The wind carried drops of rain, dotting Erith’s face. The sharp, persistent ache in his back was his only constant—a relentless reminder to hold on with everything he had.

His eyes were locked on his grip, unwilling to trust it. His fingers were numb, his legs even more so. 

“It shouldn’t be much farther now.” Maeric’s voice was barely audible over the rain and clamber of hooves.

The river they had been trailing began to weave closer to the forest, its banks narrowing as the woods thickened around them. The group veered toward a sparse route, threading between the tall trees.

Out of the corner of his eye, Erith noticed movement. A rider emerged from each side of the forest, their pace matching the group’s. He shifted his focus back and forth between the reins in front of him and the woods around him, catching unmistakable flashes of the muted teal cloaks of the Morvathi Guard cutting through the rain.

“That’d be our welcome party,” Maeric bellowed, his voice steadying over the rain.

The group pressed onward as the forest thinned, unveiling the river once more to the east. Along its banks sprawled a vast encampment of tents, easily twice the size of the Pining Frost Expedition’s.

Striding down a row of tents toward the camp’s center, the group approached a grove of trees where other horses were tethered. Erith’s legs wobbled as he dismounted, his muscles stiff and numb from hours of riding.

As one of the accompanying soldiers finished tethering his horse, he approached the Captain.

“Morvath welcomes you. You have had a long ride,” the soldier’s eyes flicked back and forth between the Captain and Erith. “The Commander invites you to warm up and dine with him. Follow me.”

The Captain acknowledged the soldier, grunted, then turned toward the group, rain dripping down his cloak.

“Let’s get out of this horrid rain,” he snarled, turning toward the group. 

As they moved forward, Erith caught the subtle shift of presence by his side. The Captain leaned in just enough for his voice to carry across the rain. “Not a word more than you need to.”

The group approached the heart of the camp, where a sprawling teal tent dominated one side and several carts stood nearby, each loaded with familiar gem casings hooked into intricate mechanisms that released Kaida at a measured pace—just like the barrier carts of the Pining Frost.

Erith looked ahead toward the barrier carts, lost in a tired haze of thought. How much Kaida were they burning to protect the camp? Was it more or less than the Pining Frost’s? He kept his mind on that thought, and with a slow breath, he drew himself inward. His Kaida stirred within him, and with a subtle push, he let it flow outward, quietly pulsing through the camp.

The pull of the barrier carts was steady, rhythmic—until another beat disrupted it. Strange. Deliberate. A presence. His chest tightened. Another wielder?

Erith’s attention shifted from the barrier carts to the tent entrance, where a man stepped forward. Bald with a greying beard and a face like weathered stone, his aura matched that of the Captain.

“Estorath! Another spring upon us. Let’s get out of this frigid rain so that we may live to see the season through.” Warmth surfaced through the cracks in the Commander’s stoic face—a fleeting smile as he motioned the group toward the tent.

Warmth swirled through the tent, an inviting reprieve from the cold bite of the rain. “Set your clothes by the brazier to dry and sit,” the Commander instructed, motioning toward the dining table at the tent's center.

A soldier circled the table, setting glasses alongside plates and pouring wine.

The Commander stood aside his seat, waiting for his guests to settle. “A larger party than you normally bring, Estorath,” he remarked, eyeing Erith with a moment’s pause of interest.

“The times call for it,” the Captain replied.

“Please, let’s eat and do take time to rest a bit before you head back. Hopefully this rain eases up for your passage back.” The Commander raised his wine glass to the group before taking a sip.

Another soldier entered the tent with a covered plate. He set it on the table and lifted the lid, revealing a roasted duck. For a moment, Erith’s attention was seized by the rich aroma of the duck.

“With hospitality like this, Dreven, we’ll be swearing fealty by the hour’s end. You remember Maeric?” The Captain’s voice carried a hint of ease.

Maeric caught the soldier’s attention, then waved a hand toward Erith. The soldier looked toward the Commander for approval before setting the plate of duck squarely in front of Erith.

“I hear he goes by the Vice Captain these days. Quite a title for a man so young. Accomplished no doubt. Those Surelians must have great faith in the Estoraths—with the sifting business as it is,” the Commander’s tone carried a subtle curiosity.

The Captain shook his head, setting his wine glass down. “You know better than most how unkind the business is to an aging body. Maeric’s sharp enough to keep the business secure for Aldarath. Call it selfish, but a quiet retirement in Aldasi feels earned for my tenure. It’s been years since I’ve seen Ranoric.”

“Ranoric…” The Commander let the name hang in the air, tasting it like the wine in front of him. “Certainly fortifying the family’s standing within the royal circle. A quiet retirement, is it? Or just a quieter seat at a different table?”

“There’s more today to gossip about than my family’s stature—”

“Then I must disappoint,” The Commander interjected. “I’m short for topics that would invigorate the conversation. I’m sure your Seers have seen the same—storms started further north than expected, and thinner at that. A pickup down the Althrenians predicted, gaining intensity into Loradun. If it keeps this pace, perhaps only years left of peace…”

“Fewer, from what I’ve seen,” the Captain’s words landed with cold weight.

The soft hiss of rain filled the silence that followed. Maeric’s eyes shifted to Erith’s untouched plate before flicking to Erith himself, seeking a glance in return. Erith’s stare was unfocused, his mind tracing the unfamiliar presence of Kaida, slowly creeping closer through the camp.

“You and I both have plenty to gossip about, Dreven. Your camp was attacked toward the end of last year. They say it was Murasi—”

“Rumors, Estorath.”

The Captain did not waver. “Today I need fact, not a winding road to get there. So I’ll start.” His eyes met with the Commander’s. “You probably know we cut through The Narrows. You also probably know our numbers aren’t what they should be. That isn’t a sifting strategy.”

The Captain leaned in closer, his voice colder. “A Murasi attacked. Twenty-two were killed.”

“A Murasi killed twenty-two Pining Frost men?” The Commander let out a brief, tense laugh, as if a rare thunderclap cut through the early spring rain.


“It was larger than a watchtower.”

The Commander leaned back slowly, elbows resting on the chair rails, his hands clasping together with a forced steadiness.

Rin’s eyes darted back and forth between the two, searching for any sign of how the news had landed.

The Captain broke the lingering silence. “Is this similar to what happened to the Guard?”

The Commander kept his gaze on the plate in front of him before raising his head to meet the Captain’s. “Vandric, you come here seeking fact, yet you tell fables?”

The Captain dismissed it with a shake of his head, turning everyone's attention to Erith. “This one saw it up close and lived. Judge it as you will. Speak, boy. Tell him what happened.”

Erith jolted from his daze, heat prickling up his neck as their stares pressed down on him.

“I… I’d just come back from the river. We were maybe a hundred paces from the cart—close, close enough—” Erith’s eyes darted to the floor, his voice thinning as he tried to steady it.

“We sat by the fire…” Elian's laugh echoed in his mind. The comfort of his smile and the warmth in his eyes clung to the edge of Erith’s memory. It hurt more than it should have. His heart surged, tangled with the unfamiliar thrum of Kaida now just outside the tent.

It struck like a needle to his senses—a thread of Mura, sharp and sudden, slicing through the air. Then, a surge of Kaida poured over him in crashing waves.

Erith's breathing came in shallow pulls. Panic began to take over. “Focus.” The Captain’s voice snapped like a whip, his gaze darting between Erith and the Commander. “What did the Murasi look like?”

Maeric and Rin exchanged glances, their concern growing as Erith winced, shaking his head.

“That... what was... the carts?” Erith’s voice dropped to a murmur, his thoughts only half his own.

“Vandric,” The Commander’s suspicion weaved through his voice. “What is this now?”

Erith closed his eyes, his breath slow and shallow. His Kaida swept out like a tide, feeling its way through the camp. The moment he felt it, his heart sank. His eyes snapped open, and without thinking, he turned straight to Maeric.

“We’re all in danger.” Erith’s words settled over the tent, too heavy to ignore. “Something emptied the carts. Murasi are coming. A lot of them.”

The Commander raised a hand, palm out toward Erith.  He stared down the Captain as he spoke. “Estorath, if this is your idea of strategy, you’d be wise to lay it bare.” The Commander shot a glance toward the soldier at the entrance. Without a word, the soldier took a step forward, his grip tightening on the hilt of the sword.

Tension swelled as confusion and anger collided, breaking into fear before it was drowned out by a single, harrowing cry from beyond the tent.

“MURASI!”