West Arden Village,

  The Triangle,

  Central Province.

  -

  The village hall stank of old wood and desperation.

  Arthur sat at the long table, Vorkin standing silent behind him, hands resting loose on the hilt of his sword.

  He knocked back the last sip of the drink in front of him — a sharp, bitter brew with a spicy afterbite. Some local rotgut he’d never heard of.

  Shit drink in a shithole of a place. Dad owes me big time for sending me here.

  The village chief struggled to his feet, leaning heavy on a crooked cane, his helpers fussing around him.

  "Thank you very much, Captain Arthur," the old man said, his voice thin as smoke.

  Arthur stood, matching him. "No worries. We’ll sweep the area tonight. Commander Reinhardt sent his best men to help." He smiled as he approached the chief.

  They shook hands — the chief’s grip was clammy — and Arthur turned on his heel, Vorkin falling into step behind him without a word.

  They stepped out of the hall, chief’s men leading them to the resting site — a relatively large hut not far from the village square.

  Vorkin took up position by the door, while Arthur slumped into a chair, finally unbuckling his armor with a grunt.

  “Sit down, Vorkin. Here.” Arthur dragged a chair out with his boot. “I know it’s nothing like the capital, but they clearly tried to tidy up.”

  Two village women entered, carrying platters of food and drink unique to the marshlands — grilled lambs, thick root stews, and that same strange, bitter liquor.

  Arthur thanked them with a nod and waved them out.

  "Thanks, Captain. I’m just afraid my fur might end up in your drink," Vorkin said, still standing stiff by the door.

  Arthur chuckled, pouring from the battered kettle. “Here. Drink with me. And thanks again for that night — you’re a brave soldier.”

  He took a sip. Still bitter. Still cheap. Weirdly addicting.

  "Tell me about yourself, soldier," Arthur said, refilling his cup.

  Vorkin finally moved, flipping a chair backward and sitting astride it, arms draped over the backrest.

  "You know — the same old Lupin story. No name. Selling ourselves to slavery, sorry, loyalty. yada yada."

  Arthur raised an eyebrow, swirling the drink in his cup. "So your captain genuinely asks, and your response is a lazy stereotype?"

  Vorkin snorted. "Not really. Just saying — I’m a mediocre Lupin, with no great name, no stories. That's why I joined the army. Figured if no one else would remember me, maybe history would."

  He took a cautious sip, grimacing at the harsh flavor.

  "Got picked for the Royal Guard after that," Vorkin added, almost casually. "Lucky me, I guess."

  Arthur leaned back, studying him. "Is that why you volunteered for this expedition? To prove yourself?"

  "Maybe." Vorkin shrugged. "Still don't get why you didn’t just bring your usual platoon. You’re the Commander’s son. You could’ve pointed fingers and had a full squad at your back."

  Arthur smiled — a thin, knowing smile — and refilled both their cups.

  "Guess."

  Vorkin tilted his head, thinking. “You wanted people you could trust... or maybe you didn’t want too many people asking questions."

  Arthur grinned. "Not bad, soldier. Good guess. Not quite."

  He stood and wandered over to the window, looking out at the muddy streets, the sagging huts, the villagers huddling like ghosts.

  "Look at them," Arthur said. "Too weak to fight for themselves."

  Behind him, Vorkin tore into the grilled lambs without ceremony. "Yeah. Isn’t that the point? Not everyone’s meant to fight. That’s why you started this expedition, right? To protect them."

  Arthur let out a slow chuckle, letting it build into a full, honest laugh.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  "Good answer, Vorkin. Good enough I’ll pretend you actually believe it."

  Yeah, no, buddy. Arthur thought, turning back to the room, I’d rather be plowing my fiancée than rotting in this garbage dump.

  But again, this is duty. I finish this fast, and I go home.

  “By the way, where’s Tenha?” Arthur suddenly remembered his second in command.

  Dead copse,

  Outskirts of West Arden Village

  Central Province

  -

  The crawler rushed forward—this time it would get Tenha.

  The air sucked the breath out of his lungs.

  But then—

  A rock slammed into the crawler's side.

  It spun, screeching in confusion, its mouth snapping wide open just as it turned its attention away from Tenha.

  The boy.

  Pale-faced, trembling, but still standing firm. A stone clutched in his hands, eyes wide with fear but set on saving Tenha.

  Tenha didn’t waste a second. His feet hit the ground with a thud, scrambling for purchase, and he sliced his sword through the crawler’s tendon with one clean swipe.

  The creature stumbled back, hissing in pain, but it didn’t retreat. Its eyes locked onto the boy now, its rage red-hot.

  Tenha saw it—there was no time left. He drove forward, using the momentum, and thrust the blade deep into the back of the crawler’s neck.

  The sickening crunch of bone.

  The crawler collapsed, its life snuffed out in a single, precise blow.

  Breathing hard, Tenha stepped back, shaking off the adrenaline. His hand instinctively reached out for the boy, who stood frozen, staring at the body of the creature.

  He pulled the boy close, offering his hand. The boy looked at it for a moment before slowly raising his own, fingers trembling.

  Tenha smiled, nudging his hand forward gently. His palm open, he signed.

  Thanks.

  The boy blinked, then raised his hand, palms up, a hesitant, awkward gesture.

  Tenha furrowed his brow, "You need something?"

  He dug into his pouch and pulled out a small coin, holding it out for the boy.

  The boy glanced at it, eyes widening, but he quickly shook his head, refusing.

  Tenha tilted his head, then reached into his pouch once more. This time, he pulled out a piece of dried meat and held it out.

  The boy hesitated, eyes flicking between Tenha and the food. Then, slowly, he nodded and reached out for it, his fingers curling around the offered snack.

  Tenha couldn’t help himself — he let out a short, amused laugh. "Guess you’re not so much of a coin guy after all."

  The boy looked up, confused.

  Tenha and the boy reached the village just as the soldiers were saddling up. Goddammit. Haven’t even had time to rest yet.

  Arthur spotted him first, striding over with that usual lopsided grin.

  "Welcome back, hero," Arthur said, voice thick with sarcasm. "Sleep well?"

  Tenha snorted. "What’s sleep?"

  Arthur clapped him on the shoulder, half-mocking, half-genuine. "So, what intel did you dig up?"

  "Nothing. Well—" Tenha tilted his head, thinking. "Maybe one thing. I ran into a crawler."

  Arthur's grin faltered slightly. "One?"

  "Yeah. Big bastard. Weirdly buff too." Tenha shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, even though it gnawed at him.

  Arthur’s eyes narrowed. "One crawler wandering around alone... Weird is right."

  He glanced over his shoulder, barking orders at the soldiers already mounted up.

  "Alright, change of plan! We move in smaller units but tighter formations," Arthur called out, his voice carrying across the yard. "Two-man teams, close intervals. No heroics. You spot something, you signal. No one breaks formation unless ordered."

  Tenha knelt down, meeting the boy’s eyes.

  His fingers moved, sharp and steady.

  Leaving. now.

  The boy’s face crumpled. His hands twitched up, fast, stumbling through the signs.

  We. See. Again?

  Vorkin arrived behind him, armor slung over one shoulder. Wordless, he helped Tenha strap the plates back on, fingers working fast through the buckles.

  Tenha caught the boy’s hands again. Slower this time. Firm.

  Not soon.

  The boy’s shoulders sagged, chest shaking with shallow breaths.

  Tenha pulled a small bundle from his saddlebag — the Nightflame Rune and his Royal Guard badge — and pressed them into the boy’s trembling hands.

  He signed again, deliberate, stabbing the air with each word.

  Keep. Train. When ready. I come again. Join me.

  The boy blinked hard, trying to swallow the sudden hope lighting up his battered face.

  His fingers jerked up in a messy, desperate reply.

  Promise?

  Tenha gave a crooked smile, rough but real.

  He reached out, ruffled the boy’s hair, then swung onto his horse in one clean motion.

  He looked back once, tapping two fingers to his chest —

  Promise.

  Then he turned toward the gathered soldiers and barked:

  "I’ll take point! First group, with me! I know every crack and crevice in this cursed place — let's slaughter some crawlers!"

  The answer came roaring back, fierce and hungry.

  "Yeaaaahhhh!"

  Tenha grinned under his helm, spurred his horse forward, and led them into the dark.