When the morning birds sang, he was one of the first to wander into the sunlight. And among the few awake villagers milling about was the man from last night.

  They caught gazes, and Corian’s heart pounded.

  He knew.

  Corian faked a yawn and a stretch, turning his back to the man. He stopped the first villager he passed, another young woman who blushed when they locked gazes.

  She seemed a lot more sane, but he just needed to plant a seed.

  “Have you seen Rombel?”

  She looked around, confused, then shook her head, leaving the conversation to ask the others if they had seen their leader. With his first task complete, he focused on blending in. Keeping himself well-liked among the villagers was another trick up his sleeve.

  And so he found the girl again. Slaving over her ‘chores’ that the crone handed her off. But every time he lifted his gaze, he would see the man. Walking by, chatting with a nearby villager, chatting with the girl he was helping.

  He was there. Every time.

  When they finally found Rombel, he was there.

  Staring at him.

  And now even the strange girl was being nosier than he'd liked about Rombel's death.

  He had to know. Had he told everyone?

  Corian went back to helping the girl. His nerves raw.

  And there he was still.

  When the sun finally went down, he nearly cried with joy. He was ready to end this. He just needed to place a cheap trinket at the treeline and slash the magical shadow it made. So simple. So easy. One signature for a beast that had taken one life. One step closer to being knighted.

  But as he approached the trees, there was a figure. One he had mistaken for a tree until his torchlight illuminated the man’s feet.

  Staring. Silently.

  Corian’s heart dropped, the blood rushing from his face as he let out a breathless gasp, forcing it to turn into a laugh for the man. “You are very good at scaring me.”

  The man stared at him, his motives a complete mystery to Corian. “My name’s Morris.”

  “Great.” Corian sighed, looking around the bushes. “Bathroom?”

  “Comin' with you,” Morris said, his gaze heavy as it bore into Corian’s soul. “Two blades are better.”

  He couldn’t hide the worry from his laugh anymore. “I can dispatch them, worry not, friend.”

  “I know these woods. I’ll watch if I think ya don’t need help.”

  He knew.

  Corian stilled his panic, holding his gaze with a warm smile. “Then who am I to refuse company?”

  He entered the woods, Morris keeping the front. After a few minutes of their fake search, he realized he had missed a crucial piece. His hand brushed his side, an empty space where his sword was meant to be. With a deep breath, he composed himself. If Morris knew what he did to Rombel, he didn’t want the man to know he was also helpless.

  He hadn’t slept the previous night. He was exhausted, and now without his sword, walking with an armed, larger man that was giving him nothing but quick and suspicious glances.

  The voice at the back of his mind had only grown louder as they walked together. How would he not know? He saw Corian come back to the village, in the dead of night. And the next morning, Rombel was dead.

  They kept their quiet search. Corian continued to drown in his loud thoughts. Until Morris finally fancied a conversation. “That girl you were helping, Sariel. Are you taking her with you?”

  Corian laughed, feeling just a little bit of ease. “No, not my type.”

  Morris kept his back exposed, voice flat. “Oh. Good.”

  They walked in silence for a bit longer, Morris checking his shoulder, but never really looking at Corian. Just the woodlands beyond.

  Slowly, the voice at the back of his head returned. Was this his trap?

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  “Rombel was nice.”

  Corian slowed, his shoulders squaring. Was that a threat?

  Morris stopped, and in the flickering light of their torches, Corian saw the man’s hand move towards the sheathed blade.

  He knew. He knew. He knew.

  Corian leapt for the blade first, ripping it from the man’s belt and rushing forwards as he turned. A wet squelch met his ears as the blade went through the larger man’s chest, a breathless gasp escaping Morris’ throat as he slumped. Corian kept his eyes on the ground, not wanting to meet the man’s gaze as the life faded.

  He watched a little piece of flint roll out of Morris’ limp hand. The same one he had moved towards the blade.

  “Pocket…” Corian sighed, his heart sinking as he let out a string of curses and moved the limp body to the ground. He wasn't moving to the blade. He was moving to put the flint in his pocket.

  Corian planted the torch in the dirt, shakily rifling through his satchel as the adrenaline and lack of sleep sent his mind into a spiral. He reached for his trinket, stopping himself. Not that. Not yet. He had to make it look like Morris was killed too.

  The curses spilled from his mouth as he grabbed his hair, staring at the crude and bloodied blade on the ground. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and whistled a tune. He waited for the song to still his mind before grabbing the blade.

  He made the first cut with some difficulty. This blade was duller, and the man had some leather mixed with his linen. But he kept his eyes closed, whistling louder.

  And then he heard it. A rustle.

  He stood straight, eyes wide as he whipped around and saw it. That same girl, frozen in fear, the sword he had forgotten laid in front of her. And then the excuses poured out. The panic was so loud he could barely hear his thoughts, unable to process the words of comfort he tried to speak to the girl. He just talked. Talked and smiled until she seemed to ease some. Until he couldn’t face her anymore and had to turn to compose himself.

  And then he felt something strike his back. He swiped the spot, his hand coming back a scarlet red. His blood.

  He cried for help as his knees gave out. His panic swelled to something else as he saw the bloodied blade in her hands. He was weak, unable to pick himself back up off the ground. Everything was terrifyingly cold.

  She had done some serious damage.

  “Th-the Black Witch! She's here…”

  The words echoed in his mind, his head as foggy as his failing vision. She hadn’t moved, the terror in her eyes the last thing he remembered.

  What had she done?

  Except the right thing?

  ━━━━━━ ? ? ? ━━━━━━

  Justin stared at Corian, still processing the story. “How many signatures did you actually collect?”

  Corian remained quiet, eyes cast to the floor as his voice washed with shame. “I couldn’t fix the real problems, I didn’t have magic.”

  “I don’t think magic is real, I’ll stand by that belief. And I saved villages.” Justin pressed.

  Cody felt the heat rise to his cheeks at how easy Justin made it all sound. Blessed by Ra’zerun, and the son of the White Knight. It didn’t matter if he believed in magic, his blessings in life were so strong the magic would still swirl to protect him. Hells, most of the Heroguard would get on their knees and kiss his boots to protect him.

  “Alone?” He hissed. “You saved villages alone?”

  “You could have joined my squadron,” Justin said, sighing as Corian’s glare remained. He looked around the wagon, clearly torn at the news, something in his eyes almost taking part of the blame. “I kept a spot open for months… I was hoping you would.”

  “And waited years to have a high enough rank to take a Follower?”

  Justin’s face fell. Realisation. Corian had not been so rushed to climb the rankings for his pride. He hadn’t done those things for himself. He peeked through one of the cloths covering the windows, catching Rikki’s back as they remained with Inprobus at the front of the charge. He looked back at Corian, eyes heavy with pity. “He wouldn’t have given her to you.”

  “I would have made him.” Corian spat.

  “Would you have?” Justin replied, his lips pricked to a frown. “Alone?”

  Corian’s own words were heavy to hear back. If his plan succeeded, he would have rank, but an empty badge. It was true that he would be no stronger than the apprentice he had started out as. But there were Followers so twisted and powerful that no squadron dared to remove them from the Psych Ward. Ones that actually deserved to rot in their cages. It was as simple as it was desperation for him. The head of his father, for the freedom of one wicked sorcerer. If Inprobus was dead, Rikka was free. Half the world could burn after that, he didn’t care.

  But he was terrified to admit that to Justin. There was still hope in his friend’s eyes as he gazed down at him. Even after he had exposed himself as everything his friend hoped he wasn’t. And that, Corian truly did not understand.

  Justin peeked through the window, before moving to sit next to Corian. “Do you know why my squadron was in Stonesong?”

  “Looking for the ‘Black Witch’.” Corian replied.

  “Collections actually.”

  Corian eyed Justin with surprise. There was absolutely no way Justin had been rifling through the skat of the lowest-end commander job. There was no glory in collections. No one would sing your names in the streets of Toroy Garotzch for bringing coal and protection taxes from neighbouring villages, except perhaps, the merchants and treasurers that held a cut of the investment.

  Justin smiled at Corian’s confusion. “I asked. That’s been my job as a commander for the most part. I want to travel and see new places without the hassle. I’ve seen enough of what the Heroguard does to people when you climb that ladder.”

  Corian’s voice dipped with judgement, “Does your dad know?”

  “Yup,” Justin replied, a certain smugness in the way he relaxed against the carriage wall. “You know what he said? Don’t be a hero for others, if you cannot first be one for yourself.” He held Corian’s gaze. “I don’t know what that looks like for you, but if it is truly saving Rikka, make sure that at the end of the day, it’s the brother she remembers saving her, not someone else in his skin.”

  Corian kept his gaze low as Justin rose.

  “The sun’s almost down. Make sure you’re ready.”

  Corian lifted his head, the confusion striking him like a guillotine. “What? Why?”

  Justin stopped, scrunching his nose at the question as he kept his voice low. “We’re escaping tonight?”

  “No” Corian pressed. “Why do you still want to help me?”

  He shrugged, a genuine smile never feeling warmer. “Because I want to save my friend.”