Brent moved through us briskly, not wasting time. He checked straps, tugged at armour, pressed fingers against cuts and bruises. When he reached me, he gave my side a short, firm push. I hissed and stepped back. He nodded once.

  That was when I noticed the blood on his sleeve. It had soaked through the cloth and dried stiff.

  I followed his line of sight toward the broken trees and churned ground at the edge of the road.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  Brent wiped his hand on his trousers before answering. “Doppler trolls.”

  He crouched and poked at one of the deep tracks in the dirt. “This all stinks. Made noise from one side, hit from the other. This was an ambush.”

  The druid protectors came into view properly then. One favoured a leg as he walked, testing each step before putting weight on it. The other rotated his shoulder and adjusted the strap across his chest. Both had their own injuries, neither slowed. Their eyes watching the spaces between the trees.

  Brent pulled more handful of small vials from his pouch and passed them out. I uncorked mine and caught the scent of sharp herbs and alcohol. The siblings shook their heads and rolled something green from a leather wrap instead. Small, packed balls of crushed leaves and roots. They popped them into their mouths without comment. The smell lingered, fresh and earthy, like torn grass.

  I guess that’s some sort of Druid magic.

  Amelia was already clearing the rubble by the wagon. She levered rocks free and snapped branches with quick, efficient words. The frame tilted, creaked, then settled back into place with a low groan.

  The she-wolf limped out of the brush, one foreleg barely touching the ground. Still caked in blood I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the beast.

  “Eirwyn,” Celeste said, already moving. She knelt and ran careful hands along the wolf’s leg, checking the joint, the paw, the fur around it darkened with blood.

  Above us, the raven lifted off and climbed fast, wings cutting clean arcs through the air before it disappeared into the clouds.

  I drew a slow breath and felt it catch halfway out. My side burned where Brent had pressed it. I shifted my weight, tested it, stayed upright.

  We were still standing.

  That was enough.

  I looked over the wreckage and then at the treasure strapped to the fallen mountain troll. Giant scraps of armour, stamped with old symbols. I wanted to feed the sword, take the runes.

  The pieces were massive. Breaking them down would take too long.

  Anyway, it felt wrong. This wasn’t salvage. It was evidence.

  I stepped back from the hoard and let the urge pass. I had taken runes from three objects that was enough.

  The guardians moved to the wagon without a word. Hands sliding over the splintered wounds in the wood. Fingers pressed into cracks as if feeling for a pulse. The grain shifted under their touch. Fibres thickened, seams closed, and the broken beams swelled back into shape with a low creak, as though the wagon itself were breathing again.

  “Kid’s stay here,” Brent said. He was already moving. “Rob, you’re with me. Let’s get the damn horses.”

  What followed took the better part of an hour. We hauled fallen trees off the road, dragged splintered branches clear, and reharnessed the mounts that were still fit to pull. My suit came off early, peeled away by my ring and packed away before it could get any worse.

  Later, when things finally slowed, I checked the suit. Mud streaked the fabric. One sleeve was torn clean through. The runes stitched into the buttons had done their best. The worst of the grime had faded, and the cloth had pulled itself back into shape, but it was far from presentable.

  I let out a breath and folded it into the pouch.

  The tailor would be furious if I brought it in like this. And it wasn’t like I could go into the city for repairs… I wonder if the blacksmith knows anyone.

  When the wagon finally rolled, Amelia climbed up beside the siblings and sat rigidly. Her hands stayed clenched in her lap, knuckles pale. She barely spoke. The way she kept glancing at the earth piled along the roadside told me she was still shaken.

  Rob, meanwhile, acted like nothing worth remembering had happened. He checked straps, whistled under his breath, and swung up onto his horse without a second thought.

  The road stretched ahead of us again, scarred but passable, and we followed it out of the mess we’d made.

  “You alright?” I asked as we rode, the ponies picking their way over the broken ground.

  Rob shifted in the saddle. “Nah, this is nothing, mate. Been buried worse than that at home. Comes with digging ditches.”

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  Like water off a duck’s back, I thought.

  “But that was close,” I said, keeping my eyes on the road ahead.

  “Too right,” he said. “When the big one came out, I nearly shat a brick.”

  I snorted. He wasn’t wrong.

  Rob glanced at me sideways. “Still, what was with the fancy clothes?”

  I gave a small grin. “Trade secret.”

  He laughed. “Figures. Remember I got you that gear at the markets? If I’d known you had that kind of coin…”

  “I didn’t,” I said. “Not then. You helped me big.”

  He clicked his tongue. “So, what changed?”

  I hesitated, then shook my head. “Doyle would skin me if I said.”

  He leaned closer. “Go on.”

  “Can’t.”

  “Bah.”

  I shifted in the saddle. “Either way, I’ve got something lined up. For us.”

  His eyes sharpened. “That thing you and Doyle were snickering about.”

  “Yes,” I said. “And a bit more.”

  My hand brushed the pommel as my thoughts shifted to the blacksmith and the delivery already on the road. I had asked for extra. Enough to stretch beyond just me.

  Maybe enough for the siblings too.

  Helping Celeste felt right, even if I never said it out loud. I still carried the weight of Morganvale, of the times I had made a mess of things, I should have done more.

  I’d known her all my life. Yet, she was still an unknown to me. Kind, yes. Striking, gods yes. But distant, moving on paths I could not follow. Now a noble druid, or close enough to one. Helping was something I could do. And that was enough.

  Her brother was different. I doubted he would take anything, even if it was offered. In the fight he had been surprisingly solid. Loud, sure of himself, but steady when it mattered. Fiercely protective of his sister.

  My mind drifted back to Morganvale. Celeste had lived among us, yet there were stretches where she was simply gone. Days. Weeks. Most people didn’t notice.

  I did.

  I used to wonder where she went. Maybe she passed through the gate to stay with family. If that was true, I never understood why she came back to a place so quiet, so empty.

  I glanced over at her who was currently singing to the she wolf in low tones, treating her wounds. A serine peaceful look on her face after the storm. I couldn’t help but glance more than a few times over, the scene was captivating.

  Calum on the other hand looked pissed off. His lyre had been twisted, and he was trying to repair it with no luck. He glanced towards us as if we were to blame and gave me a death glare.

  What did I do? I wondered.

  The next few hours passed with Rob and me talking as we rode. The wagon creaked ahead of us, its weight shifting with every rut. The three inside listened but never joined in.

  Rob and I filled the road with noise. Stories. Complaints. Half-remembered jokes. The kind of useless chatter that comes after a close call.

  “Did you end up using the foundation elixirs?” I asked.

  Rob laughed and shook his head. “Wish I had. The bloody ponies bolted with Doyle’s pack.”

  I huffed a laugh.

  “Tragic,” he said, not sounding bothered at all. In fact, he sounded more cheerful than he had all day.

  I nudged the reins and glanced his way. “You’re in a good mood.”

  “Mate,” he said, still grinning, “You know… I’ve been chasing a blessing for blade work for ages. So, I can finally start proper with the sword.”

  He leaned closer in the saddle. “Yeah?”

  “And you know what finally did it?”

  “No idea.”

  “The dirt,” he said, still grinning. “Buried deep. I had to carve my way out with the dagger to reach Amelia, and then it just clicked. A blessing. Lighted my pocket up. Heck, it showed me the way out.”

  He dug into his pocket and flashed his soul card toward me. A new mark sat there, fresh and clean.

  “Congrats,” I said.

  “Cheers, mate.”

  He tucked the card away.

  Ahead, the wagon was still quiet. From the way Calum watched me, I got the sense he thought I had stepped back when things turned bad. His looks lingered too long. His glares came easy. Celeste however, stopped meeting my eyes altogether.

  The road stretched on, and the gap between us felt wider than the distance of the reins.

  Well, I had been invisible for most of it.

  And they hadn’t seen the end of it. When I dropped the sword, they were too far off, and Rob and Amelia were too busy fighting mud to look up.

  The blade rested quiet at my hip.

  I brushed my fingers along the hilt, waiting for something. Pressure. Heat. Anything. Nothing answered. I left my hand there a moment longer, then let it fall.

  I kept talking with Rob as we rode, letting the noise carry us the rest of the way.

  Brent led from the front, riding in silence. His posture was rigid, eyes forward, face set harder than I had ever seen it. His rapier was gone again. I scanned his hands, his saddle, found nothing. Hidden away, most likely. A ring. An amulet. Practical. Dangerous.

  When Brookfield came into view, the siblings didn’t react. No slowing. No glance toward the rooftops.

  “Welcome, kiddos,” Brent called out.

  No one answered. The siblings barely lifted their heads. Shoulders sagged. Hands hung loose at their sides. Whatever energy they had left had been spent on the road.

  Brent didn’t slow for it. He nudged his horse forward and led us straight into the centre of town.

  “Keep moving,” he said over his shoulder. “We’re not done yet.”

  The wagon rattled as he waved us toward the centre of town and before the command tent. He swung down from the saddle in one clean motion and disappeared inside. The canvas walls muffled his voice, but not enough to hide the edge in it.

  “Doppler trolls,” he said. “Confirmed. Coordinated movement. Wagon was the target.”

  A short man waited inside, sleeves rolled, ink-stained fingers gripping a slate. He listened without interrupting.

  “Jerald?” Brent asked at one point.

  “Pulled at dawn,” he replied. “City orders. Him and three others.”

  “Figures.”

  Brent kept going, laying it out piece by piece. The ambush. The terrain. The timing. By the time he finished, his jaw was set and his voice had gone flat.

  When Brent finished, the man turned to us and began his questions. He worked through us one by one, methodical and patient, pressing for details about positioning, timing, and what each of us had seen. We answered as best we could, adjusting our accounts when gaps became obvious.

  Even the siblings were questioned. Calum spoke plainly and without hesitation, describing how I had pulled back when the fight turned and only reappeared near the end, just in time to be taken by the troll. Celeste said nothing about me at all. She kept her eyes lowered and limited her answers to what she had directly seen.

  The rest of the testimonies matched what I already suspected. The ground had collapsed. Everyone had been fighting mud, panic, and noise as much as the enemy. No one had seen what I did.

  That suited me fine.

  Once the questioning ended, we were dismissed. We filed out of the tent without a word and crossed town at a steady pace. The tension stayed with us, riding our shoulders, tightening our steps, until we left the main road behind.

  As we rounded the corner toward Trond Cottage, the scent of herbs reached us first.

  “Who’s that?” Rob asked.

  I looked up. A man stood out front, waiting.

  Brent slowed immediately. His posture shifted, weight settling, attention locked on the stranger. The wagon creaked to a stop.

  “State your business,” Brent said.

  The man lifted his chin and smiled. “I’m looking for someone. Do any of you know where I could find Sean?”

  Every head turned toward me.