Turik refused to surrender the morning to idleness.
Before the sun had fully burned through the lingering mist, orders spread across Minht like sparks through dry brush. Every able-bodied man and boy was gathered and marched beyond the city walls, where the thawing fields waited beneath a blanket of churned earth. If spring was to feed them, the land had to be broken in now.
Elsewhere, Broc selected a handful of seasoned soldiers and dispatched them toward the surrounding hills. If any of Delio's men had escaped the battle, he intended to know where they had run before they found the courage to return.
Down at the harbor, ships drifted into the port one after another. Mercenaries poured from their decks, eager to earn another season's pay beneath Odessa's banner. Heavy crates followed behind them, each stamped with wax seals before disappearing into the city's storehouses. Gold. Silver. The payment promised for surviving the cruel winter.
For the first time in months, laughter carried through the streets more often than mourning.
West found himself ankle-deep in mud.
Melting snow had transformed the fields into a swamp of black earth that clung stubbornly to every boot. Each step demanded effort. Around him, native laborers strained behind plows while soldiers barked orders from the safety of their horses.
The rhythm broke as hoofbeats approached.
West glanced up.
The rider needed no introduction.
Loredo.
The Heart reined his horse to a stop just beyond the reach of the mud, his expression already twisted with annoyance as though West's very existence had inconvenienced him.
"Get out of the mud, kid. Let the Minthians clean their own mess."
West looked down at himself before raising both hands. "I was assigned out here."
"We're ordered to make sure the work gets done." Loredo rested a hand on the whip hanging from his belt, his thumb absently tracing the worn leather. "Go find yourself a horse, you filthy slug."
West shrugged. "It's only dirt." He deliberately drove his boot into the soaked earth. Mud burst upward, splattering across Loredo's polished saddle and the horse's front legs.
The animal snorted.
Loredo's jaw tightened. His fingers curled around the whip, lingering there just long enough for West to wonder if he'd finally use it. Instead, he pulled the reins and forced his horse onward without another word.
West watched him leave, already deciding he didn't like the man.
More riders entered the field.
Turik guided his horse through the thick mud with practiced ease, weaving between workers as his voice carried over the sound of shovels and plows.
"Keep moving! I want these fields finished before we break ground on the trenches. If that means working after sunset, then we'll work after sunset! We have lamps, and we have oil."
A chorus of reluctant groans answered him.
Turik ignored them. He steered toward West before stopping beside Loredo. "Loredo. You're in charge here. See that the work gets finished."
"Yes, sir." Loredo nudged his horse forward and continued along the line of laborers.
Turik looked back down at West, whose boots had nearly disappeared beneath the mud. "You don't have to stay here," he said. "We've still got crews rebuilding the southern wall if you'd rather swing a hammer."
West glanced across the flooded field before smiling to himself. "Between the two of us..." He scraped another boot through the mud. "...I think I prefer this."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of Turik's mouth despite himself. "If you insist." With a gentle pull of the reins, he turned toward the next group of workers, repeating the same inspections and instructions as he disappeared farther into the field.
West spent the morning knee-deep in soaked earth, hauling away broken branches, rotted stalks, and whatever winter had left buried beneath the thaw. Beside him worked a line of hollow-faced Minthians whose shoulders had long since learned to sag beneath exhaustion. Scattered among them were a handful of Blue Hearts who had been unlucky enough to trade horses for shovels.
The rhythm of labor never settled. Whips cracked somewhere across the field. Orders followed. Mud splashed. Another whip snapped through the cold spring air.
As the hours passed and the standing water slowly gave way to drainage trenches, more soldiers climbed down from their saddles to join the work, grumbling all the while.
West barely noticed Loredo's return. The horse stopped behind him with a wet squelch.
Without warning, a whip split the air.
Crack!
The Minthian beside West cried out as the lash tore across his back, sending him face-first into the mud.
West spun around.
Loredo sat comfortably atop his horse, the corners of his mouth curled into an amused grin as the laborer struggled to push himself upright.
"Careful with that thing." West's eyes never left the whip.
Loredo slowly lifted it again. For a brief moment, the leather pointed directly at West. His shoulders tensed. Loredo watched him flinch.
Then he smiled, drifting the whip away. "Relax," Loredo said.
West's jaw tightened. "That wasn't funny."
"No?" Loredo leaned slightly in the saddle. "I thought it was."
The whip cracked again.
The same laborer had barely managed to rise before the leather slammed across his shoulders a second time. He collapsed with a muffled cry, his hands sinking into the mud as laughter echoed above him.
West flinched again before realizing, once more, he had never been the target.
Loredo laughed harder.
West looked down. His fingers closed around a heavy clump of wet earth, packing it into a dense ball.
Loredo noticed immediately. "If that hits me," he warned, his smile fading into something colder, "I promise the Gods, I'll drown you in this field of mud."
West looked from Loredo...
...to the horse.
A grin slowly spread across his face. The mud ball left his hand.
Loredo threw up an arm, expecting the impact.
Instead...
Splat!
The horse jerked violently as the clump burst between its eyes. Its front legs sprang off the ground.
Loredo cursed.
The saddle twisted beneath him before the frightened animal threw him sideways into the mud with a heavy splash.
Silence swept through the nearby workers.
Loredo rose slowly. Mud dripped from his hair, his clothes, and the side of his face. The laughter was gone. Only rage remained.
"You little fucker!" His hand dropped to the dagger at his waist, yanking it free in one smooth motion.
Several nearby workers froze.
Before Loredo could take another step, another Blue Heart intercepted him, planting himself squarely between the two men. "No blades," he said evenly, extending a hand. "We're still gentlemen."
Loredo's nostrils flared.
For a long moment, it looked as though he might ignore him. Instead, he shoved the dagger into the soldier's waiting hand without taking his eyes off West.
The Blue Heart stepped aside.
Across the muddy field, West quietly slipped off his coat and tossed it onto a dry patch of earth.
Neither man spoke. Neither needed to.
Everyone nearby knew what came next.
A loose ring of Blue Hearts quickly formed around them, boots sinking into the churned earth as the workers abandoned their shovels. The cheers began almost immediately.
West raised his hands. "Well... now you have to do something."
A ripple of laughter spread through the crowd.
Loredo's face darkened. He glanced around at the men watching, his pride suddenly trapped beneath dozens of expectant eyes.
Then he lunged.
His first jab cut through empty air. West slipped to the side. The second missed just as cleanly. The third came harder, fueled more by anger than technique, and West avoided it all the same.
Loredo changed tactics.
Instead of another punch, he drove a knee into West's thigh. The impact stole West's footing for just a heartbeat, but it was enough. Loredo threw himself forward, wrapping both arms around West's waist.
They crashed into the mud together.
The crowd erupted.
Loredo tried to pin him, but West immediately locked an arm around his shoulder, preventing him from settling his weight. They rolled through the soaked earth, each searching for leverage as mud coated their clothes, their faces, even their eyes.
For a brief moment, West came out on top.
He trapped Loredo's wrist against the ground and drove his forehead downward. Loredo twisted. The headbutt glanced off his cheekbone with a sickening crack.
Pain flashed across his face.
Before West could strike again, Loredo released his trapped arm and grabbed a fistful of West's hair, forcing their heads together.
Then he bit down.
West hissed through clenched teeth as sharp pain tore across his chin. His fists answered first. One punch buried itself into Loredo's stomach. A second drove the air from his lungs. Loredo released him with a grunt. The two men scrambled apart, breathing hard as mud dripped from every inch of them.
Around them, the Blue Hearts roared their approval. Neither had won. That only made it better.
West stepped forward first. His jab snapped Loredo's head back. Another struck his ribs before Loredo could recover. The swelling around Loredo's cheek had already begun creeping beneath one eye, the bruise darkening with alarming speed.
West pressed the advantage.
Loredo answered with a sweeping kick. It caught West's leg cleanly. The ground disappeared beneath him as he splashed back into the mud.
Loredo watched him fall...
...but didn't move.
He wanted West standing.
The cheers grew louder.
West climbed back to his feet, wiping mud from his mouth. Loredo charged again. Two quick punches landed against West's stomach, forcing the air from his lungs. The hook that followed never arrived.
West caught Loredo's arm.
Using Loredo's own momentum, he yanked him forward and drove an elbow straight into the swollen side of his face. A wet crack echoed across the field. Loredo stumbled backward, one hand flying to his eye. Blood streamed between his fingers.
West bent forward, drawing a slow breath into aching lungs. "Are…we done?"
Loredo stared at him through one good eye.
Around them, the Blue Hearts shouted over one another.
"Get him!"
"Finish it!"
"You gonna let him talk to you like that?"
Loredo spat a mouthful of bloody mucus into the mud. Without a word, he raised his hands again.
West sighed almost imperceptibly.
Then both men stepped forward. West threw a heavy right toward the injured eye. Loredo saw it coming. Nearly blind on one side, he shifted just enough for the punch to miss before whipping his shin into West's ribs. The impact folded West instantly. Pain exploded through his side as he collapsed onto one knee.
Loredo didn't hesitate.
His next kick came for West's head. Instinct alone saved him. West threw both forearms upward. The kick slammed into them instead. Before Loredo could pull away, West grabbed his leg, twisted, and used the man's own momentum to drag him face-first into the mud.
Both fighters remained where they fell.
West scooted backward through the muck, one arm wrapped tightly around his ribs as every breath became a struggle.
Across from him, Loredo slowly pushed himself upright. Blood covered half his face. One eye had nearly swollen shut. Yet a crooked smile spread across his lips.
Now he had him.
The Blue Hearts sensed it too. Their shouting became deafening as they urged Loredo forward for the final blow.
Then...
Another sound broke through the noise.
Hoofbeats.
The cheering faltered. Heads turned. The crowd instinctively split apart as Turik rode into the center of the circle with two mounted Hearts close behind him.
His eyes swept over the scene. West sat in the mud, clutching his ribs. Loredo stood battered beyond recognition, blood dripping steadily from his ruined face. Then Turik looked beyond them. Workers had abandoned their posts. The carefully measured trenches had been trampled flat beneath dozens of boots.
Hours of work...
Destroyed.
He slowly removed a hand from the reins and rubbed it across his face. "What the fuck..."
No one answered.
Turik looked up. "What the FUCK are you doing?!" The shout rolled across the field.
Even the horses shifted uneasily.
He swung himself from the saddle and landed with an angry splash. "Why must the God’s test me in this manner..." He looked over the ruined trenches, then back at the crowd. "... over the trenches?"
His jaw clenched.
"FUCK!"
He threw both hands into the air before pacing a few steps through the mud, muttering under his breath, too frustrated for anyone to make out the words.
One of the Hearts beside him finally stepped forward. "Back to work!" he shouted.
The crowd hesitated.
"Move! Or perhaps we should hand the whips to the Minthians while you worthless slugs spend the rest of the day digging in the mud," he threatened.
That was enough.
The circle dissolved almost instantly.
Men hurried back toward their tools, suddenly finding the fields far more interesting than the fight they had abandoned.
Turik gave a brief nod toward the Heart, who had begun driving the workers back to their posts before turning his attention to Loredo. The smile had vanished from the soldier's face, replaced by a stiff posture that did little to hide the swelling already spreading across one side of his head.
"My…apologies, boss," Loredo began, straightening himself despite the mud dripping from his clothes. "I was simply defending myself and enforcing the established order." He glanced toward West, who remained seated in the mud a short distance away. "We were handling things like men. West will agree…"
Turik didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he stepped closer, studying the damage with the same scrutiny he might have given a cracked shield or a broken wagon wheel. His fingers reached up and pressed against the swollen cheekbone.
Loredo hissed through his teeth.
"The entire winter," Turik said quietly, "I've been drilling one thing into every thick skull around here." His hand dropped from Loredo's face, but the disappointment in his expression only deepened. "We cannot afford to injure each other. We don't have the time, we don't have the resources, and we certainly don'thave the spare hands."
He clapped his hands together once, the sharp sound cutting through the noise of the field. "This is some shit, Loredo. I put you in charge because I believed you were one of the more serious men. Someone I didn't have to worry about." He punctuated the words with a firm shove against Loredo's shoulder, more reprimand than aggression.
Loredo lowered his head. "My apologies."
"You'll have plenty of time to apologize after I decide what your punishment is." Turik looked him up and down before shaking his head. "For now, stay off the horse. You've done enough riding today."
"Yes, sir," Loredo answered in agreement.
Turik motioned with his head toward West. "Let’s go check on West."
The two men crossed the churned field together until they reached West, who was still sitting where the fight had ended, one arm wrapped tightly around his side.
West looked up with an embarrassed smile. "Sorry, Turik. We got…a little carried away."
He reached up.
Turik accepted the hand without hesitation and hauled him carefully to his feet. "I'm docking both of your pay for this!"
The moment West straightened, pain flashed across his face. A strained groan escaped before he could stop it, and he instinctively grabbed his ribs again.
Turik's expression shifted. "What's wrong?"
"Just a bruise," West muttered through clenched teeth before cautiously testing another breath. "...Or a broken rib."
"Fantastic." Turik rubbed a hand over his forehead. "Exactlywhat we needed! Another body stuck in a bed eating food instead of working." The frustration in his voice lingered only a moment before he let out a tired breath.
"We need people working, not recovering." His eyes moved between the two battered men.
"Alright…!" He pointed from one to the other. "Shake hands."
Neither of them moved. Loredo looked as though he'd rather swallow broken glass. West wasn't much different. After a long, uncomfortable silence, Loredo finally extended his hand.
Turik glanced toward West. "Go on," he said.
Reluctantly, West reached out and clasped it. The handshake lasted only a heartbeat.
Loredo gingerly touched the blood caked beneath his eye. "Who…should I see about this…?"
Turik gave him a flat look before pointing toward West. "Who do you think I would've sent you to?" he asked. "The man standing beside you." Only then did his expression soften into reluctant practicality. "But he looks like he can barely stand, let alone treat that eye." Turik sighed. "We'll have to get Hemlo back on medical before that swells shut or gets seriously infected."
“The butcher?” Loredo asked nervously.
He looked toward the southern edge of the city, where crews continued repairing the damaged fortifications.
"Yes, go find him. He's overseeing the work on the southern wall. Tell him I need him here."
Loredo nodded once. "Yes, sir." Without another word, he turned and started across the field, weaving between workers as he disappeared toward the southern wall.
Turik watched Loredo disappear toward the direction of the southern wall before turning back to West. The disappointment still lingered on his face, though now it looked heavier than anger. It was the expression of a man who had spent months putting out one fire after another, only to discover someone had started two more while his back was turned.
West rubbed at his aching ribs and offered a weak shrug. "In my defense... he started it."
Turik let out a slow breath through his nose. "And from the way things were going, he was getting ready to finish it too." His eyes settled on West. "Come on, West! Out of everyone standing in these fields, you know more than anyone how stretched we are."
West's smile faded. "He was threatening me." He glanced toward the laborers who had quietly returned to work. "Maybe we took it a little too far... but Loredo deserved it."
"I'm not arguing that." Turik's answer came so quickly it caught West off guard. "What I'm saying is that it wasn't your call to make."
He folded his arms, the weight of the morning finally beginning to show in his posture.
"If a man steps out of line, I deal with him! If two men want to settle a score, they come to me, and I decide whether it's worth sanctioning." He shook his head. "We don't beat each other bloody out in the middle of the work crews!"
West looked at him in disbelief. "Dammit, Turik... when was the last time youactually punished anyone?" His voice stayed low, but the frustration behind it sharpened every word. "The men don't see consequences anymore."
He gestured across the fields. "Just look around."
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Not toward the Hearts. Toward the Minthians. Elderly bent backs. Youth’s sunken faces. Mid-aged workers so exhausted that they struggled to lift their own tools.
"How much longer before the number of dead becomes something even you can't ignore? We worked these people through the winter. Half of the ones still standing can barely hold themselves upright." West said in disgust.
Turik followed West's gaze.
For a moment...
He didn't answer. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly before he forced himself to look away. "I've already explained this to you…" His voice was quieter now. "We're…desperate…" He searched for better words.
None came.
"The situation isn't ‘bad’ anymore." He laughed once, though there wasn't a trace of humor in it. "We're all fucked…!"
The word hung between them.
"People are going to die, it is the will of the Gods. It is my job to make sure it is not our people."
His eyes met West's again. "I am prepared to let every single Minthian die to save just one of our men and that includes you, so don't give me this grief when you know well the weight of my duty..."
A long silence settled between them.
West lowered his eyes. "It doesn't have to be this way." The words came almost as a whisper. "It shouldn't."
Turik looked out over the ruined fields, the unfinished trenches, the workers, the soldiers, the walls that still needed rebuilding, the city that seemed determined to collapse faster than he could hold it together.
"What exactly do you want me to do, West?" His voice cracked with genuine frustration. "Make the crews work harder than they already are? Tell Odessa we need fewer mouths to feed? Conjure more food out of frozen dirt?"
West said nothing. His eyes remained fixed on the churned earth beneath his boots, and whatever reply had formed died before it reached his lips.
The conversation ended there.
From farther across the field came the sound of approaching footsteps. Loredo emerged between the scattered work crews with Hemlo walking beside him. Mud clung to both men's boots, evidence that the southern wall had been no cleaner than the fields.
Hemlo looked between the battered faces waiting for him before settling on Turik. "You wanted to see me, Turd?"
A few nearby workers smirked.
Turik closed his eyes for the briefest moment and let out a long, patient sigh. "Hemlo..." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "We've been over this… I'm your superior officer now. You can't keep calling me that."
Hemlo's grin only widened. "Oh, come on, boss. I'm just pulling your leg."
"I'm beginning to regret sending for you." Turik responded.
The remark earned a quiet chuckle from Hemlo before Turik motioned toward the two fighters.
"You've already seen what happened to Loredo." He gestured toward West. "West may have broken a rib as well. Take them both to the medical tent and see what you can do. I need them back in these fields the moment they're fit to continue with work."
Hemlo stepped toward Loredo first, gently turning his face to inspect the swollen eye. What had started as a bruise was quickly becoming something far uglier.
He frowned.
"I can patch the kid up well enough," he said, nodding toward West. "But this one..." He leaned in for a closer look at Loredo's eye before shaking his head. "He's going to need the eye taken out before it goes green."
“What did you say!?!” Loredo exhaled.
West spoke but softly before Turik could answer. " I can assist with the wound, he doesnt have to lose the eye."
The offer surprised everyone.
Loredo looked at him but said nothing.
Hemlo raised an eyebrow. "It’s not in good shape"
West gave a small nod. "I've seen worse."
Turik studied West for a moment before giving an approving nod of his own. "Very well." His voice softened. "Thank you, Hemlo."
The three men turned and began making their way back toward the city walls, their figures slowly disappearing into the steady flow of workers and soldiers moving between the fields and Minht.
Turik remained where he was.
For a long moment, he simply stared across the open ground.
The fields looked exactly as they had that morning. Minthians bent beneath the weight of soaked earth. Blue Hearts shouted their orders. Whips cracked through the cold air. Mud swallowed weary boots with every step.
Nothing had changed. Yet the sounds lingered differently now.
Each crack of the whip seemed sharper than before. Each shouted command carried farther across the field. Even the exhausted silence of the workers felt heavier than it had only moments ago.
Turik shifted his gaze toward the nearest line of laborers. One old Minthian paused just long enough to steady himself on his shovel before forcing his body back into motion. No one yelled at him. No one needed to. He already knew he couldn't stop. West's words refused to leave him.
It doesn't have to be this way.
Turik let out a slow breath. Under it all, the frustration he carried finally found somewhere to settle. He cursed West for forcing him to ask questions he didn't have time to answer. He cursed Loredo for his pride. He cursed the Blue Hearts for acting like children every time his back was turned.
He stood there another moment before climbing back into the saddle.
With a tired pull of the reins, he turned his horse toward the gates and rode back into the city, leaving behind the endless rhythm of shovels, barking orders, and cracking whips that somehow sounded different than they had that morning.
Turik rode through the streets of Minht at an unhurried pace, the sounds of the fields gradually fading behind him. Even inside the city walls, there was no escaping the endless labor. Masons chipped away at broken stone, wagons creaked beneath fresh supplies from the harbor, and soldiers shouted instructions from every corner as though the city itself refused to rest.
By the time he reached the northern gate, the scouting party was still making its final preparations. Horses were being saddled. Water skins checked and accounted for. Bows restrung and arrow supplies stocked.
Broc looked up from tightening a saddle strap and immediately noticed Turik approaching. He excused himself from one of the scouts and guided his horse over.
He studied Turik for only a moment. "Everything alright?"
Turik gave a tired nod. "Everything's perfect."
Broc stared at him. "Im sorry to hear that"
Despite everything, the corner of Turik's mouth twitched. "You’ve come to know me too well."
The two shared a quiet smile before it disappeared just as quickly.
Turik looked back toward the city gates. From here, he could still hear the distant clatter of hammers echoing over the walls. "I think it might be good for me to ride out with you guys, Get away from this rotten city for a while."
That earned a short laugh from Broc. "You think they'll manage without you?"
Turik shrugged. "I suppose we're about to find out."
Broc considered him for another second before nodding. "Very well." He glanced toward the waiting scouts. "Some of the scouts warned of bears up in the hills, we are going to track them."
Turik straightened slightly in the saddle and gave Broc an exaggerated salute. "You're in charge, Commander."
Broc nodded.
With preparations complete, the small hunting party filed through the northern gate and left Minht behind.
The rocky hills welcomed them with the scent of thawing earth and damp pine. Winter's snow had finally surrendered to spring, exposing winding game trails, loose stone, and patches of stubborn grass that had spent months hidden beneath the ice. The landscape was familiar, yet strangely different without the blanket of white that had covered every hunt before.
As the city slowly disappeared behind them, so too did the noise. For the first time that day… Turik could hear himself think.
Turik rode slightly behind Broc as the hunting formation moved through the hills. Ahead of them, twelve riders cut a steady path through the uneven terrain, while another group of eight flanked the right side of the formation. Four more trailed behind, watching for movement in the rear brush. The Blue Heart banners hung from their spears, black cloth marked with a pale sky-blue heart at the center, swaying with each shift of the wind.
Broc guided his horse closer until he was riding alongside Turik. “Trouble with the boys?”
Turik let out a short breath through his nose. “Can you tell?”
“Smoli used to say something about that,” Broc continued after a moment. “Once Odessa pays a Blue Heart, they convince themselves that work is for the lower ranks.”
Turik’s mouth twitched faintly at the memory. “How did he deal with it?”
Broc adjusted his reins.
“Smoli was a strange man.” A faint respect entered his voice. “He could see what people were going to do before they did it. I worked under him and eventually with him, he was a special man.”
Turik nodded slowly. “He was a good commander and a bit of a prick.”
“He was a great commander.” Broc glanced over.
That lingered between them for a moment. The wind shifted through the hills, carrying the scent of wet stone and thawing earth.
Turik exhaled. “I miss him.”
Broc didn’t respond immediately, but when he did, his voice was quieter. “So do I.”
They rode in silence for a few seconds before Turik shook his head slightly, as if trying to dislodge the weight of the thought.
“Do not doubt yourself, Turik. You may not be Smoli, but you are no slug. You have what it takes to steer this ship to glory, believe it,” Broc said.
“How do you keep your chain in order?” He gestured loosely toward the riders ahead. “Because I’m starting to think I’m one bad day away from strangling half of them myself.”
Broc didn’t hesitate. “Start by telling them that. A good threat goes a long way.”
Turik raised an eyebrow.
Broc continued without changing tone. “I like to remind them that gold might buy a healer, but it will not help with the immediate pain of a broken limb.”
The laughter faded as quickly as it came.
Turik’s expression tightened again. “West and Loredo got into it earlier.”
Broc sighed immediately, like the names alone explained everything. “Of course they did.”
“West might have broken a rib,” Turik added.
Broc let out a short, amused breath. “He doesn’t watch for kicks. I’ve told him that more than once.”
Turik shot him a look. “It’s not funny.”
Broc’s expression softened slightly. “No,” he agreed. “It’s not.”
A pause.
Then he added, more carefully, “But it’s also not new.”
Turik exhaled through his nose, frustration returning. “I can’t afford this, Broc. Not now. Not when everything is already hanging by a thread!” His voice tightened. “Every injury, every fight, every wasted hour—” He stopped himself before the words could turn sharper.
Broc watched him for a moment before speaking again. “It’s a new position,” he said quietly. “New pressure. It takes time to settle into it.” He shifted his horse closer until he was riding almost directly beside Turik now. “You’ll figure it out.”
Turik didn’t answer right away.
Broc reached over and gave his arm a firm, grounding punch. “Just don’t start doubting yourself right now. That’s the one thing we can’t afford.”
Turik looked at him for a long moment. Then gave a small, reluctant nod.
The hunting party continued deeper into the hills as the terrain shifted beneath them. The ground grew steeper and less forgiving, forcing the horses to pick their way carefully over loose stone and uneven ridges. The trail they followed wound upward through the northern mountains, marked only by disturbed earth and faint traces of movement in the underbrush. Along the way, smaller signs of life appeared and vanished just as quickly as they were noticed. Squirrels darted between rocks, rabbits froze at the edge of sight before disappearing into the brush, and birds that had spent the winter silent now circled overhead as though testing whether the world had truly warmed enough to wake.
As the sun lowered further, the light across the mountains began to thin, stretching shadows longer across the stone.
One of the Blue Hearts suddenly broke from formation and rode back toward Broc at high speed, reins tight in his hand and urgency in his posture.
“We’ve found the family of bears!” he called out before wheeling his horse back around and pushing ahead to lead them forward again.
The formation tightened as the riders followed, climbing steadily until the slope leveled into a wide, uneven stretch of rock and scattered brush.
That was when they saw it.
A small clearing carved naturally into the mountainside held what remained of the bear family. Six bodies lay scattered across the ground. Two adults, massive even in death, and four younger ones clustered near them as if they had fallen trying to stay close.
Broc slowed his horse to a stop before immediately dismounting.
His boots hit the ground with a dull thud as he moved toward the nearest body, eyes scanning before he even fully arrived. The rest of the men followed more cautiously, spreading out with growing unease.
Turik remained mounted, staring down at the scene from above the saddle. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath.
One of Broc’s men raised his voice from the edge of the clearing. “What do you think, boss?”
Broc didn’t answer immediately. He crouched beside one of the larger bears, examining the wound with careful hands. His fingers pressed into the fur, then along the torn flesh beneath it, lingering a moment longer than necessary.
“Evokians,” he said finally. His voice tightened as he moved to another body. “These wounds are from a sharp blade.”
A few of the men shifted instinctively, hands drifting toward their weapons.
Broc continued his inspection, moving from one corpse to the next. His expression darkened. He pressed a palm against one of the larger bodies, then paused.
Warm.
His eyes narrowed. “They’re still warm.”
The words landed heavier than expected.
Steel shifted in its scabbards as several of the Blue Hearts instinctively tightened their grip on their swords.
Broc rose and returned to his horse, eyes still fixed on the clearing. He looked up at Turik. “What do you think? The guard is close.”
Turik’s gaze remained on the bears for a moment longer, studying the pattern of the cuts, the positioning of the bodies, the disturbed ground around them. “Shit,” he repeated, quieter this time, as though the word had gained new meaning.
He finally shifted in his saddle, scanning the treeline and the broken path leading out of the clearing. “Load what we can,” he said. “There’s meat and fur here. We don’t leave it behind.”
Broc looked up at him sharply. “Yes,” he replied. “But…we should find the men who did this first.”
Turik slowly raised a hand and pointed toward the far edge of the clearing. “Trail goes that way.” He nodded toward the crushed brush and snapped branches disappearing into the trees. “Someone moved through there fast. No care for thorns, no effort to hide it.”
Broc followed his line of sight before giving a slow nod. “Then we pack what we can,” he said, swinging himself back into the saddle. “And we follow.”
A beat passed.
Then his eyes flicked to Turik. “Lead the way, Commander Turik.”
Turik guided his horse forward along the narrow trail, following the disturbed path carved through the hillside. Behind him, Blue Hearts moved efficiently through the clearing, securing what remained of the bear carcasses and binding them into heavy nets that would be dragged back toward Minht once the hunt was complete. The earlier purpose of the expedition still lingered in form, even as something heavier began to press against it.
Broc rode up alongside Turik, his eyes scanning the treeline as they advanced.
“How many Evokians do you think are out here?” Turik asked while he kept his gaze forward.
“Too many,” Broc answered honestly.
A pause passed between them.
“But not enough for the Blue Hearts,” Broc added, his tone steady but alert.
Turik didn’t respond. Instead, his posture changed. His entire body seemed to still in the saddle.
Broc noticed immediately. “What—”
Turik’s hand shot out, gripping Broc firmly across the chest, stopping him mid-sentence without breaking his own focus. There was no urgency in the movement, only certainty. Broc followed Turik’s line of sight.
At first, there was only motion in the distance. A lone figure moving uphill through the broken terrain. Dragging something heavy behind him. As the shape came into focus, the outline of a bear carcass became visible, its bulk scraping against stone and brush as it was hauled upward with deliberate effort.
Broc narrowed his eyes. “That’s not an Evokian…” he muttered. “That looks like a Minhtian.”
Turik didn’t answer. He couldn’t. The sight held him too firmly in place.
Broc turned sharply toward him. “What is wrong with you?”
Turik finally blinked, as if breaking through something thick and distant. “That’s the Red Dragon,” he said quietly. The words came out strained, as though he had to force them past something in his throat. “On his back… I’m almost certain that’s the Red Dragon!”
Broc’s reaction was immediate. “What!?” His hand moved toward his sword. “Turik—”
“No.” Turik cut him off without raising his voice. His hand lifted slightly between them, not defensive, but controlling.
“We have the numbers,” he said. “Gather your men behind me.”
Broc hesitated. Every instinct in him demanded action, but Turik’s tone held him in place. After a long beat, Broc pulled his hand away from his weapon and turned his horse back toward the others.
“Form up,” he ordered as he rode.
The Blue Hearts shifted into position behind Turik without question, tightening their formation as they advanced up the slope.
Turik kept his eyes fixed on the figure ahead.
The man was dressed in heavy fur, the pelt of a mature bear draped over his shoulders like a cloak. It masked his frame, making him difficult to read at a distance, more silhouette than person. The carcass he dragged scraped loudly against the stone, leaving a trail of disturbed earth in his wake.
Turik followed at a controlled distance, never closing too quickly, never losing sight. He checked over his shoulder once.
Broc had gathered the men behind him as ordered.
Good.
The formation held. Step by step, they continued upward.
The figure ahead reached the mouth of a cave carved naturally into the mountainside. Without hesitation, he continued on with the bear carcass inside, vanishing into the darkness as though the mountain itself had swallowed him.
Turik slowed his horse to a near stop at the edge of visibility. The cave mouth yawned ahead, silent and still. Behind him, the Blue Hearts waited for his command.
Inside, the figure had already disappeared into the dark.
The mouth of the cave loomed ahead, its darkness swallowing what little remained of the day’s light. Not a sound escaped from within. No shifting stone. No growl. No indication that anyone waited beyond the entrance.
Only eerie silence.
Broc guided his horse forward until he was once again beside Turik. Behind them, the Blue Hearts had quietly formed a defensive line across the slope, each man keeping his voice low as hands instinctively drifted toward sword hilts and bowstrings.
Broc kept his eyes fixed on the cave. "Are you ready?"
Turik didn't answer immediately. His attention never left the darkness ahead, as though expecting it to move at any moment.
Finally, he spoke.
"I'll go first." He glanced briefly over his shoulder at the waiting men. "No one follows until I give the signal."
Broc frowned. "You plan on walking in there alone?"
"I plan on bringing him out alive." Turik's voice remained calm.
"If that's really the Red Dragon..." He looked back toward the cave. "...he'll make quite the gift for Odessa."
Broc's head snapped toward him. "Alive?" His voice rose before he caught himself.
"NO!" He shook his head. "We should cut him down where he stands for what he did to Smoli!"
The words echoed softly against the stone.
Turik finally turned to face him. "That’s a terrible idea! If he truly is the man who killed Smoli..." He let the thought hang for a moment. "... And survived Odessa… What makes you think he'll be easy to kill!?"
Broc's jaw tightened. "What exactly is that supposed to mean?"
"It means I don't intend to bury more of our men because we rushed into a cave blinded by revenge." Turik gestured toward the line of Blue Hearts waiting behind them.
"Look at them! Every man counts… They're all that's left." His expression hardened. "The Evokians are coming, Broc. Every man we lose today is one less standing beside us tomorrow."
Broc's breathing grew heavier. "Don't call caution wisdom." His hand settled on the hilt of his sword. "Smoli is dead because of that bastard!"
For a brief moment, neither man spoke.
Turik stepped closer until only a pace separated them. He placed both hands firmly on Broc's shoulders, forcing his friend to meet his eyes. "Listen to me." His voice remained low, but every word carried unmistakable authority. "Odessa isn't here. I'm responsible for every man standing behind us."
"If this goes wrong..." He glanced briefly toward the Blue Hearts before looking back at Broc. "...it's my failure."
A long silence settled between them.
"You can work with me..." Turik's grip tightened slightly. "...or I can relieve you of command. You know that I have that authority now."
The words were neither threatening nor proud. Only painful.
Broc searched Turik's face. The anger remained. So did the grief.
But beneath both...
He saw certainty.
Slowly, Broc looked away. His hand slipped from the hilt of his sword. "...Fine." The word came reluctantly. He stepped back and motioned toward the waiting scouts.
Turik released a quiet breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Send two riders back to Minht."
Broc nodded.
"Tell Odessa what we've found." His eyes returned to the cave. "The rest of you stay hidden."
He looked once more at Broc. "Watch my back. I'll tell you when to move."
Without another word, Broc turned and began issuing quiet orders to the men. Two riders immediately broke from the formation and disappeared down the mountainside, while the remaining Blue Hearts spread themselves among the rocks and brush, every pair of eyes fixed on the dark mouth of the cave.
Turik drew his sword in one smooth motion before easing himself out from the shelter of the brush. Every step uphill was measured, careful not to send loose stone tumbling beneath his boots. Behind him, the Blue Hearts remained hidden among the rocks and scrub, bows drawn and blades waiting, each man holding his breath as their commander approached the mouth of the cave alone.
The entrance yawned before him. Cold air drifted from within. It carried the smell of damp stone...
And something else.
Fresh blood.
Turik stopped well outside the cave's reach, careful to leave enough distance that nothing inside could rush him before he had time to react.
He raised his sword. "Come out." His voice echoed softly into the darkness. "Show yourself, you beast!"
Silence answered him. No footsteps. No breathing. Nothing.
Turik narrowed his eyes, searching the blackness beyond the entrance.
It felt less like staring into a cave… And more like staring into something that was staring back. Several long moments passed.
Still nothing.
Without taking his eyes from the entrance, Turik slowly backed away until he reached the nearest patch of brush where one of his archers waited.
"Light it." he said, along with a hand signal.
The archer gave a single nod. He wrapped an oil-soaked cloth around the arrowhead, touched it to a waiting flame, and drew the bowstring.
The arrow hissed through the air. Fire disappeared into the cave.
A heartbeat later, a second followed.
Both shafts struck stone somewhere inside, their flames flickering weakly against walls that seemed to swallow the light instead of reflecting it.
Turik stepped forward again. He squinted into the cave.
The fire illuminated almost nothing. Just fragments. A rough stone wall. The edge of a discarded hide. Something hanging from the ceiling.
Then...
Movement.
Slow, but intentional.
A figure emerged from the darkness, one careful step at a time.
Long golden hair spilled over broad shoulders in tangled strands. Months of neglect had left a thick beard obscuring much of his face, while layers of stitched bear fur hung loosely across his body. He carried himself with the wary posture of a cornered predator, every movement measured, every muscle seemingly prepared to spring.
In one hand...
He held the Red Dragon. Its familiar blade caught the firelight before the man himself did.
Turik's grip tightened instinctively. There was no mistaking it.
His mouth went dry as he called the name “Tyrus?” The name barely escaped as more than a whisper.
Tyrus's dark ruby red eyes swept across Turik without fear. Only calculation for his next strike. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded rough from disuse, each word dragged across his throat like stone scraping against stone.
"Leave." He slowly raised the Red Dragon, its tip settling toward Turik's chest. "Now…”
Turik held his ground. "Are… you… Tyrus?"
The wild man didn't react to hearing his own name.
Instead… He took one step forward. Then another.
"Run."
The word came low. Almost like a warning.
"Run away."
Turik answered by lifting his own sword. "Don't take another step!"
A sharp whistle cut across the hillside.
Immediately, Blue Hearts emerged from the brush on both sides of the cave, weapons drawn as they spread into a loose semicircle around the entrance.
Tyrus didn't panic. He simply looked. One by one. Counting the men in front of him. Measuring each strength. His eyes lingered on every soldier before returning to Turik.
Turik noticed it. "There's more behind the ridge," he said, allowing himself the faintest smile. "And more waiting below the hill."
He wanted Tyrus to believe escape was impossible.
For the first time, Tyrus hesitated. His gaze drifted past the soldiers before slowly shifting back toward the darkness behind him. Without taking his eyes off Turik, he retreated a single step. Then another. Until the narrow mouth of the cave framed him once again.
The passage behind him was barely wide enough for two men to stand shoulder to shoulder. A bottleneck. A place where numbers meant very little.
Turik recognized the advantage immediately.
So did Broc.
Unable to restrain himself any longer, Broc strode out from behind the line of Blue Hearts until he stood beside Turik, anger burning plainly across his face.
"Come out here!" His voice thundered against the mountainside. He pointed his sword toward the cave. "Fight me, you coward!"
The mountain fell silent once more.
Tyrus never looked away from Broc.
For the first time since emerging from the cave… He took a slow step forward. And another. Not like a man accepting a challenge. But like a wolf deciding whether something was worth killing.
The silence stretched between them until Broc finally stepped forward, lowering the tip of his sword just enough to show he wasn't striking.
"I challenge you." His voice carried across the mountainside. "For the Red Dragon." He took another step. "And if you defeat me... my men will allow you safe passage."
The Blue Hearts exchanged uneasy glances but remained silent.
Broc never took his eyes off the man standing inside the cave.
"You killed my friend." His grip tightened around the hilt. "I've earned my chance at vengeance."
Tyrus studied him without speaking. His expression never changed. When he finally answered, his voice was as cold as the stone surrounding him. "I have killed many men." He took a slow step out of the darkness. "If you wish to join them..." Another step. "...allow me to deliver you."
The movement snapped Turik out of his thoughts. "Shit…!" He immediately stepped between Broc and the cave.
"No…" His voice rose.
"No!" He turned sharply toward the waiting Blue Hearts.
"Bring him back." His arm pointed directly toward Broc. "We are not doing this!"
The order rippled through the line of soldiers. Several men hesitated before beginning to move.
The instant they did, Tyrus retreated one measured step back toward the shelter of the cave.
Broc raised a hand. "Stand down!" His command halted the men in an instant. "I will have my duel."
Turik spun back toward him. "I warned you." His voice had gone dangerously calm. "I'm relieving you of command. I have the authority."
Broc closed the distance between them until they stood nearly chest to chest. "Do not doubt me."
Turik didn't answer right away. Instead, he looked past Broc.
Tyrus hadn't moved again. He simply watched them. Those unnatural ruby eyes never left either officer, following every word, every hesitation, every crack forming between them.
Turik felt an uncomfortable realization settle in his stomach. He's waiting for us to fall apart.
He forced himself to look away. "I'm second in command," he said quietly. "Which makes me first while the captain is absent." His eyes returned to Broc. "Step aside, General."
Broc's jaw flexed. His hand slowly curled into a fist.
For one terrible moment, Turik wondered whether the next fight would be between the two of them.
Then...
Broc lowered his hand. He said nothing.
Turik stepped past him until he once again faced the cave. "Surrender." His voice echoed faintly from the stone walls. "And perhaps we'll show you mercy."
Tyrus tilted his head. "If you deny the larger man his fight..." His eyes settled on Turik. "...then offer yourself instead."
A faint smile touched Turik's lips. "I’m not going to do that." He spread his hands toward the hillside surrounding them. "You've counted us already." His smile faded. "The odds improve considerably if you surrender. I can promise you that."
For the first time, something almost resembling amusement crossed Tyrus's face. He took another slow step backward.
The darkness welcomed him. "And I can promise..." His voice drifted from within the cave. "...that if you enter this place..."
Another step.
"...you will die here."
The Red Dragon caught the last flicker of firelight before disappearing into shadow.
"Come inside commander."
The invitation settled over the hillside like a curse.
No one moved.
Broc finally broke the silence. He looked toward Turik. "It's your decision." Without another word, he slid his sword back into its scabbard.
Turik considered the cave for a long moment before speaking. "We've already sent riders for our captain." His voice remained steady. "The same offer stands." He took a cautious step closer to the entrance, though not close enough to lose his advantage.
"When our captain arrives, we will challenge you for the Red Dragon. Should you somehow prevail..."
He paused.
"...you'll be allowed to leave."
Nothing answered him. Only darkness.
Then Tyrus's voice emerged once more. Calm and cold. "Bring me whoever you wish."
A beat passed.
"I will kill your captains, your commanders, your kings and your Gods"
Silence reclaimed the cave.
Turik slowly lowered his sword. He turned back toward the waiting Blue Hearts.
Broc caught his arm before he could walk away. "You doubt me?" There was no anger left in his voice now.
Only hurt.
Turik looked at Broc for a long moment. Then he quietly shook his head. His answer came almost as a whisper. "I just can't afford to lose you."
The words lingered between them longer than either man expected.
Turik gently pulled his arm free before motioning for the Blue Hearts to hold their positions. No one advanced. No one lowered their guard.
The cave remained still. Dark and waiting.
Somewhere beyond the reach of the dying firelight, Tyrus withdrew deeper into the mountain’s cave until even the faint outline of his silhouette vanished completely.
Only the promise of his voice remained. And the certainty that sooner or later… someone would have to step into the darkness to face him.