It took longer than I liked before I could speak without my stomach threatening to turn itself inside out.

  Every breath felt wrong. Too deep and my ribs screamed. Too shallow and the world tipped sideways. Adrenaline still rattled through me, thoughts skidding apart before I could catch them.

  The red-haired girl.

  The hag.

  The number of Redcaps.

  And beneath it all, the Shepherd.

  I wiped rain from my eyes and turned toward Jerald.

  His gaze wasn’t on my face.

  It was still on the sword.

  The corrupted rune no longer flared, but it hadn’t gone quiet either. Violet light slept beneath the metal, uneven and wrong, its edges warped like a bone that had healed badly. Not broken. Waiting.

  I swallowed.

  “This,” I said, my voice rougher than I intended, “is the only thing keeping me alive right now.”

  The words didn’t feel brave once they were out.

  Jerald exhaled slowly. He looked like he had three answers ready and trusted none of them. Rain cut lines through the grime on his face, leaving him suddenly older than he had been an hour ago.

  “Do I really need to warn you about the obvious?” he asked.

  I snorted, then hissed as pain flared along my ribs. “What do you think.”

  That earned a grunt. Nothing more.

  I watched him for a moment, then pushed. “Are you going to tell me about the Shepherd?”

  His jaw tightened. Another grunt, sharper this time.

  Figures.

  I leaned back against the cold stone and closed my eyes. The potions burned their way through me. The sword’s low presence steadied the tremor in my hands. Rain washed blood and ash into the cracks between the stones.

  “Won’t the Redcaps follow us up here?” I asked quietly.

  Jerald shook his head.

  “These forts are old,” he said. “But the people who built them weren’t stupid.” He tapped the stone beneath his boot. “Layered protections. Wards. Threshold work. The kind you don’t notice until it saves your life.”

  I glanced around the broken ring of stone, suddenly more aware of where we stood.

  “Kings slept here,” he went on. “They didn’t want to wake up with a knife in their throat because some clever vermin figured out how to crawl past a guard.” He scoffed, humourless. “They already had enough enemies.”

  He finally looked at me.

  Really looked.

  “And neither of us is walking away from this untouched,” he said.

  The rain kept falling.

  The rune stayed quiet.

  “If what the hag said was true…” Jerald began, then stopped.

  The words died before they could finish forming. His jaw tightened. He shook his head once, like he was refusing to let the thought land. With a low grunt, he braced a hand against the stone and hauled himself upright.

  It wasn’t smooth.

  His knee buckled halfway up. He paused, breathing through clenched teeth, then turned and offered me his hand.

  I hesitated for a heartbeat, then took it.

  The pull sent a sharp flare up my arm and into my shoulder. I bit it back and forced myself upright, boots sliding in the mud before I found my balance. We stood side by side as the rain thickened, blurring the field behind us until the clearing and the blood and the fog became nothing but shadow and sound.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Jerald didn’t look back.

  “Let’s get you home,” he said.

  His voice was steady. His posture wasn’t.

  “We’ve got a long road ahead.”

  The path down from the fort had turned to sludge. Every step dragged. Mud clung to my boots like it wanted to keep me there. The cold rain should have felt cleansing. Instead it stung, soaking into bruises I was only just beginning to notice.

  We walked for a while without speaking.

  Then Jerald started talking.

  He didn’t lecture me about the fight. Not about Redcaps or hags or charging headlong into things that could tear a man apart. He talked about the city instead. About eyes that watched too closely. About laws that bent when they wanted to and snapped when they didn’t.

  He told me what Doyle had already told him. About my trip inside the walls. About how fast attention gathered once you gave it something interesting to look at.

  “Monsters are honest,” he said at one point. “They want you dead. The city wants to own you first.”

  I grunted, half listening, half just trying to keep my footing. Rain plastered my hair to my face. My hands shook unless I forced them still.

  Eventually, something in me gave.

  “It’s the sword,” I said.

  Jerald slowed.

  I stopped walking, breath fogging in front of me. “I can’t keep pretending it’s just another weapon.”

  He turned, eyes narrowing slightly. “Go on.”

  So I told him.

  Not all at once. Not cleanly.

  I explained how the blade let me touch people without hurting them. How it changed the rules when I held it. He frowned, clearly sceptical, so I showed him.

  Carefully.

  Just a brief contact. My fingers brushed his wrist, the sword steady at my side.

  His eyes widened despite himself.

  I kept going. Once the words started, they didn’t stop. I told him about the runes. How the blade swallowed them. How duplicates didn’t interfere. How it didn’t stack power so much as refine it. Strip it down. Keep what mattered.

  By the time I reached the part about feeding on runes, his expression had darkened completely.

  Brookfield came into view not long after. Lanterns glimmered through the rain. The road widened, churned to muck by traffic. Aspirants from the barracks were already catching up, packs slung over shoulders, horses hauling soaked canvas and poles.

  Faces were tired. Excited. Unaware of how close things had come to going very wrong.

  Jerald watched them for a moment, then snorted.

  “If this rain keeps up, they’ll have to put up the big tents,” he said, a grin tugging briefly at his mouth. “I’d pay to see that.”

  I glanced at him. “The tents?”

  Jerald laughed. A real one this time, short but genuine. “No. The recruits. Watching them fight canvas and poles for hours.” He shook his head. “I remember hauling that thing when I was green.”

  I nodded, only half listening.

  After a few more steps, he looked at me sideways. “Have you thought about where you’ll align yourself in the city?”

  The question caught me off guard.

  “Honestly,” I said after a moment, “I haven’t given it much thought.” I rubbed at my chest, where the weight of everything still sat heavy. “Been a little busy with this debt hanging over my head.”

  Jerald hummed, not agreeing or disagreeing.

  The rain kept falling as we walked on, and whatever victory we’d scraped together stayed behind us in the mud.

  He nodded slowly. “If you lot joined the barracks, I’d wipe the debt clean in a heartbeat.”

  I glanced at him. “Then why can’t you?”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “You’re high enough up,” I said. “Can’t you just sign something. Push a few papers.”

  He barked a laugh and shook his head. “You think it works like that.”

  His boots slid in the mud. He caught himself, irritation flashing across his face.

  “Not with nobles breathing down our necks every damn day,” he went on. “If it weren’t for their constant meddling, I’d have you lot folded into the barracks with the rest of the recruits already.” His mouth tightened. “Every roster. Every assignment. Every promotion. They want eyes on all of it.”

  Jerald swore under his breath. “Bloody Vortigerns.”

  The name hit harder than it should have. Silk. Pins. That thin smile in the tailor’s shop. I said nothing, but Jerald caught it anyway.

  “Yeah,” he muttered. “You’ve heard of them?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  He laughed.

  “So, what are you suggesting?” I asked.

  “Well. There’s the big three. Any of them could make the debt disappear.”

  I waited.

  “But,” he added, glancing at the sword at my side, “from what I’m seeing, coin might end up being the least of your problems.”

  That slowed my steps.

  The rain eased to a steady drizzle as I thought it through. “The college might be the safest,” I said. “But I’ve barely studied. And your notebook is…”

  He stopped and stared at me. “What’s wrong with my notes?”

  “Nothing,” I said quickly, then smirked. “They’ve helped me more than any dusty professor’s text ever did.”

  He snorted. “See. Practical knowledge.”

  “Something like that.”

  He brightened, just a touch, then tilted his head. “Then maybe the lodge.”

  I considered it. “That’s… not a bad idea.”

  He shrugged. “Curse first.”

  I hesitated, then tried once more. “And the Shepherd?”

  The sword twitched.

  Jerald didn’t answer right away.

  We walked a few steps in silence, rain hissing against stone and cloth. Jerald’s jaw set, his gaze fixed ahead.

  “I won’t tell you anything about that,” he said at last. “Not yet.”

  I frowned. “You know something.”

  “I know enough to be careful,” he replied. “Names like that don’t surface by accident. I won’t have you chasing shadows until I’m sure what kind they are.” He glanced at me, expression hard. “I’ve got people. Old contacts. They can look into it quietly.”

  I nodded and left it at that.

  By the time Trond Cottage came into view, the rain had soaked through everything. Warm light glowed behind the windows, steady and ordinary in a way that felt almost foreign after the fields.

  Jerald stopped at the gate. He gave me a brief nod, then turned back toward the road, already calling out to his recruits as they closed in behind him.

  I watched him go.

  Then I headed inside.

  The sword at my side hummed.

  “I wish to share a memory.”

  I shivered at the sound of its voice.

  “So,” I murmured, keeping my eyes forward, “I guess we’re chasing shadows then?”

  “Yes.”