The morning came far too quickly after a night that had refused to end. Cold air settled over the camp, and the damp earth still held the night's rain. Inside the stable, Jenny let out a long, weary groan that rippled through her frame, stirring West from where he had fallen asleep against her side. The donkey stretched first, followed a heartbeat later by West, who winced as stiff muscles and bruised ribs protested the movement.
An empty liquor bottle stood half-buried in the dirt nearby, a lonely reminder of the previous evening. West glanced at it before turning to Jenny with a tired smile.
"Rough night," West admitted.
She answered with another low grunt that sounded suspiciously like agreement.
Cradling his injured ribs, West wandered to a nearby trough. The water was crisp enough to sting his hands. He scooped up a pair of handfuls and splashed them across his face, letting the chill drive away the lingering haze in his head.
By the time he looked up, the camp was already in motion.
Blue Hearts filled the broad streets of the city, each man heading toward his assigned duties with purpose. The difference from yesterday was impossible to miss. Odessa's return had swept through the ranks like a command no one dared ignore. Men who had once lingered now walked with urgency, conversations cut short in favor of work. Discipline had returned overnight.
Near one of the cookfires, Turik stood in a short line waiting for his morning tea. West drifted over to join him.
"Good morning, West." Turik greeted him.
"Commander," West answered with a small salute.
Turik swept a hand toward the bustling streets. "Look around West, everyone is working. No standing around. That is the difference when the Captain is out here. Suddenly, everyone remembers how to function as expected." A satisfied smile settled across his face.
"You seem to be feeling well today." West watched another group hurry past, carrying supplies across the square.
"I feel like mud. Perhaps we shouldn't have opened that fourth bottle last night." By then, Turik had reached the front of the line and motioned for two cups.
"I don't even remember the third." West accepted one of the steaming cups, welcoming the warmth between his hands. After taking a careful sip, his thoughts drifted elsewhere. "And what of Broc?"
Turik's expression dimmed as he breathed out through his nose.
"I haven't seen him today. He should be working amongst the ranks, but no one seems to have seen him since his outburst last night." He lingered on the thought for a moment before shrugging. "How are those ribs feeling?"
"Not bad. I think I can go back to work." West tested the thought with a careful stretch, stopping the moment his ribs protested.
Turik answered by thumping the injury with the back of his hand.
Pain shot through West's side. He tensed instinctively, sloshing tea over the rim of his cup.
"Go talk to Hemlo first. See what he says about you working."
With that, Turik drained the last of his tea and wandered back toward the bustle of camp, leaving West rubbing at his ribs.
Before heading to the medical tent, West took a slow walk through the city, searching for any sign of Broc. He checked the work crews, glanced through the gathering points, and stopped more than a few Blue Hearts along the way. Each answer was the same.
No sight of the big man.
By the time West reached the medical tent, Odessa had already disappeared inside. Outside, Hemlo was gathering the blood-soaked cloths left over from the night's treatment, rolling each stained strip into a tight bundle before stacking them together.
"West." Hemlo greeted him with a small salute.
"Hemlo." West nodded in acknowledgement.
"How do those ribs feel?" Without warning, Hemlo swung a hand toward West's abdomen. Expecting the test, West caught his wrist before it landed.
"Not too bad. I think I can swing that shovel." He demonstrated with an exaggerated motion.
"That's how you make it worse! Aren't you a doctor?" Hemlo asked half-seriously.
West frowned with a puzzled expression. "I'm not a doctor."
"Then why do all these slugs insist on being treated by you?" Hemlo muttered, eyeing him with open suspicion.
Instead of answering, West reached out and lifted Hemlo's hands into the light. "What's all this blood?"
"It is not from a man. I was the one assigned to skin the bears last night, or did you forget?" Hemlo pulled his hands free.
A grin tugged at the corner of West's mouth.
"Go bother someone else, West. I actually have work to do," Hemlo barked.
"It was a joke. Take it easy." West lifted his hands.
Hemlo answered by tossing the bundle of bloodstained linens into West's arms. "Carry this for me. Keep your arms above your waist."
West caught the bundle without complaint. Hemlo gathered another armful for himself before jerking his head toward the rear of camp.
"Follow me," Hemlo ordered as he continued walking.
They passed between rows of quiet tents until they reached a weathered wooden crate set aside for soiled bandages. West dropped his bundle on top, while Hemlo added the rest before brushing his hands together.
"Thank you," Hemlo said.
West gave a small nod.
Hemlo eased himself onto the edge of a nearby table, taking a brief moment to rest after the morning's work.
West lingered for a second before finally asking the question that had been circling his mind since he woke. "I was looking to get some information on Tyrus."
Hemlo looked at West, his brow knitting in confusion. "Who the fuck is Tyrus?"
West blinked at him before taking a step closer. "The man who was captured yesterday. You treated him."
"Oh." Recognition crossed Hemlo's face almost instantly. "Yeah, he's dead."
"What?!" West lurched forward before he could stop himself.
Hemlo threw his head back and burst into a booming laugh. "See? I got jokes too."
West answered with a tight smile that never reached his eyes. The laughter gradually faded as Hemlo studied his expression.
His tone lost its teasing edge as he cleared his throat. "Odessa is a vicious woman. That man is very lucky to be alive, regardless of how temporary that may be."
West let out a slow breath, the tension easing from his shoulders. "Well... in that, then he is blessed."
"There was not much I could do for him. He would not allow me to approach him, so I left him tied up in the dungeon." Hemlo said with a deep sigh.
"I see." The words came quietly, more to himself than anyone else.
"I can take you to see him if you'd like." Hemlo offered.
West hesitated just long enough for the offer to linger between them. "That's not necessary." He gave a small shake of his head. "Thank you, Hemlo."
Before West could answer, Hemlo's attention shifted across the camp. "What is it now?" he shouted. "I already told you to deal with the pain!"
Loredo approached at an unhurried pace, a strip of clean white linen wrapped around his injured eye. "I need to clean the wound," he replied. His gaze settled on West. "And just my luck, West is here."
Hemlo snorted. "We already cleaned it yesterday."
"Well, it needs to be cleaned again. I told you I'm not going to lose the eye." Loredo protested.
"He's right." West stepped forward before Hemlo could argue further. "We should clean it every day. Maybe even twice some days."
"Right." Loredo nodded, clearly satisfied to have someone on his side.
Hemlo looked from one man to the other before letting out an amused laugh. "Well, just my luck, West is here."
West fetched a small pot and began heating fresh water. The familiar routine came naturally as he measured dried herbs into the steaming water before reaching for a small jar of bear grease balm. Across from him, Loredo carefully unwound the linen from around his head, revealing the battered eye beneath. Hemlo lingered nearby, watching in silence as West went about the treatment with practiced hands.
As West soaked a clean cloth in the herbal mixture, Loredo broke the quiet. "I heard you had a chance to meet with the Captain. What's the damage look like?"
West gently dabbed the soaked linen around Loredo's eye, careful not to disturb the healing wound. "Besides the cut at her thigh, it's just some small cuts and bruising. She's in good spirits, and with a little rest she will be just as before."
"That's good to hear," Loredo said. "Considering what she was up against."
"Did you doubt your Captain?" Hemlo asked, leaning forward with an amused glint in his eye.
"Doubt? No." Loredo remained still while West continued cleaning the injury. "But when she's dueling something called the Red Dragon, I wonder what toll that takes on a person."
"Never bet against the Captain." Satisfied that West had everything under control, Hemlo lowered himself onto a nearby stool. "She's a very skilled warrior and has the added benefit of being a woman."
Loredo gave him a skeptical look. "How does that benefit her? On the contrary, it is a source of disadvantage that she has overcome."
A knowing smile spread across Hemlo's face. "That is what every warrior that has crossed her path has told themselves before she puts the blade to them. And she is well aware of it."
"What does that mean?" Loredo asked with confusion in his voice.
West wrung out the cloth in silence.
"Her opponents become arrogant and careless with their actions. They think they're facing a vulnerable woman." West answered.
Hemlo pointed toward him with an approving nod. "Volta shit. You wouldn't get it, Azurian."
"Piss off, old man!" Loredo huffed, though there was little heat behind it. After a moment, he looked back at West. "So, do you think that's what happened to the Dragon?"
West kept his attention on the wound. "I don't know."
"From what the others are saying, it was quite the duel between them. Some of the older Hearts said they had never seen Odessa bleed before that. He must be quite the swordsman."
West offered no reply. He simply continued his work, applying a thin layer of balm before carefully laying a fresh strip of linen over the damaged eye.
"I was there," Hemlo said, the memory lingering in his voice. "It was inspiring."
"And to think that was the same man who slew Dresdi." Loredo waited while West secured the clean bandage in place. "Have you had a chance to see him?"
"No." West's answer was brief. He turned away to gather the herbs and cloths scattered across the table, cleaning his workspace with the same quiet focus he had shown throughout the treatment.
Hemlo's lips curled into a grin. "Except for that smack you gave him." The chuckle barely escaped him before he caught the change in West's expression.
Stolen novel; please report.
Loredo turned toward him, his curiosity immediately piqued. "Is that right?"
"Yeah... I guess I did do that." Discomfort crept into West's voice as the memory resurfaced.
Loredo smiled. "I knew you liked to start trouble. You never told me what the story was between you two. So it was a rivalry thing?"
"No." West's answer came slowly. "I... I don't really want to talk about it."
"Oh, come on. I've held grudges for the pettiest things." Loredo admitted shamelessly.
"Will you be quiet, Loredo?" Hemlo cut in before West could respond. "If he doesn't want to talk about his stupid feuds, then he shouldn't have to."
"I'm just curious why he hates the guy." Loredo shrugged. "To go through all this and not even keep the blade, just motivated by hate alone. You never struck me as that kind of man."
West lowered his eyes for a moment, turning the question over before finally answering. "I don't hate Tyrus. I think we might have been friends at some time." He paused, struggling to make sense of his own actions. "I just... I really don't know what compelled me to strike him."
"It was for everything he's put us through." Hemlo's amusement vanished. "Killing Smoli. The winter. He deserves to bleed out in that dungeon. Let the rats have at him!"
"If the Captain intended for the man to die, she would have already done it." Loredo folded his arms. "Clearly, she has other plans."
West's gaze drifted toward the medical tent where Odessa had been treated. "She is allowing me to decide his fate."
Loredo's brows lifted. "Oh? Well, how lucky is he to have a friend with the ear of Odessa." A grin crept across his face. "Perhaps he can join the crew. I heard Odessa needs a new champion after Broc the Bug was thrown back to the ranks." he laughed.
"I'm not letting him out." The words left West without hesitation.
Loredo studied him, the humor fading into quiet confusion.
Hemlo nodded approvingly. "Good! He should be made to suffer for what he did to Commander Smoli. I pray the Captain bestows that job to me." He punctuated the thought by spitting into the dirt.
"Smoli was a warrior of high honor." Loredo's voice remained calm. "He knew what awaited him behind every enemy sword." His gaze shifted between the two men. "All of us know what we're doing here."
A brief moment of silence crept into the room.
Hemlo rose from the table and squared himself toward Loredo. "And what do you think we're doing here?"
"Fighting and dying to stop the Evok and his forces," Loredo answered.
Hemlo folded his arms across his chest, his expression hardening as his voice took on the tone of a lesson long repeated.
"We are correcting a mistake that occurred years before either of you were born. The restoration of our Queen Rah-Kells order. The laws that promised and delivered over two centuries of peace to the north. Comparing us to these savages is to miss what we fight for."
Loredo listened without interruption. By the time Hemlo finished, a faint grin had found its way onto his face. "And what do the Evokians fight for?" He asked.
"For the Evok," Hemlo answered without hesitation. "They all have been deceived into believing he is the rightful heir to the Cobalt Crown and the Eastern Throne. I was there when Ossimo walked into the Indigo Palace. He is no king, let alone a god. He's an imposter."
A quiet silence settled between them before Loredo spoke again. "Well, I just think he can be a real asset for us. I don't think West should be pressured to let his friend die because he killed someone. This is a war; we’re all killing each other eventually," he finished.
"That's because you're a former slave; morality has eluded you." Hemlo turned. “Smoli was our brother in the crusade against the evil that has plagued these lands. The prisoner is a product of these evil lands; our hands are not the same. I understand this, and West understands this, and in time I pray that you do as well."
West remained quiet for a moment, weighing the words before finally answering. "Tyrus is not an evil man. I just can't in good faith allow him to leave the dungeon. I don't care if he kills our enemies or if he kills our allies. If I can prevent another death, then I will."
Hemlo shook his head. "Get off your high horse, have you not heard a word I’ve said. There is a difference between a warrior and a killer. Your friend is a killer. We are warriors. What we do saves lives, perhaps not today, but in time." His gaze never left West. "It is only a coward who fears the battle and dismisses it all as senseless violence."
"I am going to agree with Hemlo." Loredo nodded. "Monsters must be slain by the dirty hands of the warrior."
West's eyes settled on the bundle of discarded bandages resting beside the table.
"He is a dangerous man. I have seen what he is capable of." His voice stayed low but unwavering. "I will not allow a man like him to be allowed to wander. Not again." He lifted his eyes to meet theirs. "I've made my decision."
"If you put in the word for me with Odessa, I'll put that dog down fast. He won't have to suffer." Hemlo gave West a firm pat on the shoulder before turning and walking out of the tent, leaving the words hanging in the air behind him.
Silence settled between the two men.
“So if any of us was locked away in a cage you’d leave us there?” Loredo asked.
West remained quiet.
“Look around West, everyday, you’ve been working, joking, drinking, eating and everything in between with people who, I can guarantee, have done worse things than what your friend has done.” He continued expecting a response from West, but got nothing.
Loredo studied West for a moment before speaking more quietly. "I can see it's all weighing on you. You know this man better than anyone here. Surely the decision was not a light one."
West never answered. His eyes remained fixed on the floor, his thoughts somewhere far beyond the medical tent.
"You should pay him a visit. One last time." Loredo's voice remained calm, free of judgment. "Take him a little warm soup. I think they still have some of that bear broth."
"I don't..." West started but didn’t finish.
"If he was really a friend at one point, you will regret not doing it." Loredo rested a hand on West's shoulder. "A condemned man is still a man."
West looked up.
"Not wanting to take a life does not make you a coward." Loredo gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Avoiding a battle does."
The words lingered inside too long. West opened his mouth as if to answer, but nothing came.
Loredo let the silence stand for what it was before offering a faint smile. "Come on. Let's go get some soup at the old temple. I'm hungry." As he passed, he gave West's injured ribs a gentle tap, just enough to draw an annoyed glance before stepping out into the street.
Together they made their way through the city. The roads were still busy with Blue Hearts and Minhtians gathered in long lines before five enormous pots of simmering broth. Four members of the company worked steadily, filling bowls as quickly as they could, while a young Blue Heart moved up and down the line, reassuring the restless crowd that there would be enough for everyone.
West and Loredo joined the queue alongside the others.
By the time they reached the front, the mood had relaxed. Bowls of watered-down bear broth were passed around, and the familiar rough humor of the Blue Hearts returned as they ate together, trading jokes loud enough to drown out the clatter of spoons against wood.
Little by little, the lines disappeared.
The Blue Hearts scattered back to their assignments, while several Minhtian women stepped forward with brooms, sweeping away the mud and scraps left behind by the morning rush.
West's gaze found Hemlo among the departing crowd. He crossed the square and stopped beside him. "I think I'll take you up on that offer, Hemlo." His voice was quiet but resolute. "I want to see Tyrus."
Hemlo let out a slow sigh. "Fine." He motioned for West to follow. "Let us go before it starts getting dark."
They made their way to the dungeon without speaking.
The fortress walls loomed over them, cold and silent. No guards stood watch at the entrance, and the heavy wooden doors had been left open. Hemlo reached beneath his tunic, drew out the iron key hanging from a cord around his neck, and unlocked the door leading below.
A wave of stale, damp air greeted them.
The stairway descended into darkness so complete that the walls seemed to swallow the light. Hemlo struck a torch against the stone until it caught, then placed it into West's hand. Together they stepped into the underground chamber. Rows of iron cells stretched into the gloom. The first one held only a single figure sprawled across the dirt floor.
"There he is." Hemlo pointed ahead.
West's eyes settled on the wounded warrior.
"Wake up!" Hemlo's voice crashed through the dungeon, echoing from one empty cell to the next.
The figure on the floor twitched.
Hemlo slipped the key into West's free hand. "Give it back to me tomorrow." His eyes drifted toward Tyrus as the prisoner slowly stirred. "You're making the right decision. Do not let your pity for him sway that." Without waiting for a reply, Hemlo turned and climbed back toward the light, leaving the heavy silence of the dungeon behind him.
West rested a forearm against the cold iron bars and raised the torch.
The flickering light crawled across Tyrus's battered body, revealing dried blood, bruises, and the dirt caked into every wound.
Tyrus stirred again, forcing himself onto one elbow. "I told you to run away from here!" He reached toward the light, swiping clumsily at the flame.
West instinctively pulled the torch back. As the fire shifted, its glow settled across his face.
Tyrus froze. "...West?"
"Tyrus." West’s voice sounded too forced.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Then Tyrus slowly pushed himself upright, remaining seated on the hard-packed earth. "West..."
"How are you doing?" West asked, unable to hide the unease in his voice.
Tyrus struggled to steady his breathing before answering. "I am dead... but how have you come to stumble into the afterlife?"
West frowned and leaned farther against the bars. "What are you talking about? You're not dead."
Tyrus looked away, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I was also in denial... until I spoke with the others."
"The others?" West asked, confused.
"Lord Omni. Dresdi. My father, and all the others." His eyes wandered into the darkness beyond the torchlight, lingering as though he expected familiar faces to emerge from the shadows and greet him.
West followed his gaze, finding nothing but empty cells. "Tyrus, we are not dead." He kept his voice steady. "You were defeated in a duel. Don't you remember?"
"Yes... yes." Tryus muttered softly.
The answer came suddenly.
"I saw her." Tyrus's voice trembled with something between awe and conviction. "The mighty Queen Rah-Kell of northern legend." His eyes remained fixed somewhere beyond the dungeon walls, seeing something West could not. "Her mighty shield has delivered me from my ignorance."
West shook his head. "We are not dead!" The words rang through the empty dungeon. "That was not Rah-Kell. It was Odessa. She wanted the Red Dragon." He opened up the cell and stepped inside. He lowered himself onto the dirt, bringing himself level with Tyrus instead of looking down at him through the bars.
West studied the wounds on Tyrus, he took a hold of his hand that had a deep cut at the palm. He took a piece of cloth from the waistband and began to wipe it dry on the wound.
Tyrus regarded him in silence. "Even here," he murmured, "you still believe you know more than everyone else."
The remark stung more than West expected. He drew a slow breath before asking the question that had followed him for months. "Why did you leave me behind, Tyrus?"
Tyrus held his gaze. "I did not leave you behind." His voice remained calm. "I left you ahead."
West frowned. "Dammit... you're not making any sense."
For the first time since entering the dungeon, concern began to outweigh frustration.
"Back in Azure, you abandoned me. We agreed we would stay together, no matter what happened." West’s voice was stern but began to crack.
"Things changed," Tryus responded.
"Nothing changed." West's voice sharpened. "You tricked me, and then you ran off with my Red Dragon."
“That blade does not belong to either of us, it hers, it has always been.” Tyrus said assuredly.
“This is not about the blade Tyrus” West began to reach into his pocket for what was left of the bear balm.
A quiet laugh escaped Tyrus. "If you are truly still alive..." He tilted his head ever so slightly. "Why do you continue to chase the dead?"
"You're not dead, Tyrus!" West shouted.
"Lord Omni is dead." The laughter disappeared as quickly as it had come. "And whatever vision he had of me has been buried with him." His eyes drifted toward the darkness once more. "You would know this if you had been there to bury him."
The accusation landed with painful precision.
"I did not abandon you in Azure," Tyrus continued. "I left you at home... with your family."
"I told you then I did not wish to stay." West leaned forward, his frustration finally breaking through. "We were supposed to stick together."
"Well..." Tyrus looked back at him, the strange haze in his eyes giving way to startling clarity. "We are here now."
The words settled heavily between them.
"Ask yourself if this is where you want to be," Tryus asked.
"Up until you showed up, I thought this was exactly where I wanted to be..." West rebutted and stood back up. Tyrus looked up at West, in his fine fabrics.
“You’ve changed in so many ways,” Tyrus muttered.
“It’s only natural,” West responded as he continued scanning the cuts and bruises on Tyrus. “Let me see what I can do about that cut,” West remarked.
"You do not allow yourself the freedom to walk away from this!" Tyrus's voice exploded through the dungeon, echoing off the stone walls until it seemed the empty cells themselves were shouting back.
The outburst faded as quickly as it came.
When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. "I am not whoever you and Omni thought I was."
West stared at him for a long moment. Then began to remove the top layer of his tunic.
"I've never thought you were anyone but this." His shoulders sagged beneath the weight of the admission. "I guess I just wanted to believe that maybe Master Omni really did see something in you..." He looked down at the dirt between them. "And perhaps if I followed through with enough faith, I could..."
The thought withered before he could give it words.
"I was there, West." Tyrus pulled himself to the iron bars, using them to drag his battered body upright. "I was there when you had your argument, and I was there when he died. This is not the way to honor him. Your duty to him is over and you owe me nothing"
The conviction in his voice gave West pause. "I suppose you're right.." He rose slowly from the dirt, brushing the dust from his hands. "I'm sorry about everything, Tyrus."
"There is nothing to apologize for." Tyrus lowered his eyes. "I have brought this all upon myself." For the first time since West had entered the dungeon, there was no anger in his voice.
Only exhaustion.
"I thank you West." His fingers tightened around the bars as he bowed his head. "For releasing me from captivity once again. I will continue forward... to Terrah, but please do not follow me."
The plea hung in the cold air between them.
West drew in a long, slow breath and slowly made his way out of the cell.
Tyrus continued holding on to the bars, barley keeping himself up when he heard the cell shut and West reapply the lock.
"West," Tyrus continued. "Please."
West rubbed a hand across his forehead before meeting his eyes. "I'm afraid…I can't do that, Tyrus."
The last trace of hope disappeared from Tyrus's face.
"West..."
"I'm sorry, Tyrus, but after what happened with Beiru, I cannot allow myself to let you out knowing what you are capable of doing."
"Do not compare me with that animal." Tryus snarled at West; the frustration returned instantly.
"What will you do to the first guard that tries to stop you from fleeing?" West asked with his gaze low.
Tyrus opened his mouth. Then stopped. No answer came.
West didn't press him. "I'm sorry, Tyrus." His voice was barely more than a whisper as he turned and walked toward the stairs.
The torchlight shrank with every step until darkness reclaimed the cell.
"West, wait!" Tyrus's voice cracked as it chased after him. "Please don't leave me with him! Not again!" His cries thundered through the empty dungeon, rebounding from the stone walls until they became little more than distant echoes.
Then came the unmistakable sound of iron meeting iron. The lock clicked shut. Silence swallowed everything that remained. Tyrus slowly sank to his knees. The cold beneath the earth wrapped around him once again, familiar now after months spent alone in the darkness.