The seasons had shifted again, and as Gabriel stepped into the soft snow, he could feel the familiar bite of winter settling in. A year and six moon cycles had passed since the conversation with the King and commander, much had changed since then. He walked alongside Lakan, who now only stood a hand taller than him, though still substantially broader.

  Their standard army shields were strapped securely to their backs, the familiar clank of weapons accompanying each step. Lakan carried a single sword at his side, while Gabriel had his customary two blades. The weight of the metal, once unfamiliar, was now a comfort to him—the cold steel as reassuring as the sense of purpose it symbolized.

  As they made their way through the encampment, Gabriel exchanged nods and brief words with the soldiers they passed. Faces that had once been strangers now held a sense of familiarity.

  "Only one more moon cycle," Lakan said, excitement clear in his voice.

  "Looking forward to getting back to the academy?" Gabriel asked, casting a sideways glance at his friend.

  "Aye. I miss home," Lakan admitted, his voice carrying a warmth that cut through the cold air.

  Gabriel smiled knowingly, but for a different reason. The ache for Accamania tugged at him like a distant echo. The border was so close—a day’s ride and he could cross into the land where he’d been born. Yet the thought brought no comfort, only a hollow ache. Home wasn’t a place anymore. Perhaps it never will be again. He pushed the thought away, focusing instead on the cold bite of the snow beneath his boots.

  "A nice warm bed," Gabriel said. "That does sound nice."

  As they approached the training grounds, Gabriel’s eyes fell on the academy students practicing in the snow. Their feet slipped beneath them as they moved quickly through the drills, struggling to keep their footing on the wet, slushy ground. Gabriel let out a sigh, rubbing his forehead in frustration as a few of the boys almost lost balance.

  Atlas, ever the strict drillmaster, was shouting commands from the side. His voice cut through the cold air like a whip. "Shields up!" he barked.

  "They’ve improved," Lakan remarked, watching the students.

  Gabriel nodded, though his brow furrowed slightly. "They have. But they need to unlearn some habits if they want to fight as one."

  His focus narrowed in on a glaring flaw—their lack of synchronization. Each student swung with different timing and force, their movements lacking the unified precision needed to form an effective shield wall. In the chaos of battle, synchronization was everything, especially when an opposing army bore down on them. Without it, their lines would break. They would need to master this if they were to survive in the regimented life of the military. The academy had taught them to be warriors, but the army was teaching them how to be soldiers.

  Gabriel’s gaze honed in on one student in particular—Elias. The boy was swinging his spear wildly, his strikes too broad and forceful. He was putting too much into his attacks, sacrificing control for power.

  “Halt!” Gabriel’s voice boomed across the field, cutting through the cold air.

  The students stopped immediately, the weight of Gabriel’s command sinking into their bones.

  “Are you listening to nothing Captain Atlas is saying?” Gabriel shouted, his frustration clear. “We’ve been drilling for moon cycles, and you trained in the academy before that. Is this our best showing?”

  Many of the students dropped their heads, avoiding Gabriel’s piercing gaze. The tension in the air was palpable, a shared sense of disappointment sweeping through the ranks.

  “Stop swinging your blades like newborns!”

  Gabriel walked among them, his voice carrying a sharp edge. “Elias, control your strikes. Stop flailing that spear like a farmer swinging at flies.”

  His eyes flicked to another student. “Morpheus, we all know you’re strong, but you can’t break formation. Stay in step with those next to you—timing matters more than raw strength.”

  With a swift motion, Gabriel unstrapped his shield from his back and drew one of his swords. He stepped forward, his shield raised, sword peeking out from behind the metal. “Captain Atlas, I think it’s time for a demonstration. Please, make the calls.”

  Gabriel turned to Lakan and nodded. His friend just smiled as he unbuckled his own sword and shield.

  Atlas nodded. “Shield!” he barked.

  Gabriel instantly brought his shield up, positioning it firmly in front of him.

  “Stance!” Atlas continued.

  Gabriel adjusted his stance, bending his knees slightly, his feet firmly planted in the slick snow, his body coiled with controlled power.

  “1, 2, 3!”

  At the count of one, Gabriel pushed his sword forward in a clean, efficient strike—no unnecessary backswing, just a sharp, precise thrust. At the count of two, he retracted the sword smoothly, and at three, he pushed his shield forward with purpose. The rhythm continued, methodical and unbroken. Gabriel heard in the swing of Lakan’s sword that his friend had also timed it well.

  When the demonstration ended, Gabriel turned to Atlas. “Captain, how was that?”

  “Perfectly executed,” Atlas confirmed, his tone approving.

  Gabriel faced the students once more, his voice calm but authoritative. “Timing is everything when it comes to drills. Listen to the commands, read the patterns, understand when to strike and when to retract. This isn’t an individual duel. A one-on-one fight is about strength, strategy, and skill. But a battle—against an army—is about numbers, tactics, efficiency, and practice.”

  The students stood at attention, their eyes locked on Gabriel.

  “Now, again!” Gabriel commanded. “Atlas, don’t go easy on them. Drill them harder than you did me.”

  Atlas grinned, a fierce glint in his eyes. “Little Wolf is right. I’ve been too soft on you lot.”

  A collective groan rose from the students, and many threw Gabriel looks of betrayal, as if he’d just sentenced them to endless torment.

  Gabriel kept his face stern, though inside, he wanted to laugh at their reaction. As the students resumed their drills under Atlas’s merciless guidance, Gabriel rejoined Lakan, and they continued their walk.

  “I almost mistook you for an instructor back there,” Lakan said with a smirk.

  "They just needed a little push in the right direction," Gabriel said, shaking his head. "Needed to see that even someone other than a seasoned soldier could execute the basics with perfect timing."

  Lakan raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Did you just call yourself perfect?"

  “Technically, I called us perfect.” Gabriel groaned at his own joke. "We’ve definitely been spending too much time around Jonan." Causing them both to laugh.

  As they neared the largest white tent at the center of the camp, Gabriel spotted Avis standing at the entrance, his expression serious.

  "How’s the commander faring?" Gabriel asked.

  Avis ran a hand through his hair, his face weary. "His fever’s still strong, but he’s out of bed."

  "Should he be up and about?" Gabriel pressed, his concern deepening.

  "The medic says he should be resting. The fever should break in a few days."

  "Damn this cursed weather," Lakan muttered under his breath.

  Gabriel frowned. "The meeting is still happening?"

  Avis nodded. "General’s orders. You know how it is."

  Gabriel smiled, though the worry remained.

  Avis pulled back the flap of the tent, gesturing for them to enter. Gabriel and Lakan stepped through into the dim, warm interior.

  Gabriel’s eyes settled on the commander, who was a shadow of his usual self. Galland’s tall and imposing frame was now slightly stooped, his skin pale and glistening with sweat. His beard, normally well-kept, was oily and unkempt—a testament to the fever that had plagued him for nearly a quarter moon cycle. The Ash damn cold has taken its toll.

  Avis stood close to Galland, his posture tense, ready to catch him should the commander falter. Gabriel bowed deeply toward Galland. “You should be resting, Commander.”

  “There is no rest on campaign, young Prime,” Galland rasped, his voice hoarse yet resolute.

  A fever like this shouldn’t have lasted so long, especially not for a man as strong as Galland. Something wasn’t right.

  Just then, the tent flap opened with a gust of cold air, and General Thundar strode in. Instantly, everyone in the tent snapped to attention, saluting the broad-shouldered man. Thundar was in his early forties, his scraggly beard peppered with gray, contrasting with his shaved head. A jagged scar ran from his brow to the bridge of his nose—a reminder of the countless battles he'd survived. His quick smile always seemed sinister.

  Jax, Velar’s brother, followed closely behind the general, carrying himself with an air of authority, as if he were the one in charge. His gaze swept over everyone in the tent, looking down on them with barely concealed disdain.

  Wasting no time on pleasantries, the general got straight to the point. “As you all know, the Second Legion left the encampment yesterday, heading for King’s Crest. Only Vax remains to oversee the transition. The Fifth Legion will hold the border alone for the next moon cycle until reinforcements arrive.”

  A chorus of “Yes, General” echoed in unison from the men gathered in the tent.

  “We must remain vigilant,” Thundar continued, his voice firm. “We’re holding the border with a thousand strong, but the Accamanian heathens may attack at any moment. We need to be ready for anything.”

  Gabriel nodded along with the others, hoping the uneasy peace at the border would hold.

  “Any reports, Commander?” the general asked, turning to Galland.

  Galland straightened as much as his condition would allow, his voice strained but clear. “The scouts report increased activity from the Accamanians along the border. Their movements are harder to predict—almost random.” He coughed, a wet, rattling sound that made Gabriel wince.

  Thundar's gaze shifted to Gabriel. “Prime, any updates from your end?”

  Gabriel stepped forward, his tone calm and steady. “None, General. The academy students are progressing well. They’ve learned the drills and are ready to augment the regiment at a moment’s notice.”

  Thundar gave a nod of approval, his eyes briefly meeting Gabriel’s before shifting to Soltis, who had become Gabriel’s shadow since they had joined the campaign.

  Then the General turned back toward commander Galland. “I want double patrols starting immediately,” Thundar commanded, his voice like steel. “And triple the sentries around the camp—five hundred and a thousand paces out. Spread them wide. The Accamanians should assume our numbers have grown when they see our increased patrols and hesitate before launching any attack.”

  There was a brief pause as the general considered his next words. “We’ll split the regiment into three groups,” he continued. His eyes lingered on Galland. “Commander, given your condition, you will remain in the encampment.”

  Gabriel noticed Galland’s jaw tighten, his fist clenching at the order, but he didn’t protest. He was too weak to lead in the field, and everyone in the tent knew it.

  "Commander Vax, you will take a small contingent to the village of Black Rock and station there. Take Captain Atlas with you to lead."

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  Vax saluted the General.

  Then his gaze shifted to Gabriel. "Prime, you will operate under Commander Galland and patrol the border with the academy students and a hundred soldiers from the Fifth Legion under your command."

  Gabriel blinked, his pulse racing, the weight of the words settling in. A hundred soldiers? He had trained hard, proven himself, but there were so many more experienced than him—veterans who had seen real battle. He didn’t know if he could bear that responsibility. What if I let them down? What if I lead them to danger?

  "General, you honor me with this command," Gabriel began cautiously, his voice cracking ever so slightly. "But surely someone more seasoned than I should lead these men?"

  Thundar’s expression remained impassive, and he was about to respond when Vax did. “The child is right. He’s too young to lead, too green.”

  Gabriel clenched his fist, his nails digging into his palms. Vax is just like his brother. The anger, always simmering beneath the surface, flared—eager, almost hungry for release. But he forced it down, tightening his grip on the leash that held it in check.

  The general looked flatly at Vax. “My command is final.”

  He waited for Vax to nod before he turned yet again to Gabriel. "You need to learn, and there’s no better time than now, while things are relatively quiet. Besides, Soltis will accompany you. He was once a captain in the army. If you stray from your command, Soltis will assume control, and I will make sure you never serve in this army again. Do I make myself clear?"

  Gabriel swallowed hard. The words struck with an icy finality. He knew this was more than just a test of his tactical abilities—it was a test of his loyalty. He’d spent enough time observing the political landscape of Balatia to know that Thundar wasn’t just a general. He was one of the king’s closest confidants. Gabriel doubted Thundar was fully aware of his true identity as an Accamanian prince, but there was no doubt in his mind that the king had asked Thundar to assess his loyalty. One misstep and his future in Balatia would be over. Gabriel had to be flawless.

  Thundar had subtly tested him for moon cycles, pushing him with hypothetical scenarios, drilling him relentlessly on how he would handle potential confrontations with the Accamanians. The general had sent him on constant patrols, always keeping him on edge, forcing him to be ready for the possibility of war.

  Gabriel realized he had been silent for too long. He saluted sharply. "Yes, General!"

  Though he still held the title of Prime and led the sixty-four academy students, this was different. Until now, his authority had been limited to the academy; Galland had been the one in command of the soldiers. But now, that was changing.

  Soon after, the general dismissed them, and as Gabriel walked past Vax, the commander of the second legion grabbed his arm and pulled him in close. “Don’t fail like we all expect you to.”

  Gabriel shrugged his arm away from Vax. “Don’t worry, I won’t fail like your brother,” Gabriel hissed under his breath so only Vax could hear.

  The man stiffened, his nostrils flaring.

  Gabriel left the tent without a chance for Vax to further rebuke him and walked alongside Lakan as they made their way toward the academy students’ section of the encampment. Soltis followed closely behind, a shadow in every sense. Gabriel had grown used to the man's constant presence, aware that every move he made was being scrutinized. The man had grown to somewhat respect Gabriel, and they had seemingly moved past their earlier issues. However, their relationship was that of a teacher and a student. It was only to discuss military and fighting. Gabriel had apologized again for his outburst many years ago, when he had fought Soltis, because he didn’t know how to deal with the drawbacks of using his magic. But some mistakes were too hard to move past. And Gabriel was worried the man would gladly step in and take control if Gabriel faltered even once.

  Jara and Jonan spotted them approaching and quickly fell into step beside them.

  “How was the meeting?” Jonan asked, his usual easy grin replaced with a more serious expression.

  “Gather the leaders and meet me outside my tent in ten minutes,” Gabriel ordered, his tone sharp.

  Jonan nodded without hesitation and darted off to relay the message. It hadn’t been easy to get the students to follow Gabriel’s lead when he first took command. Though they respected him as a fighter, earning their respect as a leader took time. He needed to strike a balance between camaraderie and authority. He had learned that much from watching Galland and other seasoned leaders. Devotion and respect were necessary, but so was distance. They needed to admire him, but they also needed to fear him—just enough to follow his orders without question.

  Gabriel sat in front of his tent, a simple wooden chair and table set up for their meetings, with Lakan sitting quietly beside him. Lakan had been Gabriel's crutch. He leaned on him for everything. He was a steadfast friend and leader. There was a reason he was appointed second in command of the students after all.

  Gabriel observed the surrounding camp, watching the students mill about. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. They had adapted remarkably well to the rigors of military life. Still, he hoped the next moon cycle would pass without incident. They were in a delicate position, after all.

  He reflected on the three moon cycles that had passed since the academy students had joined the regiment. At that time, they had adjusted to the rigors of soldiering. For most of the students, this was new and grueling. But for Gabriel, it was familiar territory. He had been part of the regiment long before the academy, earning respect here well before gaining the title of Prime. The drills, the discipline, the structure—it was second nature to him. And everything he had learned from the veteran soldiers had been passed on to his peers.

  It wasn’t long before the leaders amongst the students began to gather. Ryn arrived first, offering a nod before taking his seat. Since leaving the academy, Ryn and Gabriel had grown even closer, spending hours discussing strategies and tactics. Ryn had also taken command of a small squad of archers, a role that suited his sharp, calculating mind.

  Jara and Jonan arrived next, both of them fast and reliable. They led the patrols, acting as the regiment’s primary scouts, their speed and keen eyes making them invaluable.

  Then came Lexon, the hulking leader of the heavy legionnaires. He commanded the front line, where the largest and strongest students held their oversized shields, forming the army’s first line of defense. Lexon was as reliable as they came, and Gabriel trusted him to hold the line no matter what.

  Gabriel was ready to begin, but one leader was still missing.

  It wasn’t long before the last figure appeared. Velar approached on horseback, dismounting with an air of casual arrogance. As he neared closer to the chairs, he slowed his approach, a mild hesitancy in his step as he made eye contact with Gabriel. Then, as if remembering himself, he sauntered over and took his seat without a word.

  Gabriel did his best to suppress the sneer that tugged at his lips. He had tolerated Velar’s presence, but only just. Velar led the cavalry, a role he had been given more due to his brother Vax’s influence than his own merit. The fear had kept Velar in check for a time, but Gabriel could sense that fear diminishing as the days went by, as his brother's influence grew stronger. As long as Velar's arrogance didn’t harm the legion, he could tolerate his presence. But if that ever changed, Gabriel wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate the problem.

  “You’re late,” Gabriel said sharply, his eyes narrowing.

  “I arrived as soon as I could,” Velar replied, his tone measured, though it dripped with insincerity.

  Gabriel let out a low grunt but chose not to press further, as he proceeded to tell them of the meeting earlier.

  “We'll need to split our forces before the reinforcements get here,” Gabriel said aloud, unrolling a map on the table in front of him.

  He placed small metal figurines on the map, silently thanking the commander for this thoughtful gift.

  “Jara, scout the west.” Gabriel said, as he took a horse-shaped figurine and placed it beside a running figure. “The plains will be difficult, especially with the snow, but you’ll need the cavalry. Velar, you’ll join Jara’s patrol. Keep your movements unpredictable. Send one rider back to the camp every day. If a rider doesn’t return, we’ll assume something’s gone wrong, and we’ll come for you.”

  Jara nodded sharply whilst Velar sneered. “The snow will make movement impossible.” His words carried a trace of frustration, and for a moment, Gabriel thought he saw doubt flicker in Velar’s eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by his usual sneer.

  “Prepare for it, then,” Gabriel said evenly. “Oil your boots, pack cloaks, keep warm.” Gabriel’s calm tone was unyielding.

  Velar hesitated, then nodded begrudgingly.

  Gabriel turned his attention to Jonan. “You’ve scouted the eastern flank. What are the conditions?”

  “Wolves, Prime,” Jonan said grimly. “Plenty of them. And the rock formations are icy. It’s treacherous up there.”

  Gabriel moved another running figure to the eastern flank on the map, just before the rocky outcrops. “You’ll patrol the eastern flank.” He then placed a shields man figurine next to it. “Lexon will go with you. You’ll need strength, not speed, to hold the mountains. Take the pack horses with you for supplies. Don’t venture too deep into the hills—the ice is too dangerous. And move in numbers, in case of wolves... or Accamanians.”

  Lexon frowned. “The shields will be a burden in this weather. Too heavy, and they’ll get stuck in the snow.”

  Gabriel nodded, having already taken this into consideration. “Better for you to have them in case of any unexpected encounters. Station your men at the highest peak. Here,” he pointed to a spot on the map, “You’ll have a good vantage point. Send patrols out, but no farther than half a day’s walk in any direction. I want scouts further out, though.”

  “It’ll be risky in this weather,” Lexon said, his brow furrowed.

  Gabriel traced a line on the map with his finger, deep in thought. “We don’t have a choice. We need to secure the borders from every angle.”

  Finally, Gabriel addressed Ryn and Lakan. “You two will join me. We’ll patrol the area near Quiet Lake.”

  Gabriel turned to glance at Soltis, watching for a reaction, hoping for a measure of acceptance displayed. Soltis, however, remained impassive, his eyes blinking slowly as if calculating each word and movement. His silence didn’t provide Gabriel any comfort; it was clear Soltis would be watching closely, waiting for him to make a mistake.

  Gabriel dismissed the group, needing time to think and prepare for the coming days. Restlessness gnawed at Gabriel, a feeling that had been building for days. The weight of command was heavier than anything he’d carried before. At the academy, his focus had been on becoming strong, on not letting down the people who believed in him. But here, in the borderlands, it wasn’t just about strength. The lives of the boys under his command hung in the balance, and one wrong decision could mean their deaths. It was a pressure he wasn’t accustomed to, and it ate at him, keeping him on edge.

  He prayed the borderlands would remain quiet. Gabriel knew that the villagers here cared little for the political squabbles of kings and kingdoms. They only wanted to be left in peace, to have enough food on their tables and roofs over their heads. To them, it didn’t matter whether they lived under the banner of Accamania or Balatia. He wished with all his heart that they wouldn’t be dragged into the bloody struggles between the two sides.

  As the day wore on, Gabriel’s frustration built, and he found himself needing to burn off some of the restless energy that had been simmering inside him. He trained into the night, his body drenched in sweat despite the cold air. A biting breeze swept through the camp, and he pulled his fur cloak tighter around him, shielding himself from the wind.

  From the edge of the training grounds, Gabriel spotted a campfire where students gathered, laughter spilling into the cold night air. He lingered briefly, observing how they’d changed—no longer rivals, but comrades. They cooked, shared warmth, and carried each other’s burdens. They were growing into soldiers.

  Gabriel approached the fire, nodding to the students as he passed. Their greetings were respectful. Taking a seat beside Atlas, Olof, and Avis, he let the warmth of the fire and their camaraderie ease the tension in his chest.

  “Remember when he was just a pup, begging to join the army?” Avis said with a grin, looking at Gabriel.

  Atlas chuckled, shaking his head. “Aye, I remember. Arms like noodle sticks, and that constant frown on his face.”

  “He was the gloomiest thing I’d ever seen,” Avis added, puffing out his chest playfully. “I take full credit for bringing that smile to his face.”

  Gabriel laughed along with them, feeling a sense of camaraderie he hadn’t realized he needed. Avis’s ability to stay positive, despite all the hardships he’d faced, had always impressed Gabriel. The man would never fight again, but he still found his place so he could be useful. It reminded him that strength wasn’t just about muscles or fighting—it was also about resilience. If Avis could endure, then so could he.

  “I’d love to sit here reminiscing,” Gabriel grunted with a grin, “but I’m starving.”

  Olof handed him a small loaf of bread and a bowl of stew, followed by a characteristic harrumph. The aroma filled Gabriel’s nostrils, warming him even before he took a bite. He lifted the spoon to his lips, ready to savor the meal, when a sudden commotion broke out at the far end of the camp.

  Gabriel leaned forward, straining to catch the source of the disturbance.

  "Get away from the fire, old man, I’m trying to warm my clothes," Borax grumbled, his voice thick with irritation.

  A middle-aged soldier, lounging by the fire, barely glanced up. "Do that later, boy. I don’t need you prancing around while I’m trying to relax."

  Without warning, Borax shoved the soldier aside. Instantly, the men around the fire shot up, bristling at the slight. But just as quickly, the academy students rose to their feet, ready to defend Borax—even those who weren’t particularly fond of him.

  Gabriel couldn’t help but smile. The group was finally becoming a unit. Like family. They might not like every member, but no one else was allowed to mess with them. This was how it should be—solidarity, even in the face of petty squabbles.

  But Gabriel was worried that such squabbles could quickly turn to dissent. The army couldn’t afford division. Gabriel knew that it could fester if not bandaged.

  As a small scuffle began to break out, Gabriel turned to Atlas, who merely grinned and continued eating his stew. Gabriel sighed and set his own food aside. "Do not eat my stew," he warned as he stood up, stretching out his shoulders before stepping toward the commotion.

  Just as the tension reached its peak, Gabriel’s voice cut through the air like a blade. "Enough!"

  All eyes snapped to him.

  “There will be no fighting tonight," Gabriel said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “We need to stay on our guard.”

  The soldier who had been shoved earlier stalked toward Gabriel, his face twisted with anger. "You better keep that brat in line," he spat.

  Gabriel’s expression hardened, his muscles tensing instinctively. “Do not speak to him like that. Sit by the fire, enjoy your seat, and mind yourself.”

  The man sneered, “A lot of attitude for a boy. Just because you won a little competition doesn’t mean you’re better than us all.”

  Gabriel’s gaze swept over the other soldiers. Those who had fought beside him against the Paresh lowered their heads, embarrassed by their comrade’s outburst. The newer soldiers, however, watched, uncertain how to respond.

  Gabriel’s pulse quickened. He knew this moment mattered. Winning their respect wasn’t about strength alone—it was about control. If they didn’t follow him now, how could he trust them in battle?

  Gabriel’s hand shot out, gripping the man’s arm and yanking him forward until their faces were inches apart. “I’m not a better man,” he said, his voice quiet yet edged with steel. “But I’m the one you’ll answer to if you test me again.” His fingers tightened briefly before releasing the man with a shove, sending him stumbling back into the snow.

  The man, seething with rage, shoved Gabriel off as soon as his grip loosened. He lashed out with a wild swing, but Gabriel ducked easily beneath it. In one fluid motion, Gabriel slammed his fist into the man’s sternum, the impact solid and unforgiving.

  The soldier staggered back, gasping for air, his face contorted in pain. Gabriel watched him crumple to the ground, winded and humiliated.

  Gabriel kneeled beside him, his voice cold but calm. “No one disrespects my company. No one.” He clenched his fist, making sure the man understood. “These boys are learning the way of soldiering. Teach them, guide them—don’t berate them.”

  Straightening, Gabriel addressed the other soldiers. "Speak to your friend," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for debate.

  The soldiers nodded, a few offering quiet nods of approval. Gabriel could feel the shift in the air—respect. Not just from his academy peers, but from the older soldiers as well. Even Borax, usually too proud to show gratitude, gave him a nod of acknowledgment.

  Satisfied, Gabriel turned and walked back to the log. As he approached, Atlas handed him the bowl of stew with a slight smirk.

  Gabriel took a bite, grimacing as the broth hit his tongue. "It’s gone cold," he muttered, setting the bowl down. His gaze drifted back toward the darkened edges of the camp. Somewhere beyond those shadows lay the border—and with it, the uncertainty of what was to come. Gabriel pulled his cloak tighter and stared into the fire, the flickering flames doing little to ease the chill in his chest.