I quickly marked the stone with the pink ribbon and moved beside Calum. He looked petrified, more than I had ever seen before. His shoulders were locked, breath shallow, eyes fixed on nothing.

  I waved a hand in his face. He didn’t flinch. Pain and fear sat on his expression like something pressed there, raw and obvious.

  “Hey. Snap out of it,” I said.

  He blinked once, then looked at me. There was a flicker of understanding there, thin and strained, like it hurt to hold.

  “We have stepped into her domain,” he said.

  “Her? Who?”

  He shook his head. “We do not name them. It angers them,” he said. His voice was tight. “We need to go. Now.”

  I nodded and stepped toward the fog, already piercing the fog with my sword.

  Calum’s hand clamped onto my shoulder.

  “Wait,” he said.

  He lifted the flute to his lips. His fingers hesitated for half a breath, then he drew in air and began to play. The note was low and steady, not loud, but it carried. It vibrated in my chest more than my ears.

  The cold eased first. Not gone, just loosened. The fog thinned after that, peeling back enough to give us a few feet of ground. Shapes that had pressed close slid away.

  Calum didn’t stop playing. He nodded once and then we moved.

  With careful steps, sword up, leading us forward we cut through the unknown. The hill fort was our only point of reference, a darker shape high above, and I angled for it, cutting a straight line toward the tent beyond.

  Step by step, the fog crept back in. The light dulled overhead. The hill’s outline softened, then blurred, even as we moved closer. Puddles formed at my feet, and I skirted them by instinct.

  Shapes shifted in the fog. Brief flashes of red. Small footsteps skittered and vanished.

  I adjusted my pace by sound alone, letting it guide me. As Calum’s music threaded through the cold, pushing it back just enough to breathe.

  He never paused.

  Then metal rang.

  The sharp scrape of steel echoed through the fog, close enough to make us both flinch.

  We looked at each other. The sound came again, metal striking wood this time somewhere to our right.

  “Hello?” I called.

  The steel rang, blow after blow, uneven and desperate. Feet scraped and slid through mud. More than two people. Someone stumbled and swore.

  “A little help?” a girl’s voice called back.

  I met Calum’s eyes. One quick look was enough. We moved.

  Calum faltered in his tune for a breath, grabbed the amulet at his neck and pressed his thumb into it. The note dipped, then steadied as he brought the flute back up. Warmth rolled outward, stronger than before, pushing the fog back another few feet.

  We advanced. Slow. Careful.

  The fog thinned in ragged strips, then finally broke.

  Three kids our age stood back-to-back, shields raised. They were breathing hard, shoulders heaving. Small cuts marked exposed skin, nothing deep, but enough to sting. Their footing was bad. Mud clung to their boots.

  Closest to me were two boys, both bigger than us, broad shoulders, dirty brown hair plastered to their foreheads. Their faces were still soft, young, but fear had carved lines there already. Between them stood a girl with striking red hair.

  She held a small buckler tight to her chest. In her other hand was a silver dagger. A red crystal sat in the pommel, light rippling faintly along the blade, all the way to its tip.

  “Good,” she said, turning toward us. “We can see...”

  The fog shifted again and my breath caught.

  She was close enough now for the details to hit. Familiar. Uncomfortably so.

  Her eyes met mine.

  The change was instant. Shock first. Then something harder.

  Her mouth twisted.

  “You,” she spat.

  She didn’t have time to react.

  Steel flashed out of the fog and a small hand lunged for her throat. She caught it in the edge of her vision and grinned.

  Her dagger snapped forward, fast and precise, striking the incoming blade and knocking it aside. The impact chipped the incoming steel. The buckler came up next, driving hard under the creature’s chin. The force lifted it clean out of its hiding place. She twisted with the motion and slammed it into the mud.

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  It looked like a little gremlin. Sharp ears. Sharper teeth. A small cap sat on its head, dark and wet with blood.

  It shrieked and scrabbled for another knife at its belt.

  She was faster.

  In a blink, she drove her dagger down, pinning its hand into the muck. The creature thrashed, mud spraying, strength in it that didn’t match its size.

  “Finish him off,” she snapped.

  The others lunged in. Hands clawed for the cap. Blades struck again and again, not clean, not graceful. The creature screamed as its body began to thin and break apart, its outline dissolving even as it fought.

  The shriek carried, echoing through the fog.

  I heard movement answer it. Shuffling. Close.

  As the sound faded, the two larger boys stiffened. For a heartbeat they looked elated, breath quick, hands shaking. Beneath fabric and armour, their soul cards flared, glowing just bright enough to show through.

  The red-haired girl shot them a look.

  The excitement died where it stood.

  The girl studied me for a heartbeat, then turned sharply to her friends.

  “We move. Now. To the hill fort.”

  She jabbed the tip of her dagger toward Calum and me. Close enough that I had to lean back.

  “You two lead. Now.”

  So, we did.

  Calum kept playing, though his jaw was tight and his fingers were working the flute harder than before. The warmth from the amulet felt thinner, stretched. The five of us pushed toward the hill fort, its outline already fading again.

  The fog closed in as we moved. Not fast. Patient. The space Calum had carved out shrank with every step.

  I slowed to guard our backs. The red-haired girl matched me and helped protect our rear. We watched the fog instead of the others, listening past their muffled voices, past the scrape of boots.

  The sound dropped out all at once.

  My body reacted before my head caught up. I drove my blade sideways into the fog, arm jarring from the impact. The perception rune flared, screaming along my grip.

  Something shrieked. Close. Too close.

  I yanked the sword back, breath coming hard.

  The red-haired girl looked at me.

  Just for a second.

  Her expression gave nothing away, and I didn’t question it.

  As we pushed on and gained height, the fog began to thin. With each step, it loosened its grip.

  When we finally broke clear, the air felt wrong for a heartbeat.

  Calum let the last note trail off. He lowered the instrument, shoulders easing as the pressure around us bled away and the air settled back into something almost normal.

  I drew a slow breath.

  Ahead, the hill fort came fully into view. Stone and earth, solid and unmoving. A few other groups had already reached it, figures scattered along the rise.

  Rob and Celeste were already climbing, striding up the slope above us like they knew exactly where they were headed.

  Off to one side, Brent and Amelia pushed out of the fog. A thin sheet of water hung in front of them, curved like the bow of a ship cutting through mist. It shimmered faintly, trembling as it met resistance, the fog parting and sliding away along its edges.

  Amelia was pale, jaw set, one hand held forward. The water wavered with each step she took, rippling as the cold pressed against it. Beads ran back along the surface and fell to the ground at her feet.

  Brent stayed close to her shoulder, eyes sweeping the grey beyond the barrier. “Good job… Don’t let it close yet,” he muttered.

  “I’m not,” she said, breath tight. “It’s just… heavier than it looks.”

  Beyond them, at the rise, Jerald stood watch beside the druid guards. He didn’t move. Neither did they. Crimson armour marked the line clearly as more figures emerged from the thinning fog, shapes resolving into familiar formations.

  Jerald’s recruits.

  I glanced back toward the red-haired girl.

  Her trio didn’t fit. Their gear was mismatched and worn, pieces layered out of necessity rather than order.

  Not recruits. Not guards.

  Who are they? I wondered.

  Her gaze flicked to the fort, then back to the two clustered around her. She gave a short nod.

  They didn’t head up the rise.

  Instead, they peeled away, skirting the edge of the encampment and keeping to the broken ground. One by one, they slipped out of sight without a word, swallowed by the slope on the far side.

  She lingered a moment longer.

  Before turning, she looked back at me once. Long enough to be deliberate.

  She followed them, and the hill took them whole.

  Rob glanced between the two of us, taking in the mud caked on our clothes and boots. He barked a laugh. “You get into a scrap or something?”

  Calum shook his head. “No. I… fell.”

  Rob looked him up and down smirking, eyes flicking to the muck smeared across his face. He shrugged. “Well. You made it back at least.” He nodded past us. “So... Who the hell was that?”

  He stepped closer as he spoke, Celeste appeared right behind him.

  She went straight to her brother and wrapped her arms around him ignoring the mud on him. Calum froze for half a second, then returned the hug, one hand landing awkwardly on her shoulder.

  I shrugged. “No idea. We helped them out. That was about it.”

  “They didn’t even say thanks,” Calum muttered.

  “Didn’t seem like the type,” I said.

  Rob glanced back toward where the group had vanished. “Mercs?”

  “Maybe,” Calum said.

  The way that girl had looked at me sat wrong in my chest. Not anger. Not relief. Recognition, maybe. Familiar in a way I couldn’t place.

  Amelia appeared beside us, already smiling, already calm, biting into the last of Doyle-made scones like the fog hadn’t nearly swallowed us whole.

  “You going to share those?” Rob asked.

  She laughed through the mouthful and very deliberately did not answer.

  “Oi, aspirants,” Brent called from uphill. “Up top.”

  We exchanged a look and started up the slope at a jog.

  At the crest, Jearld was pacing in front of the gathered recruits, hands clasped behind his back. We slipped in beside them, mud-streaked, breathing hard, armour scuffed.

  We stood out immediately.

  No one said anything.

  “Scouting and training are halted for the day,” Jearld said. He let the words settle before continuing. “We believe a hag has moved in and claimed the land.”

  A ripple ran through the recruits. Low voices, a few sharp breaths. Someone muttered a curse.

  “Silence,” Brent snapped.

  The word cracked through the group. Conversations died instantly. I felt my shoulders tighten. It was the first time either of them had used that voice, flat and final.

  “Whether you like it or not,” Jearld went on, “this ends today’s exercise. None of you are equipped to deal with that kind of threat.”

  A few heads dipped. The tall boy beside me clenched his jaw. No one argued.

  “The northern route is clear,” Brent said. “We return to the city.”

  A pause. Long enough for relief to almost form.

  “This does not conclude your training.”

  That cut it short.

  “Recruits will be reassigned to dispatch duty,” Jerald said. “Quick march back to the barracks. Collect base equipment. Then move out to the skirts of Brookfield.”

  He scanned the line, eyes sharp.

  “You will be tired,” he said. “You will move anyway.”

  No one spoke.

  “Sparring training starts tomorrow,” Jerald called.

  The recruits should have looked disheartened by the march and the work waiting for them. They didn’t. A restless energy rippled through the line. Boots shifted. Backs straightened. Someone grinned despite themselves.

  “Move out!” Jerald barked.

  They broke cleanly, turning as one and heading off with quiet efficiency toward the road back to the city.

  Jerald didn’t follow.

  Instead, he turned to us and jerked his chin toward the tents. “You lot. Inside.” His voice dropped a notch. “I need to brief you.”

  The gap between us and the others widened as they marched away.