice—"thinking this is just a simple job of spreading knowledge."

  Darius exhaled deeply, rubbing the back of his neck as the tension of unspoken truths seeped into the air. "These are humans. Living, breathing, with souls and dreams. They are so complex that we will never truly understand or predict them. We were never meant to be their leaders. If anything, all we can do is give them a little push. That's it."

  He paused, his voice softening but no less resolute. "I can't tell you what to do, or what's the right method. But I can tell you this: we have to be kinder. And we need to stop telling ourselves that we're responsible for every death in the world. We're human too. And the only thing we can do is try our best. That's it. Our best."

  Silence descended over the trio, the weight of Darius's words settling between them like a tangible force. Ryden stared at the ground for a long moment, his hands clenching and unclenching as he processed. Rice tilted his head back, looking at the sky, his usual smirk replaced by a pensive expression.

  Finally, Ryden extended a hand toward Rice, his face a mix of apology and determination. Rice stared at the outstretched hand for a moment, then took it, gripping firmly. They shook once, the tension between them dissipating in that brief gesture.

  As they both turned toward Darius, the big man gave them a weary smile. He extended both hands, and they clasped them tightly, shaking in unison. For the first time in what felt like days, a hint of camaraderie returned.

  Rice broke the silence with a grin. "Just three try-hard guys, huh?"

  Darius chuckled softly. "Just three assholes."

  Rice let out a bark of laughter. "I like that. The Three Assholes."

  Ryden let out a laugh, shaking his head. "Oh man, with such a stupid name, we're gonna die in the stupidest ways, aren't we?"

  Rice doubled over, slapping Ryden on the back with a hearty laugh. "Then we'll do it together, man. What's a stupid death without good company?"

  Ryden grinned through his exhaustion, then reached over to grab Darius by the arm, pulling him closer. "Come on, big guy. You too."

  Darius groaned dramatically, rolling his eyes but allowing himself to be pulled into the moment. "Fine. But I'm not calling us 'The Three Assholes' in public."

  The three of them laughed together, a sound filled with relief, exhaustion, and just a hint of hope. Despite the chaos around them, for a moment, they felt like a team again.

  Back at the camp, silence seemed to reign as the coalition chiefs convened for the sentencing of Gastrar and Eris. The two were bound tightly, their expressions starkly different. Gastrar was pale, trembling as he knelt before the chiefs, his voice trembling with desperate pleas for mercy.

  "Please!" Gastrar begged, his hands clasped together. "I was only trying to protect my tribe! You have to understand—"

  "Enough," Torran, the Iron Fang chief, said, his voice a rumble of authority. "You exploited and enslaved others to feed your greed. There is no redemption for your actions."

  Eris knelt silently, her head bowed. She radiated a dark, unyielding aura, her fiery spirit extinguished but her defiance still burning. As Torran's voice boomed through the camp, she raised her head, her crimson eyes locking onto Lucy.

  "The eradication of the Grey Leaf tribe," Torran continued, his gaze sharp as a blade, "and countless others lies on your hands. Your bloodlust has left scars that cannot heal."

  At the mention of the Grey Leaf tribe, Eris's lips curled into a sneer. Her gaze lingered on Lucy, who had followed Ryden to see the comotion clutching his hand tightly.

  "I knew I recognized you," Eris hissed, her voice low but venomous. "The last survivor of the Grey Leaf tribe. Huh. To think, for a moment, I thought we were the same."

  Lucy flinched, but Eris's words didn't stop. Her voice rose, laced with bitterness and anger. "But no, you were born into a happy family, into a tribe that loved you. If you'd been born like me, you'd be just like me. You would've been kneeling on the ground right here with me,You'd kill to survive—"

  "Enough!" Torran's voice cut through the air like a whip. "May the ancestors have mercy on you."

  The sentence was swift. Gastrar's pleas turned to shrill screams as warriors dragged him away, his words dissolving into unintelligible sobs. Eris lashed out, her curses echoing as she was hauled to her feet. Her gaze never left Lucy, her fury blazing to the last.

  "You'll never escape this world!" Eris screamed. "it'll kill everyone you love, everyone here will backstab you"

  Lucy clung to Ryden, burying her face in his side as Eris's voice faded into the distance.

  The crowd watched in silence as the prisoners were taken away. Torran turned to the coalition, his voice grave. "Let this be a warning. Together, we are strong. But alone, we invite destruction. May we never let hatred rule our hearts again."

  The solemn mood gradually lifted as the crowd dispersed, the weight of the sentencing replaced by the promise of a brighter future. The allied tribes, for the first time in living memory, stood together in peace. With the dark chapter behind them, the air of solemnity shifted to one of tentative celebration.

  As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the plains in hues of orange and gold, preparations for a grand feast began. Massive fires were lit, their flames licking high into the evening sky. Hunters from all the tribes contributed to the meal, presenting game that ranged from hares to larger beasts. Spirits flitted through the camp, playful and serene, their presence adding an ethereal glow to the festivities.

  Near one of the roaring fires, Rice took charge of the cooking, his enthusiasm infectious. A group of warriors, hunters, and curious onlookers gathered around as he expertly seasoned and grilled cuts of meat, his movements precise and confident. He juggled spices and ingredients from his pouch, occasionally tossing one into the flames with dramatic flair.

  "Ladies and gentlemen," Rice declared, holding up a sizzling skewer, "I present to you—fire-roasted venison with a touch of 'I survived a battle today' seasoning. Guaranteed to make you forget your exhaustion!"

  The crowd eagerly took the food as Rice passed it around. As they tasted it, their faces lit up with delight. One of the Iron Fang warriors slapped him on the back, nearly making him drop his next skewer. "You, outsider, might just be the best thing to happen to the Great Plains!"

  Rice grinned, though he winced slightly at the force of the slap. "Keep the compliments coming, and I might share the recipe."

  Darius and Ryden, meanwhile, moved among the gathered tribes, mingling with warriors and leaders alike. The energy was infectious, laughter and music filling the air as old rivalries melted into camaraderie.

  Darius found himself speaking with Lyssara, the chief of the Ash Coil tribe. Her movements were graceful, her silver snake spirit winding lazily around her shoulders. Lyssara's sharp green eyes locked onto Darius as she leaned in slightly, her tone casual but her words laced with suggestion.

  "You know, First Blacksmith," Lyssara said, her voice smooth as silk, "your hands have created such wonders. I imagine they're quite skilled at other… things as well."

  Darius nodded earnestly. "Yeah, crafting is my passion. I've been thinking about improving the spear throwers' design—maybe adding a counterbalance for more precision."

  Lyssara blinked, momentarily thrown off by his response, before letting out a light laugh. "Of course. Precision. Vital in… so many areas." She glanced at her spirit, which hissed softly as though amused.

  Unaware of the interaction's undertones, Darius began sketching out a design in the dirt with a stick, explaining his ideas in detail. Lyssara watched with a mix of amusement and exasperation, eventually patting his arm and moving on.

  Nearby, Ryden was approached by Torran, the towering chief of the Iron Fang tribe. Torran's emerald bear spirit stood beside him, its presence as calm and steady as its master.

  "Ryden," Torran began, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. "We've heard much of you—from the stories your allies tell and the carvings you leave behind. You are a man of art and vision."

  Ryden scratched the back of his head, looking modest. "I just try to bring a little color to the world, Chief. Nothing too special."

  Torran chuckled, his broad shoulders shaking. "Do not diminish your contributions. Pillaris is known even here for its beauty and innovation. You would be welcome as an honored guest in the Iron Fang tribe anytime."

  Ryden smiled, genuinely touched. "Thank you, Torran. That means a lot."

  Torran nodded and clapped him on the back, his strength causing Ryden to stagger slightly. "Now, enjoy the feast. You've earned it."

  The celebration roared on, each tribe contributing their unique customs and traditions to the mix. The Thunderstrider warriors demonstrated their horsemanship, racing across the plains under the moonlight, their golden horse spirits galloping beside them. Ever since Rice had gifted them some horses they had taken to the horses like fish in water, almost immediately they became better riders then Rice himself. Spectators cheered as the riders performed daring stunts, leaping from one galloping horse to another.

  The Storm Scale tribe put on a show of their own, their lightning-themed spirits crackling with energy. Korrin led the performance, hurling bolts of lightning into the sky that exploded like fireworks, leaving the crowd in awe.

  The Ash Coil tribe performed an intricate dance accompanied by their snake spirits, the movements hypnotic and fluid. Their lithe warriors moved in perfect unison, the silver gleam of their spirits adding to the mesmerizing display.

  Rice eventually found Darius and Ryden, plates of food in hand. "You guys have got to try this," he said, handing each of them a skewer. "Not to brag, but I've outdone myself."

  Ryden took a bite and sighed in satisfaction. "You weren't kidding. You might just get yourself adopted into one of these tribes as a chef."

  Darius chuckled, his mouth full of food. "As long as they don't keep him permanently. We still need him for the next crisis."

  Rice leaned back, grinning. "Don't worry, fellas. You're stuck with me."