Mad, I told you so.”

Rami paid no heed to Marco’s grumbling; he was in no mood for trading blame after the shock of Stefano’s screams. His true concern was the woodcutter himself, staggering as far from Labi as his strength allowed, yet clinging to the group like a shadow, breathing heavily and swaying like a drunkard. His resounding cries had stripped him of voice and strength.

After that bout of panic, the band regrouped in heavy silence, while Matteo had stepped forward to speak with Labi, attempting to calm the situation. Rami’s eyes, however, remained fixed on Stefano, tracking his trembling and the gaze pinned to the hunter’s neck as he conversed with Matteo. Something strange lingered with Rami—an vague fear that refused to subside despite the relative calm that followed the storm.

“And now you act as if you didn’t hear me.”

Marco’s features were etched with discontent, his tense eyes scouring Rami for a response.

Rami cast a fleeting glance at him, then stole a look at the rest of the team standing in silence; faces universally troubled, unlike their varied stances that morning.

“No… I’m just thinking.”

Their gazes locked for a moment before Marco waved a hand in surrender. “Forget it. What do we do now?”

Rami replied, his eyes steady on Matteo and Labi, “I’ll discuss it with Sir Matteo.” He added quickly, wary of further grumbling, “I’ll talk to him about ending the mission.”

It was tempting to toss a jest to lighten the heavy air—perhaps about the man’s madness being kinder to them than his sanity—but he restrained himself. He couldn’t afford to weaken their already fragile vigilance. Not yet, at least.

Rami wasted no time; the deeper the night grew, the darker it became. He approached Matteo, who was engrossed in a low conversation with the hunter. When Rami called out, announcing his arrival, their talk halted abruptly. Rami drew near and greeted Labi, who turned to him hesitantly.

The hunter’s light blonde hair caught his attention, but he dismissed it, attributing it perhaps to origins beyond the kingdom. He directed his focus to Matteo. “What do we do now?”

Matteo glanced briefly at the men standing behind, then said, “I see no merit in camping out here in the open.”

“No.” Rami exhaled slowly before continuing, “I don’t wish to worsen things with them, but I doubt they’d want to spend the night without walls to shield them.”

Labi interjected, “Sir Matteo, I may not be able to host you in my home—it’s barely a single room fit for one more—but there’s a house that belonged to a well-off family of five. I reckon it could hold most of you.”

Matteo nodded in thanks, unsurprised. Knowing his ways, Rami suspected Matteo had let Labi overhear them precisely to prompt this offer.

“God reward you,” Matteo said. “You may lead us.”

But before they moved, Rami posed a question. “What about Stefano?”

For a moment, hesitation flickered in Labi’s eyes as he glanced at the swaying woodcutter from afar, then answered in a guarded tone, “His home? Smaller than mine… barely fits him alone.”

“I see. You may go.”

Rami ordered his men to move swiftly.

“Why did you ask about him?”

Rami turned to Matteo, his brows knitting briefly before he replied candidly, “I hoped to speak more with him in the safety of his home.”

“Why are you still fixated on him?” Rami caught a hint of frustration in Matteo’s voice. He pointed skyward, explaining, “No harm in being certain. We’re here anyway. Didn’t you say the smallest oversights could weave the greatest calamities?”

Matteo checked himself quickly. “I did, but I didn’t mean clinging to suspicions too long. The man who claimed to be dead stands before us now, denying any harm to him or the village… Still, you’re right. Caution does no harm.”

Rami swapped his pointing finger for a thumb, flashing a teasing smile, but before he could utter another word, Andrea’s voice rang out, calling him. He turned swiftly to see Andrea gesturing awkwardly at Marco, who was arguing heatedly with Stefano, while Girolamo tried in vain to separate them. From their raised hands and tense faces, the dispute seemed moments from erupting into a brawl.

Rami grasped at once, from their voices, that the conflict stemmed from Stefano’s refusal to enter the village. Andrea approached for instructions, and Matteo answered with stern finality, “Tell them to stop this farce. If the woodcutter wants to spend his night in the open, let him.”

Rami raised no objection; however cautious he was, he saw no point in expending more effort to persuade Stefano without good reason.

They followed Labi, who slowed slightly to ensure everyone kept pace. Matteo seemed lost in thought, immersed in deep reflection. Rami observed him closely, noting a subtle shift in his usually stern expression—a trace of… sorrow? Regret?

Rami wanted to exchange a few words about their next steps, especially their fate upon returning. But seeing the strange, unfamiliar expression on Matteo’s face, he decided to abandon the idea for now. Perhaps Matteo needed a moment of silence with himself.

Instead, Rami quickened his pace to break the silence, drawing near Labi until he reached him. The hunter met him with probing glances, and Rami responded with a short question, “Do you always return from hunting at this hour?”

“Not really. I started late today, against my habit.”

Then Rami recalled Stefano’s claim about the hunter—that he died for warning him. Could his supposed death be why he was late today? No… that seemed too absurd to entertain.

Rami shook off the strange obsession creeping into his mind, trying to regain focus. Instead of indulging those troubling thoughts, he asked another question that piqued his curiosity, “What happened to the family whose house we’ll stay in?”

Labi’s features faltered, and despite the night’s darkness, Rami didn’t miss the tension in his face. “Some time ago, a fire broke out in the house at night while they slept. We didn’t notice until the flames had consumed its corners. Our efforts to save them failed. None survived…” His voice grew hoarse. “Except Octavia, the grandmother. But she too passed months later, bitten by a venomous spider.”

Labi’s voice faded with his last words, a cloud of heavy grief settling over his features. Rami hastened to offer condolences, “May God reward your loss.”

Labi muttered something vague and fell silent. Rami didn’t press him, leaving him be. After a moment, the hunter quietly pointed to a house on the right of the path and whispered, “That’s my home.”

They had entered the village with cautious steps, maintaining silence to avoid waking the sleeping. They stopped before his house, where the weary band gathered. Labi drew the group’s attention and asked, “Shall I host any of you?”

Matteo stepped forward from his horse and dismounted, holding the reins with a practiced hand. “I’ll stay with you tonight,” he said, handing the reins to Rami, then added, “Guide the others to the house you mentioned.”

Their eyes met briefly. Rami didn’t ask why; he didn’t need to. He knew Matteo and his tactics well. He wouldn’t place the leaders under one roof, preferring to spread the risks.

But that wasn’t the only reason. Matteo didn’t want to sleep under the same roof as men who might witness his disappointment. The village was quiet, with no dangers, no threats. That meant no missing knight, no heroic end—just another failed mission that ended before it began.

Labi swallowed hard, realizing who his guest would be, but he voiced no objection. With a slight gesture, he pointed to another house, a little further on the opposite side. “There, sir.”

Despite the night’s darkness, Matteo could discern the building’s expanse. “Is there room for my horse?” Matteo asked, following the hunter towards his modest home.

Labi replied as he opened the wooden door, “There’s Pietro’s stable. I’ll lead Rami to it.” Then, stepping towards his house, he added, “Let me fetch the keys to the other house first. Please, come in, sir.”

As Matteo entered the cramped room, a damp air greeted him, carrying scents of salt and aged wood. The cracked clay walls seemed to brush his shoulders as he passed.

Labi said warmly, “Consider this house your own, sir,” as he shed his coat. “You can sleep in that room.”

Matteo didn’t need to turn to see where he pointed; there was but one room in the house. He thanked Labi and withdrew to it. He tried to close the door, but the rusted hinges resisted, so he settled for nudging it slightly for a semblance of privacy.

As he removed his armour piece by piece, with each piece fell the frustration he had suppressed all day. Failure would not tarnish his title. It would not threaten his estates. But it would cost him.

He placed the breastplate on the floor.

The agreement.

Part of Rami’s terms was that Matteo use his influence to shield them from the nobles’ wrath should the mission fail. A simple promise—mere words in the right ears, costing him nothing. But Rami hadn’t settled for that.

He removed the vambraces.

Rami wanted stronger assurance. A personal commitment. 

His word.

And Matteo, desperate to assemble a skilled team for his final mission, had agreed.

Agreed to more than he wished.

Since when had he begun bargaining with his word?

Rami was now the commander of his own unit, no longer a subordinate who obeyed without question. Matteo lay on the quilt, staring at the dark ceiling.

He had been ready to face any threat they could handle, despite his promise to limit themselves to scouting. Ready to bend his own vow, hoping, wagering, yearning for Stefano’s tale to hold truth. To find something—anything. 

A peril worthy of facing. An end befitting a knight.

But the village was quiet.

He was lying to himself.

He closed his eyes in frustration.

He should thank God. Wasn’t this what he wanted? Retirement. Rest.

Yet a storied career ending in a failed mission… the shame would haunt him long.

Sleep would not come easily tonight. But come it would, for a weary body left no choice.

Still, part of him resisted sleep. Resisted dreaming tonight.

But the darkness was heavier than his will, heavier than his fears. He took a deep breath, unawares. Then another. And after that… he thought of nothing.

Far from him, before the burnt house across the road, Labi pushed open the heavy wooden door, revealing the interior to weary faces. He stepped aside to let them enter, then leaned slightly and whispered to Rami, “The stable’s not far. Will you follow me?”

The two walked through the dark, narrow alleys, leaving the others to stream inside. The stable was a low structure, reeking of mouldy straw and damp wood. As Rami tethered the horse in a crumbling stall, he noticed the animals’ eyes in the stable following them in silence. 

No movement. No sound. Just steady gazes in the dark.

Something about this place unsettled him. 

But he said nothing.

When they returned, they exchanged a glance of understanding before parting. Labi continued to his home, while Rami entered the house assigned to them.

No sooner had he stepped inside than his nose met an earthy scent laced with something burnt. Old, yet distinct. Under the moonlight threading through the open window, he noticed black burn marks scattered across the yellowed clay walls—faded, cracked, sprawling in every direction.

 as if they had spread from within, not from a single source.

The place was nearly empty; sparse furniture that didn’t rouse suspicion in itself, save for a few pieces that remained, including a chair placed near the wall. Giovanni sat astride it, chest against the backrest, his eyes on Rami. When their gazes met, he said, “I’ll take first watch.”

Rami gave him a thumbs-up, his eyes tracing the black burn marks on the clay walls. Beyond the chair Giovanni occupied, the room held only a few others and a table. Beside it, a rolled red rug leaned against a door leading to the kitchen.

“Did you manage to speak with Matteo?” Giovanni asked.

Rami shook his head, inspecting the wooden dolls on the table. “I meant to.” He picked up a doll, its face roughly carved with hollow eyes. “But the chance didn’t come.”

“Didn’t come?” Giovanni pursed his lips, surprised. “You were beside him the whole time.”

“Aye, but he seemed lost in thought. I felt he was avoiding me.” Rami set the doll back carefully. “Don’t worry, I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

“So… is the mission truly over?”

Rami turned to him, eyebrow raised. “Why ask? Aren’t you eager to return?”

Giovanni let out a muffled laugh. “I’m not Marco. I’ve nothing to return to… at least not enough to ignore the scorn we’ll face from the ‘silk lords’ for our failed mission.”

“No matter,” Rami replied calmly. “I settled it with Matteo beforehand. I’m certain he won’t go back on his word.” He paused, then added, “But I need you to keep him in check a bit.”

“Marco?” Giovanni muttered slowly. “He’s a tough one.”

“That’s why I need you.” Rami turned to him. “He listens to you. Sometimes more than to me.”

“That’s because I don’t ask anything of him.”

“And now I’m asking.”

A long silence.

Then Giovanni sighed, “Alright, I’ll try.”

“Just try.” Rami smiled wearily. “We gain nothing by antagonising the only noble on our side. We should…”

“Appease him?” Giovanni cut in, his tone dry. “You’ve made that clear enough.”

Despite the seriousness in his voice, Rami caught the subtle sarcasm. He smiled and replied lightly, “The sacrifices a commander makes for his ungrateful men.”

Rami stepped away from the table and looked around again. The burn marks were old but clear. The table’s placement was odd, precisely in the room’s centre. The small dolls were neglected but not broken. As if someone had left in haste. Or…

He stopped at the first step.

As if someone had arranged the place deliberately. Or left it so for a reason.

Giovanni asked, “Notice anything?”

Rami hesitated. Something was wrong, but he couldn’t pinpoint what. He lied, “No.”

He waved to Giovanni and continued up the broken stairs. Fatigue weighed on his shoulders, and sleep called louder than it should. He didn’t usually sleep easily, but tonight felt different. He would rest at last.

He climbed the first step, then the second, each heavier than the last. He paused halfway up. What was he thinking about? Oh, yes. Details. He wanted to inspect the place further. But… why?

The village was quiet, the woodcutter mad. No cause for concern.

He shook his head. First, the hunter’s late because he died, and now someone arranged a ruined house to toy with them. Fatigue was truly clouding his mind.

He continued climbing. On the second floor, he found an empty corner with an old quilt—likely prepared by Girolamo, he’d wager. He lay on it without removing his armour. A bad habit he didn’t know why he kept. But tonight… it didn’t matter.

He closed his eyes.

Why did sleep overcome him so easily?

The question dissolved before it found an answer.