Ashren forced himself upright.

The world swayed, but he tightened his grip on the sword, fingers slick with blood and sweat.

Vorrek watched him carefully now.

No laughter.

No mockery.

Only focus.

“You’re still standing,” Vorrek said.

“Most don’t.”

Ashren exhaled slowly, steadying his breath.

“I will fight you.”

Vorrek’s eyes narrowed.

Steel clashed against steel.

Ashren met the strike head-on this time—blade ringing as he redirected Vorrek’s swing rather than blocking it outright. Sparks jumped. The impact jolted his arms, but he held.

He stepped inside Vorrek’s reach, slashing toward the ribs—

Vorrek twisted just enough.

The blade cut armor, not flesh.

Still close.

Still dangerous.

Vorrek retaliated with a brutal backhand slash.

Ashren ducked—barely—and rolled, coming up on one knee.

He struck upward.

The sword bit into Vorrek’s forearm.

Blood splattered the dirt.

A sharp hiss escaped Vorrek’s lips.

The Night Hunters stirred.

Ravenn’s eyes gleamed faintly.

Ashren didn’t press forward recklessly.

He knew better now.

He circled, breathing hard, letting Vorrek’s weight work against him.

You’re faster than him.

But he only needs one clean hit.

Vorrek adjusted his stance.

“You’re trained,” he admitted.

“Not enough—but not nothing.”

Ashren tightened his jaw.

“My uncle taught me how to survive.”

Vorrek charged again.

This time Ashren didn’t retreat.

He stepped in.

Blades crossed, locked.

Muscle strained against muscle.

Ashren’s arms shook—but he twisted, broke the lock, and slammed his shoulder into Vorrek’s chest.

The larger man stumbled back a step.

Just one.

But it was enough.

Ashren followed with a fast diagonal cut.

Vorrek blocked—

—but too slow.

The blade sliced across his side.

Another wound.

Deeper.

Blood ran freely now.

Silence fell over the clearing.

Vorrek wiped the blood from his fingers and stared at it.

Then at Ashren.

“…You’re persistent.”

Ashren’s vision blurred at the edges.

His breaths came shorter.

Not from fear.

From exhaustion.

Every strike was heavier now.

Every step slower.

His body was beginning to lag behind his intent.

Vorrek saw it.

And smiled—not cruelly.

Knowingly.

Vorrek advanced again.

This time, Ashren blocked the first strike—

But the second slipped through.

A hard kick slammed into Ashren’s thigh.

His leg buckled.

He caught himself with the sword, barely staying upright.

Vorrek didn’t rush.

He waited.

Ashren tried to raise the blade again.

His arm trembled.

His fingers burned.

Still… he lifted it.

“I’m not done,” Ashren said through clenched teeth.

Vorrek nodded once.

“Neither am I.”

The final exchange was fast.

Too fast.

Ashren dodged the first swing.

Deflected the second.

But the third—

A heavy, precise strike slammed into Ashren’s shoulder, rattling bone.

The sword flew from his grasp.

Ashren staggered back.

Tried to move.

His legs didn’t answer.

He dropped to one knee.

The world tilted violently.

Vorrek stood over him, breathing hard, wounded—but steady.

Ashren looked up at Elara.

He tried to smile.

“I will…”

His strength finally gave out.

Ashren collapsed forward.

The dirt rushed up—

Then nothing.

Ravenn raised his hand.

“Enough.”

Vorrek stepped back immediately.

Ravenn dismounted and approached, studying Ashren’s unconscious form.

Not disappointed.

Not amused.

Thoughtful.

“…He pushed you,” Ravenn said.

Vorrek exhaled.

“Yes.”

Ravenn’s gaze lingered on Ashren.

“He fought knowing he couldn’t win.”

A pause.

“That makes him dangerous.”

He straightened.

“Carry him.”

Vorrek hesitated only a moment—then lifted Ashren carefully.

Ravenn turned slightly, scanning the darkening forest ahead.

Night had fully claimed the road.

The forest ahead disappeared beneath the trees.

No moonlight reached the ground.

Only lanterns and the faint glow of the tankers cut through the darkness.

Ravenn looked toward the mage riding beside the lead tanker.

“Activate the Veilward.”

The mage immediately raised his staff.

Runes glowed along its length—soft green and pale blue.

A faint shimmer spread through the convoy.

The air around them seemed to grow still.

The Veilward was the reason the Hunters could travel through the forest after dark.

It masked their presence from the lesser creatures that roamed the night.

“Veilward active,” the mage said.

Ravenn nodded.

“Keep moving.”

The convoy continued into the darkness.

Somewhere between the trees, yellow eyes appeared.

Then vanished.

The creatures had sensed nothing.

Lanterns swayed.

Engines rumbled low.

The convoy disappeared deeper into the forest.

Elara watched through the narrow opening of the tanker.

Her breathing was still uneven.

Her wrists ached against the restraints.

But her eyes remained fixed on Ashren.

He was being carried behind the lead tanker.

Unconscious.

Bruised.

Blood covering his clothes.

Even now—

his fingers twitched.

Curling.

Uncurling.

As if still reaching for a blade that was no longer there.

Ravenn noticed.

His gaze lingered longer than it should have.

“This,” he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else,

“is why the world breaks people like him…”

His eyes remained on Ashren.

“…or forges them.”

The mage riding beside the tanker glanced toward Ravenn.

“Sire…”

Ravenn didn’t look at him.

“What?”

“What shall we do with the boy?”

A pause.

“Carry him to our encampment?”

Elara suddenly struggled against her restraints.

“No!”

The word tore from her throat.

“Don’t take him!”

Her voice cracked.

“Don’t kill him—please!”

Ravenn finally turned toward her.

He watched her for a moment.

Then looked back at Ashren.

His chest rose and fell.

Slow.

Uneven.

Alive.

Ravenn remained silent.

Then—

“We are not taking him.”

The mage blinked.

“…Sire?”

Ravenn’s gaze never left Elara.

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes,” the mage said quickly.

“Of course.”

Elara sucked in a trembling breath.

“You—you won’t kill him?”

Her voice barely carried.

“Please…”

“Just leave him alone.”

Ravenn turned his horse toward the tanker.

He leaned down slightly.

His voice was calm.

Almost gentle.

“As you wish, Princess.”

A faint smile touched his lips.

“Your word is my command.”

Elara’s eyes widened.

Ravenn raised a hand.

“Set him down.”

Vorrek hesitated only a heartbeat.

Then he lowered Ashren carefully onto the forest floor.

His body struck the earth with a dull, final sound.

Elara’s eyes widened.

“No…”

She shook her head.

“No, don’t do this to him.”

Ravenn looked at Ashren one last time.

Then—

“Leave him.”

The convoy rolled forward again.

Elara screamed.

“ASHREN!”

Her cry echoed through the trees.

She fought against her restraints until her strength gave out.

Ravenn leaned close.

His lips barely moved beside her ear.

“Calm down, Princess.”

His voice was almost a whisper.

“You’re making this worse than it is.”

Her breath hitched.

“If he survives the night,” Ravenn continued softly,

“then perhaps he was meant to.”

He pulled back.

“And if he doesn’t…”

His eyes returned to the darkness behind them.

“…then the world has made its choice.”

Elara’s sobs turned silent.

She stared back through the darkness.

But Ashren was already disappearing from sight.

The Veilward moved with the convoy.

Behind it—

the forest swallowed everything.

The tankers rolled deeper into the night.

Lanterns swayed.

Engines rumbled low.

The creatures of the forest watched from the shadows.

But the convoy passed unseen.

Ashren had none of that.

The Veilward had left with them.

He remained outside its protection.

Darkness pressed in from all sides.

No lanterns.

No engines.

No voices.

Only the forest.

Ashren lay motionless beneath the cold stars, his body half-sunken into damp earth and fallen leaves. The air smelled of moss, blood, and night-dew. Somewhere far above, branches creaked as the wind moved through them.

His fingers twitched.

Pain arrived all at once.

Ashren's eyes snapped open.

“—Elara!”

His voice tore from his throat, raw and hoarse, swallowed immediately by the trees.

Silence answered.

He sucked in a breath—and regretted it instantly. Agony exploded through his ribs, his shoulder, his leg. Every injury screamed in protest as memory crashed back into him.

The road.

The fight.

Her scream.

“Ravenn…”

Ashren’s jaw clenched.

“He left me.”

Ashren’s jaw clenched as he forced himself to focus. His vision swam, the stars above blurring and doubling.

“…Where am I…?”

He tried to push himself up.

His arm gave out.

Ashren collapsed back into the dirt with a broken grunt, breath shuddering from his lungs.

A broken breath escaped him.

His eyes moved through the darkness.

The sword.

The blade Ravenn had given him lay beside him, dark steel smeared with blood and soil.

Ashren dragged his fingers through the dirt until they closed around it.

Cold.

Solid.

Real.

He tried to push himself upright.

His injured leg immediately buckled.

Ashren caught himself against the earth, biting back a cry.

He couldn’t stay here.

Not in the open.

Not at night.