I look to the others, their breaths are slow and even.
Still asleep. Good.
As silent as I can, I rise and slip away, picking my steps through the snow. The forest stretches around me, quiet and vast, the silver sheen of moonlight guiding my path into the trees.
Once I'm far enough from camp, I settle into the snow and unstopper Zaenith's flask, measuring out a modest portion into a cup. I grimace at the taste, bitter and sour, as I swallow it down. Then quickly wince as I feel it affecting my body, the meat under my skin rippling subtly, aching pains flaring out in various areas.
I can’t afford to neglect my training. Vael could strike at any moment. Though despite my protests earlier, having Luna close at hand does offer a little comfort. Still, I need to rely on myself.
I begin to move, limbs slow at first, but gradually loosening. I swing my club through practiced arcs, stepping, pivoting, adjusting my grip and then upping the intensity. Soon, I’m sweating despite the cold, breath rising in clouds, muscles singing with effort.
I lower my club, the breath in my chest steady now, and prepare for why I'm really here.
I raise my hand, focusing inward. My thoughts dive into the well-worn paths of memory, the runes tirelessly memorized, now swimming through my head. I fix my gaze on my palm. Sparks bloom, tiny embers dancing across my skin. They glow hot and warm me, but do not burn. I draw them closer to my chest, it feels... pleasant, pushing away the cold environment....
I begin to experiment, curiosity taking hold. I snap my fingers, and sparks leap forth, sharp, bright, like flint striking steel. With a bit of focus, I can even aim them, sending them spitting through the air for several feet.
Ha.... brilliant.
I try with both hands, clicking in rapid succession until showers of sparks scatter before me. The sight draws a laugh from my throat; there’s something oddly exhilarating about it. On a whim, I clap my hands together, and a larger burst flares outward, a brief, brilliant bloom of light and heat.
Interesting.
I push further.
My arm stretches forward and the sparks coalesce, fusing into a writhing ring of flame that swirls around my fingers. A flaming fist to punch a foe? And without needing to use the spell too....
I concentrate harder, making the flame burn brighter.
Then I feel it...
The tension. Strain, not unlike an overworked muscle, but focused behind my eyes. Magic, straining against the limit of my will.
I release the fire, warmth vanishing from my skin, leaving my hand cold and trembling. I rub my forehead, head aching.
Is this what Lucien meant? My mana?
Perhaps I should try it again.... the spell.
Again, I raise my hand. The pressure builds behind my eyes as fire coils and flickers around my fingers. I focus, the energy condensing. Then I breathe out and incant the spell.
“H?tbolt.”
The fire launches like an arrow, fast and precise, crackling through the air before slamming into a pile of snow. There's a sharp hiss and the entire thing quickly melts.
Still not as strong as the scroll was against Vael...
CRUNCH
A sudden sound breaks the silence.
My head snaps toward it, heart lurching-
Hamza.
He stands some distance away, not close enough to see what I’m doing exactly.... but in the darkness, he must have seen the flare of fire erupt from my hand.
He approaches slowly, his steps deliberate, cautious. I force a casual tone. "Ah, Hamza. Up early? It's not even dawn yet."
He nods once. "I saw your bedroll, it was empty. I waited, yes... I waited some time. When you did not return... I began to worry."
I chuckle, a little too stiffly. "Just needed some time to train."
He gives a quiet, understanding nod. "I understand. We have a dangerous task."
He stops, standing just a few feet away now. His voice softens.
"I saw a light. Just now. Looked like... fire."
I freeze. My jaw tightens, but I try to keep the smile. "Firefly, I think. I saw it too. But we should head back, before the others wake. Don't want to worry them to."
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Hamza eyes me as I pass, but says nothing.
"Come on," I say, waving him over. "Let’s head back. It's almost dawn. we’ll cook the others something before they wake."
Hamza gives a short, approving nod. "Good idea."
We eat in silence, hunched around bowls of boiled oats and barley, each of us wrapped tightly in our cloaks. The food is bland, but warm.
I keep glancing toward Hamza, and more than once, I catch him looking back. We say nothing, but I feel a growing unease.
He must have seen me.
William breaks the silence with a stretch and a grin aimed squarely at Luna.
"Y’know," he says, tapping his chest, "took down a right nasty boar with this bow. Big bastard. Had this jerkin made from his hide. Looks good, yeah?"
Luna eyes the shortbow beside him and snorts. "You brought down a boar with that tiny thing?"
William smirks. "Yep. Shot 'im right in the eye. Even this little thing can do a lot, when it’s in the right hands."
She raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. "I don’t believe you."
He shrugs. "I can show you. I'm a damn good shot."
Her eyes narrow, though there’s a flicker of curiosity. "Very well. Show me."
William perks up, setting his bowl aside and grabbing his bow. "Hamza, toss me that bark, round one right there."
Hamza blinks, then picks up a fist-sized chunk and hands it over.
William steps back, flicks it into the air, draws, and looses in one smooth motion.
The arrow hisses through the air..... missing the bark completely and thudding into a nearby tree.
Luna lifts a single eyebrow.
William coughs and shrugs. "Been a while."
Luna sighs, bored.
"What? I've been starvin' in a cell for months. Were it not for Seven bringing us food, I'd probably have starved proper. Give me a second shot and I’ll split it no problem."
Luna says nothing, merely shrugs. So William strides forward, and retrieves the bark from the snow. He tosses it into the air, draws, and looses another arrow—missing again.
"Shit," he mutters.
Undeterred, he fires again. And again. One arrow grazes the edge. The rest sink into snow or trees.
Luna folds her arms. “This is a waste of time. We should be discussing our plan.”
“No.” William snaps, more sharply than I'd expect. “This is important if we're gonna be getting involved with brigands.”
She watches him for a beat, then sighs. “Fine. We can speak strategy while you 'practice'.”
He nods, eyes on his arrows, checking the fletching with quiet focus.
Meanwhile Luna turns to us and Hamza. “We need to draw the brigands out. Force their attention.”
I frown. “We already did. Put on a show at the alehouse, threatened the barkeep, confronted a few of their men. They’ll come. I’m sure of it.”
Luna shakes her head. “Doubtful. They’ve evaded Ravencroft for some time, they're cautious. If they suspect we’re bait, they’ll wait. We need to go further.”
Hamza narrows his eyes. “What do you mean?”
She doesn’t blink. “We do as Edwin said. Rob the peasantry. Smash storehouses. Maybe even rough up a few villagers.”
Hamza stiffens. “We don’t need to go that far. They already know we’re here.”
“But they won't trust us unless they think we're like them.”
Luna's words make sense to me and I'm inclined to agree.... but before I speak, I recall this morning's events. Hamza watching me train, seeing my fire....
If I side against him now… will he question me? Make an accusation? He doesn’t seem the sort.... but still.
I open my mouth-
“HA!”
William’s voice cuts through the tension.
We turn to see him pointing proudly toward a distant tree. His arrow juts from the bark, dead center. The fist-sized chunk has been skewered clean through.
“Told you I could do it!” he beams, clearly unaware of the conversation he just interrupted.
Luna folds her arms. “One shot out of a dozen. Hardly impressive.”
“Oh yeah?” William grins, already loading another. He fires in a single fluid movement. The second arrow slams into the same chunk of bark, buried beside the first.
Then another. And another. Each arrow hits the bark cleanly, the wood shuddering with each impact. My eyes widen, Luna’s too, both of us shocked.
“See that?” William says, grinning. “Just needed to get warmed up.”
Luna hesitates for half a breath, then finally says, “Impressive.”
William’s smile widens, pride spilling off him. But Luna quickly turns back to us, her tone sharp again.
“We need to decide our course of action.”
I raise a hand. “We wait, see if our showing yesterday was enough. One night won’t cost us much. And we should avoid harming the innocent if we can.”
Hamza nods gratefully. Luna scowls, but says nothing.
The rest of the day passes in uneasy silence. Luna keeps to herself, William continues practicing his archery, and I find myself walking alone with Hamza, searching for firewood.
“Slim pickings,” I mutter, lifting a soaked branch. “Everything’s damp.”
Hamza nods, his eyes steady. “But that should be no issue for you... is that not so?”
I stop, frowning. “What do you mean?”
He glances at me, voice measured. “The wood last night was just as damp. Yet when you struck the flint, it caught like it had been drying under the summer sun.”
I don't like where this is going...
“And this morning,” he continues, “the light I saw... as you trained..... I saw fire.”
He pauses. Then, adds simply-
“You have the gift, do you not? Magic.”
He says it not with fear, but almost... awe. Even still, I brush it off. "Don't be ridiculous."
Hamza’s gaze doesn’t waver. “You need not fear, Seven. In the land of my father, we do not scorn the mystical as they do here.”
I raise an eyebrow, cautious.
“My father told me stories. Of healers who could draw sickness with a touch. Warriors who spoke with trees and beasts. Men of insight, carved with sacred marks… much like the ones upon your hands.”
He gestures toward my open palms. I quickly close them, sweat slick between my fingers.
“You... are a sorcerer?”
Dammit. What in the hells do I do now?
He places a hand on my shoulder. “You need not speak of it. I do not ask you to bare your craft. Your cause is righteous... and you have proven yourself to be so too." He turns away, his gaze hardening. "And if your craft can be turned upon the filth we hunt... then you already hold my faith."
He pulls off his gloves and holds them out to me. "Best you cover those markings though. Others might recognize them."
I hesitate, unsure. But he nods to the gloves. "Take them. They're of a fine make, built for battle. My father valued them highly."
His fathers....
I shake my head. "If they were his, you should keep them."
He offers a small smile. "I have other things by which to remember him. And besides… I owe you much. My freedom, likely even my life. The gloves... eh, they’re a poor trade, but they’re mine to give."
I look at the gloves, then slowly take them. He's right. I need to hide these scars. I slide them on, they’re a little worn, but comfortable and warm.
"Thank you," I say giving him a nod. "I'm sure I don't need to say this, but...."
"I will tell no one else, of course. You can trust in me, my friend."
I give a quiet nod, and together we make our way back to camp.
Next time I train... I better make sure I'm too far for anyone to follow.
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