The forest grew darker as the light faded behind the hills. The air hung still, thick with damp earth and the steady buzz of insects. Maruzan led the way, moving quietly through the undergrowth. Each step was measured, his eyes scanning for loose roots or sudden dips in the trail. The others followed close behind, their breaths steady but strained.

  They had been walking since dawn. Their water was low, their rations half gone, and their legs felt like jelly. Still, no one complained.

  The girl was still missing. That was all that mattered.

  Bram trudged along near the back, muttering softly to himself, counting his steps to keep rhythm. Ennett walked a few paces ahead of him, her hand on the hilt of her sword as though touching it steadied her. Nethira stayed close to the center, her eyes moving constantly between the shadows and the roots, alert in that strange, quiet way of hers.

  Xonya, as always, took up the rear. Her bow was slung over her shoulder, her movements precise, her head turning every few seconds to scan the treeline.

  The group had fallen into a wordless rhythm, the kind that came from long travel and shared focus. The woods pressed in around them, the path narrowing to a steep, uneven climb between ridges. The moss-covered stones were slick, the roots thick and twisted like coiled ropes.

  Then, it happened.

  A sharp crack, wood splitting, weight shifting.

  Maruzan spun just in time to see Ennett stumble. Her foot slid out from under her, twisting sharply on a hidden root. She caught herself on the nearest tree trunk, breathing through her teeth.

  “I’m fine,” she said quickly, her tone clipped.

  Maruzan stopped. He didn’t argue, just waited. He had learned long ago that when a soldier said “I’m fine,” it usually meant the opposite.

  Ennett tried to take a step, but pain shot through her leg. She hissed and leaned against the tree again, her face pale.

  “Let me see,” Nethira said softly, already moving closer. She knelt, her fingers gentle as she examined the ankle.

  Ennett didn’t protest, though she looked away, jaw tight.

  After a few moments, Nethira looked up. “It’s swollen,” she said. “Badly. The skin’s already tight.”

  “How long if we let it heal on its own?” Maruzan asked.

  “A week, maybe two,” Nethira replied. “She won’t be walking on it tomorrow, that’s for sure.”

  Maruzan sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. They couldn’t afford to stop. Not now.

  Then his eyes moved, past Nethira, past Ennett, and landed on Winnum.

  The monk stood a few paces away, frozen in place. His face was pale, and his eyes were wide, the way someone looks when they see an old wound reopened.

  Nethira followed Maruzan’s gaze, then looked back at the injury. “It needs healing,” she said quietly.

  The air went still.

  All eyes turned to Winnum.

  He didn’t move. His lips parted, but no words came out. He looked from Ennett to Xonya, and the look in his eyes was almost pleading, like a man standing at the edge of a cliff, asking someone to tell him to step back.

  Xonya met his gaze and gave a small nod. It wasn’t soft or gentle. It was steady. Firm. The kind that said: You have to do this.

  Winnum swallowed hard.

  He walked forward slowly, every step heavy. When he knelt beside Ennett, his hands trembled.

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  Ennett met his eyes. “You don’t have to—”

  “I do,” he said quietly, cutting her off. His voice was strained, but certain.

  He closed his eyes and placed his hands above her ankle. His lips moved, forming the old words, the prayers he hadn’t spoken in months. The syllables came unevenly at first, clumsy and unsure, like trying to remember a song from childhood.

  For a long moment, nothing happened. Only the sound of wind brushing through the leaves above.

  He almost stopped. He could feel the doubt crawling up his throat. It was the same feeling that had haunted him every night since the boy’s death, that hollow emptiness where faith used to live.

  Then, warmth.

  It started in his palms, faint at first, then stronger. A soft glow of golden light spread from his hands to Ennett’s ankle. The warmth was gentle, but it carried weight, like sunlight after rain.

  The others watched in silence as the swelling began to fade. The skin softened, the bruising lightened, and the tension in Ennett’s face eased.

  After a few seconds, she flexed her foot carefully. Her expression shifted from disbelief to quiet awe. “It doesn’t hurt,” she said, almost whispering. “Winnum… it doesn’t hurt.”

  Winnum opened his eyes. For a heartbeat, he looked stunned, like he couldn’t believe what he’d done. A shaky laugh escaped his throat, small and helpless.

  But the relief didn’t last.

  His smile faltered, his shoulders tensed, and his eyes darkened. The memory hit him before he could stop it, the smell of incense, the boy’s pale face, his own hands shaking above a body that never breathed again.

  “Where was that?” he said suddenly, his voice raw. He stood, backing away from Ennett and the others. “Where was that when it mattered?”

  “Winnum—” Xonya started, but he cut her off.

  “Where was it when he needed me?”

  He turned away, his fists clenched. “The words were the same. The prayers were the same. But the light didn’t come. Why now?”

  He stepped back farther, his breathing sharp and uneven. Then he turned and walked quickly toward the trees, not looking at anyone.

  “Winnum!” Xonya called after him, already moving to follow.

  He didn’t stop. His boots hit the dirt with fast, angry steps, disappearing into the darkness between the trees.

  A crow startled from a nearby branch and took off into the sky, its cry echoing faintly through the forest.

  The warband stood in silence for a long while. No one knew what to say.

  Finally, Maruzan spoke, his voice quiet but firm. “Let him be. He’ll come back when he’s ready.”

  Xonya returned a few minutes later, leaves in her hair, her jaw tight. She dropped down onto a fallen log, her bow still slung across her back.

  Ennett flexed her ankle again, testing it. “He saved me,” she said softly. “Even if he doesn’t believe it yet.”

  Nethira nodded. “Healing takes more than words. For him too.”

  Xonya looked down, rubbing the dirt from her hands. Her voice came low, almost hesitant. “You should know… this isn’t the first time he’s done this. The first time he lost it.”

  The others waited.

  Xonya sighed and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “He used to be with the Serving Sojourners, the monk order out of the Arnathe. He was one of their best healers. Faithful. Steady. Always the first to volunteer when plague or famine hit. But then…” She paused. “His brother fell sick. Fever, lungs full of fluid. He prayed for days. Tried everything he knew. Nothing worked.”

  Nethira’s eyes softened. “He blamed himself.”

  “He still does,” Xonya said. “He left the order after that. Stopped praying, stopped healing. Said if the Creator could turn his back on a child, then he’d turn his back on the Creator.”

  Maruzan listened quietly, his face unreadable.

  “He’s not weak,” Xonya added. “He’s just… lost. Maybe this is the first time he’s seen that the light didn’t die with his faith.”

  Ennett leaned back against the tree trunk, thoughtful. “And now he doesn’t know what to do with that.”

  “None of us do,” Nethira said softly.

  The forest had grown darker. The sun had completely set behind the ridge, leaving only the faintest traces of color in the sky. The wind picked up, carrying the scent of pine and damp soil.

  Maruzan finally spoke again. “We rest here tonight. Nethira, you and I will take first watch. Xonya, find him when the light breaks. Bring him back.”

  Xonya nodded.

  As the others unpacked their bedrolls, Maruzan walked a few steps away, his hand brushing the rough bark of a nearby tree. He looked toward the dark woods where Winnum had disappeared.

  He understood that kind of pain, the kind that never really leaves, only shifts shape. Sometimes it made you stronger. Sometimes it hollowed you out.

  He hoped Winnum would find the strength in him. They would need it in the days to come.

  Behind him, the campfire began to crackle. The glow of it flickered against the trees, a small circle of warmth in a cold and endless forest.

  And somewhere, not far off, a crow called once more, sharp and distant, before the forest swallowed it whole.