“You know that child that Heror always plays with, Cordan?” Heriana asked her husband, leaning outside through a doorframe, letting the arid air of the drought surround her. The drought had scourged the land of Pylantheum for decades now. They paid no mind to it anymore. They had once, but there was nowhere to go.

Cordan was fixing the wheel of a plow. The plants they had were scarce, and had to be maintained regularly. It was essential for survival in the small desert town of Grendal. Cordan almost laughed at the thought of Grendal being a desert town, but it was challenging to find humor inside a harsh reality. When he had first moved to Grendal as a small boy many years ago, it had been plush green with waterfalls and large evergreens. Now, the closest thing to a tree was a bony skeleton twig rattling in the hot winds.

“You mean Beth?” Cordan remarked, keeping his eyes on the axel of the plow as he took small stone pliers to the garden tool. “Yeah, I think she’ll be a keeper when she’s older.”

Heriana flashed a glare and rolled her eyes, putting her hands on her hips and shrugging.

“That’s not what I was getting at,” she said coldly. “Heror told me she doesn’t have any parents. He said she lives out in the old abandoned shack out in the grain fields.”

“She’s probably pulling on his leg,” Cordan replied. “How would she get food? Burnhart isn’t exactly the most generous merchant in Kivveneth.”

“That’s another thing,” Heriana added. “Heror told me that he asked her if she needed food when he learned that she lived there, and she told him that she had plenty to spare. Heror thought nothing of it.”

“Maybe there’s a cellar,” Cordan hypothesized. “With life getting harder these days, the kids are getting braver. I wouldn’t be surprised if a kid or two hid out in the shack just for the fun of it. There isn’t much to do here for a child. Not as much as there was when I grew up here.”

“But she doesn’t have parents,” Heriana repeated. “That sounds odd to me. And I’ve never seen her before. Nobody has. Heror tells me about her when he comes home from the grain field. I’m worried, honestly.”

Cordan set down the plow, gentle but abrupt, and looked at his wife.

“Look, Heriana, Heror’s happy, isn’t he?” Cordan said. “It’s good that he even has free time in this village. It’s good that he has a place to go to. And hopefully, he’ll be smart and have good taste in women, unlike his father.”

Heriana glared, but couldn’t help letting out a chuckle when Cordan winked to let her know he was joking.

“Wanna come inside?” Heriana asked, glancing at the ground. She looked out into the desert, squinting her eyes.

“When I’m done fixing this,” Cordan replied. “The damn wheel is busted, but I don’t want to go to Burnhart to buy new parts. He’ll just strangle all the coins from my pockets and then he’ll probably give me a wheel worse than this one.”

“Okay,” Heriana said with a small gesture of disappointment. She started to head inside when she poked her head back out.

“If it starts to get dark, could you go fetch Heror?” She requested.

“Oh, no need to worry, Heriana,” Cordan replied, glancing out in the direction of the grain field. “Heror knows his way back and he knows when to come back. You should stop worrying about him. He’ll be back far before it gets dark.”

*******

“What’s that?”

Heror grew curious as Beth quickly put together a strange craft out of a few desert twigs resting in the grain, attempting to conceal themselves to no avail. Beth smiled lightly and handed her creation to him, resting it in his soft hands. He stared at it with awe. He’d never seen anything like this before. He hadn’t even seen his father Cordan using this before.

“It’s a bird call,” Beth said, gesturing to the narrow end of the whistle. “See this smaller end? You put your mouth on it and blow air through it. It makes a noise and the birds are attracted to it.”

Heror almost dropped it when he heard the word ‘birds’. He hated birds. He rarely even saw the creatures, but when he did, they were skulking far away in the sky. He imagined they were planning to steal from them, as Cordan had often told Heror stories about large birds stealing animals from the farmers of the town during his childhood. These birds were red-eyed with sharp talons and giant wings, built for killing. Heror didn’t want to call a killing bird.

“What’s wrong?” Beth said after a moment of silence, brushing a strand of red hair out of her face while Heror continued to stare at the call.

“I don’t like birds,” Heror said eventually, looking up at Beth.

“Don’t be a sissy,” Beth said with a reassuring smile, taking the call away from Heror. “You’ll like this bird. Trust me.”

Before Heror could complain, Beth used the bird call. The sound was long and loud, and although it wasn’t unpleasant, Heror plugged his ears and shut his eyes, afraid of the large birds that would come to take him away. The sound whistled through the air like a shy flute. It befriended the desert air. Sand whirled in its midst.

The large birds didn’t come. After a moment, Heror felt a light poke on his shoe and opened his eyes to see a small brown bird pecking at the pigskin.

Heror jumped backward, gasping as the bird continued to follow him. Beth just laughed at the sight of seeing Heror so frightened. But eventually, she grew tired of him getting chased by the friendly creature.

“Heror, stop!” She laughed. “It won’t hurt you.”

Heror trusted Beth’s judgement reluctantly and stopped, allowing the bird to catch up. The bird hopped up to Heror, pecked at his shoe, then his pantleg, and then c***ed its head before letting out a small chirp and pecking at the ground. Heror shifted forward onto his knees and bent down to observe the bird.

“It’s a scatter,” Beth said, making her way toward the bird.

“A what?” Heror asked, observing the bird’s light and barely noticable features.

“A scatter,” Beth answered, leaning forward to look at the bird along with Heror. “It doesn’t fly much. It burrows in the ground because there’s no trees around for it to live in.”

Heror knew what trees were, although he’d never seen one of those in his life either. Birds lived in trees? His encounter with the brown bird made him somewhat more friendly to the notion, but he still felt uncomfortable. If birds lived in trees, killing birds lived in trees as well.

“Can we feed it?” Heror asked, watching as the bird looked around for something to eat. “It looks hungry.”

“Yuck!” Beth grimaced, sticking her tongue out. “You can feed it if you want, but it eats bugs. And bugs are disgusting!”

Heror’s eyes lit up as he took up the challenge. He lowered into the tall desert grass and searched for critters to feed his new bird pet. He quickly found a worm of some kind and snatched it, delivering it to the bird within seconds. Beth gasped at the sight of the worm and jumped back. Heror laughed and tossed the worm to the bird. It seemed to overshoot the small creature, but the bird chirped and leapt upward, clutching the worm in its mouth and making a good meal out of it. Heror continued to find worms to feed the bird, tossing one after another until the bird refused to open its mouth and let the next worm rest on its beak. Heror and Beth laughed uncontrollably during all of this. The bird wasn’t amused, however, and soon went back into its hole in the ground.

“Aw,” Heror sighed, putting his eye to the hole in the ground. “He’s gone!”

“Or she,” Beth added with a grin.

“Whatever,” Heror answered. “It’s gone.”

“Maybe it got tired. It is getting dark,” Beth suggested.

She was right. The sun was sinking to the west, sinking through a gap inbetween two mountains. It was a wonderful sight, seeing the orange light pierce its way through the chasm, sending rays of blinding light in every direction. But in a matter of minutes, the mountains would claim victory over the sun, and the stars that started to twinkle up above would soon gain a monopoly over the sky.

The two sat watching the sun sink until the sky was dominated by stars. Beth stood.

“You need to get home, Heror,” she said suddenly, looking at him with care. “Your parents are probably worried about you.”

She handed him the bird call as he stood with her. He placed it in his pocket, not sure whether to keep it or discard it.

“I’ll see you tomorow, I guess,” Heror said.

Beth nodded with a smile before heading back into her shack. Soon after she retired into her shack, Heror remembered that he had wanted to ask her something. He rushed to the shack and through the doorway, but to his dismay, there was no one in the building. He looked around once more until he heard his name called behind him. He turned and exited the shack to see his father Cordan approaching, carrying a lantern.

“Heror, it’s late,” Cordan said. “Time to head home. Say goodbye to Beth.”

“I already did,” Heror said as Cordan patted him on the shoulder and they walked away, back towards Grendal. Heror glanced over his shoulder once before looking forward for good.

On the way home, Cordan talked with Heror, asking him about Beth.

“You got me in trouble, Heror,” Cordan said with a laugh. “I told your mother that you’d come home on your own. She wasn’t happy with me when I told her I was going to fetch you.”

They exchanged glances and Cordan smiled.

“You know what I’m going to say, don’t you?” Cordan asked.

“I know, I know,” Heror replied. “I need to keep track of the time and head home before it gets dark next time.”

“Good man,” Cordan said, patting him on the shoulder.

After a short silence, Cordan spoke up again.

“So your mother told me a bit about Beth,” he said. “Does she really not have parents? And she’s living in that shack?”

“That’s what she told me,” Heror answered. “I asked her why she had no parents, but she said she didn’t want to talk about it. I also asked her if she wanted to come and live with us, but she said no.”

“Oh, she wouldn’t be able to anyway, Heror,” Cordan chuckled. “We have trouble as it is. Adding another child to take care of wouldn’t be fun.”

“Oh...” Heror mumbled. Cordan realized he may have souned too harsh, and so he paraphrased, softening up a bit.

“Times are tough, Heror,” Cordan explained, keeping his eyes ahead as they walked through the fields of desert grass, the lights of Grendal shining in the distance. “We’re barely scraping by with just the three of us. We wouldn’t have enough food and water if she came to live with us. Hell, we wouldn’t even have enough room in the house.”

“Maybe she could live with Durmas and Feona,” Heror suggested. “They have a big house.”

“Well, Heror, the problem is, you’re the only person who knows her. No one else in the town comes out to the shack,” Cordan replied. “It would be strange.”

“I could introduce her!” Heror exclaimed.

“Heror, if she didn’t want to come live with us, what makes you think she’d want to live with someone else in town?” Cordan asked. “I say if she’s making amends at the old shack, let her stay there. Some people cherish their privacy. We tend to call them hermits, but she’s just a kid, so we’ll call her... a free bird.”

“Dad, have you ever seen a scatter before?” Heror asked.

“Can’t say I have,” Cordan answered. “What is it?”

“Beth showed me one today,” Heror explained excitedly. “She made this bird call, and when she used it, a bird dug out of the ground and started to eat the worms I fed it. She called it a scatter.”

“Sounds interesting,” Cordan replied as they grew closer to Grendal. “It lived in the ground?”

“Yeah! And get this, dad. She said that most birds live in trees! Is that why we don’t have any birds around here?”

“You know, that’s probably it,” Cordan answered, completely aware that that was the reason. “I never thought about it. Why are you so interested in birds now? You were scared to death of them not too long ago.”

“Well, they’re not as bad as I thought they were, I guess,” Heror answered, to which Cordan nodded in approval.

They reached Grendal in a matter of minutes, Cordan pointing out coyote dens and different types of rocks on the way back. When they entered the door to their home, Heriana was waiting with a less-than-warm welcome for the two of them.

“You come home when you’re supposed to, you hear me?” She said, glaring and poking Heror in the shoulder. She then stood and glared at Cordan, who just smirked.

“She’s just cranky because it’s late,” Cordan said, looking down at Heror.

“I can’t sleep when both my boys are away from the house,” Heriana muttered. “But now that you’re home, don’t stay up too long.”

“I’ll bring the prisoner straight to bed, ma’am,” Cordan said with a sarcastic tone. Heriana rolled her eyes and went to bed. She knew Cordan meant it. Cordan wanted to sleep as well. Heror seemed to be the only restless one.

“Why haven’t the other kids met Beth?” Heror asked as Cordan pulled the sheets over Heror.

“Well, maybe you’re the only one she enjoys being around,” Cordan answered. “Or maybe she would talk to the other kids if they came out to her shack. She sounds kind of reserved to me.”

“But she’s not,” Heror argued. “She’s smart and funny, like me, and most of the other kids.”

“What I’ve taken to doing is just accepting it, Heror,” Cordan said. “Some things don’t need to be questioned. You’re a smart kid. And you ask a lot of questions. But some things are just there, and some things happen a certain way for no reason. Or that reason might not be clear yet. But the fact of the matter is, life is a gift. Accept everything it has to offer, and if something happens a way you don’t understand, then maybe it isn’t meant to be understood.”

Cordan leaned in and started to whisper.

“Like your mother doesn’t understand why us guys like to fart at the dinner table, but she doesn’t understand that a little comedic relief is good for everybody.”

Heror giggled, and Cordan patted him on the shoulder and kissed him on the forehead. He stood and walked to the doorway.

“Night, Heror.”

“Good night, dad,” Heror answered sleepily, already burying his head in his pillow.

Cordan closed the door.

He awoke much earlier than he had intended. Turth shoved open his door.

“We’re leaving.”

Heror sat up groggily and looked around his room. Samel wasn’t there. He stood slowly and grabbed his knapsack. He roped his belt loop over himself and found his sword, which he sheathed upon grabbing it. He was becoming accustomed to the early mornings.

“Where’s Samel?” Heror asked as he readied his things.

“They have him,” Turth said, his voice quiet and sorrowful.

“They?” Heror asked, not quite sure who he meant by ‘they’.

“The rebels who weren’t supposed to arrive for a few days,” Rowan hissed as she slid by Turth. Turth sighed.

“They’re not rebels,” Turth reassured Heror. “Some of us were quick to assume it, but they’re the town militia. They have Samel hostage and now they’ve grouped up in front of the inn.”

Heror frowned, unable to find words. He grasped the handle of his sword.

“Come out or your friend dies!” A voice called from outside.

Turth grimaced and turned his attention back to Heror.

“Everyone is awake and getting ready,” he said. “We need to move.”

He started to proceed down the hallway, but Heror stopped him.

“What about Samel?” He asked frantically.

Turth shook his head.

“Heror, we can’t save him,” he said. “We have to save ourselves. You’re our mission.”

Turth tried to move again, but Heror grabbed his arm with force.

“Well, now we have a new mission,” he growled.

“Heror...”

“I’m not leaving without Samel,” Heror demanded. “He’s my friend.”

“You’re running out of time!” The voice called.

Turth glared and looked down the hall.

“We’re going to get killed,” he mumbled before peeking into a room.

“Fin, Raynar, grab your weapons...”

Heror couldn’t help but smile and walked to the edge of the stairs, where Rowan stood.

“You’re almost as stubborn as I am,” Rowan mumbled.

“It’s an underrated quality,” Heror shrugged, looking back at Turth.

“Depends on what you’re stubborn about.”

Heror knew he had Rowan’s approval. They smiled at each other, and soon the rest of the group lined up at the top of the stairs. Turth led the way down, and one by one, they entered the lobby and slowly proceeded outside.

In the night air, dozens of militia men and rioters crowded the street. Samel knelt in the front, restrained by two men. His face was feeble and afraid. The letter was not in his hand. The crowd grew quiet when Turth led the group out to face them. Then one man holding Samel spoke.

“So you’ve come for your friend,” he bellowed. “One more minute and we would have killed him.”

“Kill him anyway!” Angry men and women shouted. “Kill ‘em all!”

“We...” Turth spoke, trying to combat the volume of the crowd. “We just want our friend and we will be out of your village!”

“We want you dead!” People shouted. “Provision scum! We want you dead!”

The man quieted down his peers, then grinned.

“We’ll give you your friend,” he exclaimed. “If you meet our demands!”

The crowd cheered. Turth stepped forward, dodging food being thrown.

“What demands?” He called over the commotion.

“We want all your Orsaridon coin!” The man shouted. “You won’t be needing it in the Provision, after all!”

“Give us the big one!” Another man screamed. “He’ll make a good farm hand!”

“Give us the lovely girl!” A man in the back said with a tone which made the men laugh. “We could use her for something!”

Rowan glared.

“Comes with a lovely knife,” Rowan muttered.

The man holding Samel was laughing now as well. He didn’t dismiss these demands.

“Give us those things, and we will let your friend go!” He shouted with a wide smile. The crowd was roaring now.

Turth turned his head to the group.

“We can’t!” Findirion exclaimed.

“I suggest any form of violence,” Raynar muttered, hatred in his speech.

“Any ideas?”

Heror thought. The bird call. Something told him the bird call was the answer. He didn’t want to use it. He didn’t know if it would work. But then a familiar voice echoed in his head. A girl’s voice.

Go ahead, Beth said. Try it.

Heror stood in shock. He clutched the bird call in his pocket. It felt exactly the way it had felt ten years ago. It was so small, but so powerful. He took it out of his pocket with a steady hand.

“I have an idea,” Heror suggested to the group.

The group looked at him. This was sudden.

“What is it?” Turth pleaded.

Heror held out the bird call.

“Now isn’t the time for jokes, Heror!” Besentine scowled.

“No, wait,” Turth spoke, grabbing Besentine’s shoulder. Besentine calmed down against his will.

Turth turned to Heror.

“What will that do?” He asked.

“It’ll at least do something,” Heror answered. He couldn’t be sure about anything. “I need you to trust me, Turth.”

Turth thought, his face strained.

“We don’t have all night!” A man called. “You have thirty seconds!”

“Go, Heror,” Turth said, giving him a light shove into the open. He stood in front of the crowd. They silenced.

“Well?” The man asked. “Do you agree to our terms?”

Heror used the bird call.

The men were confused. The mysterious sound wisped through the crowd, touching them all. It rung in the night air and whispered to the dark heavens.

“Get ready,” Turth whispered to the group.

Nothing happened. The man scowled.

“We didn’t come here to listen to music!” He yelled. “Do you accept our demands or not?”

Heror heard the wings. No one else did, but he heard it. In seconds, a loud screech echoed in the air and an eagle swooped down, clawing the man’s arm and throwing him to the ground, kicking up dust. In an instant, it was ascending back into the sky. Heror lunged forward and grabbed Samel, pulling him back into the group. By the time the rioters reorganized, helping up the wounded man, the group was ready, weapons drawn.

The eagle came back down and perched on the inn’s sign, glaring at the crowd.

“Devils!” One woman screamed.

“We reject your terms,” Turth growled.

The group ran. The milita did not follow them, scared of the bird that watched them overhead. When the group was away from danger, the eagle gave a screech of good-bye and flew away, soon becoming a black dot in the early morning sky.

When the sun rose, the group stopped to rest on the road. Samel nodded to Heror as they sat.

“Thanks for that,” he said quietly.

“Anything for a friend,” Heror nodded. “Did you deliver the letter?”

“The courier wouldn’t accept it,” Samel said, sadness flooding into his voice. “He was the one who turned me in.”

He took the letter out from his pocket. It was crumpled, but still intact.

“I should’ve just waited like you said,” Samel admitted.

“It worked out okay,” Heror reassured him.

“I should’ve waited.”

They didn’t rest for long. They got up quickly and continued down the road, making the most of the time they had. They also wanted to distance themselves from the town. After the incident in Macen, all of them longed to be in Ghiovan.

Early in the afternoon, Turth spotted a rebel scout walking along the road ahead and stopped abruptly. He soon gained his composure again and started to walk.

“Stay calm,” he said. Heror didn’t know if he wasn’t talking to himself.

The scout grew closer, but he didn’t seem to be paying attention to the group. He was observing the plants and the vines along the road as if he had never traversed these paths before.

They passed each other without conflict. Turth glanced behind the group and let out a sigh of relief as he continued forward.

They could see the northern edge of the lake in the distance. It was only a couple hours’ walk away, and once they reached the edge of the lake, they would meet the crossroads into Ghiovan. Into a sanctuary.

“Do you think he recognized us?” Findirion asked Turth.

“I don’t think so,” Turth said, trying to dismiss the subject.

Heror didn’t recall the scout looking in their direction, but they had a reputation for being very sly. He glanced behind him once to look for anything suspicious, but he saw nothing. He still felt under watch from something.

The sun started to sink and generate a luminescent orange aura; something that the group had seen many times by now. There hadn’t been a storm for a week. Lightning was due.

They didn’t make it to the crossroads before nightfall, but they were close now. After the crossroads, it would be a one day walk westward into Ghiovan.

“Let’s set up camp here,” Turth said, letting out a breath as he threw down his pack. “This could be our last night in Orsaridon.”

Others threw down their things gently against the soft green ground and started to unpack in the evening light. The trees were transforming now; they were no longer the viny, swamp trees, but they now had fingered leaves and lucious grass underneath them. The sounds of the jungle were behind them now. But not far behind them.

“Who’s watch?” Heror asked.

“I’ll take watch,” Turth said, nodding. “Bes, you’re with me.”

Besentine grumbled.

“I didn’t volunteer,” he glared.

“You haven’t done it yet,” Turth explained. “It’s your turn.”

That was the end of it. The rest of the group assembled their tents while Turth and Besentine settled around the fire that they started. Soon, the whole group was around the fire, staring into the amber.

“Think you can handle the watch, Bes?” Rowan asked with a grin.

Besentine wasn’t in the mood for jokes.

“Shut it,” he said. “I’ll do just fine.”

“Soon we’ll be sleeping in nice warm beds in Cerdeon,” Raynar dreamed.

“At least for a week or two,” Turth said. “Some of us may be elected to follow Heror on his quest.”

“Quest?” Heror asked.

“You’ll have to travel around in order to develop your powers, Heror,” Turth said. “I just don’t know where you’ll have to go. And if the rebellion becomes stronger, we may get pushed out of Cerdeon anyway.”

“So let’s not get too comfortable,” Findirion suggested with a force laugh.

“You’re taking this ‘power’ thing pretty well,” Rowan said to Heror.

Heror shrugged.

“It hasn’t set in yet,” Heror muttered with an anxious smile. Deep down, he was worried how he would react when he learned more about his ‘powers’. He didn’t feel like someone special. He didn’t think he would be able to accept it. As of late, he hadn’t been forced to accept it yet.

“That bird call saved our lives, I’ll tell you that,” Findirion acknowledged.

“Well, it was my fault to even stay there in the first place,” Turth admitted. “And I apologize for that.”

“That was the best thing I’ve heard come out of your mouth!” Besentine laughed.

They laughed and talked for a long while before the majority of the group went to sleep for the night. Heror stayed awake in his tent for a while, listening to Besentine and Turth talk. This Besentine was not irritating or rude; he sounded kind and humorous.

Heror smiled. All the time they had spent together had changed them all in different ways. Even he had changed. He had a life again.

When Heror woke, the taste of dirt was strong in his mouth.

He pushed himself away from the ground and spat out the mud in his mouth, peeling away the saliva. He cringed at the sight and coughed some more. The taste was still there.

He rolled onto his back. He was covered in mud. His back stung from the scrapes he had received in the rapids. Detros’ body was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Turth’s.

Heror took deep breaths and gazed at the glittering water in front of him, a beautiful sight in the light of the morning sun.

“Brothers... and Sisters,” Heror said under his breath, a whisper in the gentle wind. “Go into the Next. And Reside well.”

Birds chirped. A frog skittered about near Heror’s ankle.

“To the Next,” Heror said, even quieter now. He felt like he was talking to someone, but he was the only person there to hear his words.

He stood slowly, careful not to strain himself. His feet sank lightly in the soft bank and he stumbled a bit, but he maintained his balance. His mind was filled with thiught, but it was cut short by a yell in the distance.

Heror fell into a silent panic. It was the rebels. They were patrolling the other side of the river. He turned and began to walk into the woods. He went slow. He couldn't go any faster.

The ground was still gnawing at his feet when he retreated into the trees. It forced him to use more leg strength, or he would become stuck in the mud, generated fresh from the midnight rain. With every step, searing pain shot into his back. He winced and moved forward, not knowing where his destination was.

He saw mountains in the distance. He was heading north. The swamps were fading below his feet. Boulders began to appear as he forced himself onward. The ground hardened, and his feet were no longer sinking. His knees quickly began to scream with pain upon entering the deciduous forest, and he slowed down, breathing heavily. He tried to glance backward, but the pain in his neck was too great, and so he turned his whole body around.

No rebels.

He rotated back towards the mountains and took in deep breaths.

“Rowan!” He found himself shouting. “Rowan!”

No answer.

“Samel!”

His breath seeped away and he gasped for it. He was desperate. His throat was numb and his pain only worsened. He started to walk forward again, as fast as he could go. Ever so slowly.

“Rowan!”

The mountains grew closer now, and Heror was beginning to grow weaker. His clothes were heavy with water and mud, and his sword only added weight. The food in his knapsack was spoiled without a doubt. His canteen was the only sustenance he had left.

He slowed down and stepped over a fallen tree, groaning as he did so. Wet leaves made strange sounds beneath his feet. He proceeded onward, sloshing in the leaves, when suddenly Rowan appeared from behind a tree, aiming an arrow at him.

Heror couldn’t find words. At the sight of the arrow, he stumbled backward, slipping and falling into the leaves. Rowan’s hand twitched and she almost fired the arrow, but she resisted the urge, and the arrow fell to the ground. She picked it back up quickly and slid it into the quiver on her back. She held back a laugh after watching Heror fall.

“Was anyone following you?” She asked, adopting a more serious tone.

“They were on the other side of the river,” Heror said, leaning his head back into the leaves, not minding the mud. “I think I put enough distance between me and them.”

Rowan approached him.

“You’re a mess,” she chuckled.

“Look who’s talking,” Heror mumbled.

Rowan let out another chuckle and started to grab Heror’s arm, but Heror rejected the help.

“No, no,” he said. “Let me get up myself.”

“If you say so,” Rowan said.

Heror slowly rolled onto his stomach, pain spreading throughout his body. He let out a small cry of pain as he finally rolled onto his hands and knees. Now Rowan helped, pressing her hand against his chest while the other pulled on his arm. Heror stood with her help, wobbly and in pain.

“Need help walking?” Rowan asked him.

Heror didn’t turn this help away. He knew he couldn’t walk much longer. He accepted her help, and in moments, they arrived at a small clearing. A tent lay in the center.

“You’re tent wasn’t destroyed?” Heror asked.

“I didn’t set it up,” Rowan said. “I had a bad feeling.”

Heror sat on the ground, unable to go any longer. Rowan let go of him and stood above him.

“You comfortable?” She laughed.

“I have to get used to the scenery,” Heror said.

Rowan laughed and moments later, she was back, after retreating into the tent for a few minutes. She sat next to Heror. Her mood had changed.

“What hurts?” She asked after a moment of silence.

“Everything,” Heror muttered, his eyes closed.

“Who’s left?” She asked, her voice weak.

“Detros and Besentine are dead,” Heror mumbled as if he were sleeping. “Don’t know about Turth.”

“I saw Fin and Raynar go down,” Rowan said.

“What happened?” Heror asked with a tired voice.

“I was the first to get up,” Rowan said. “I heard Turth shouting for everyone to get up. I saw him pulling Besentine into the woods and I saw blood. Detros got up and followed them. Left his tent and everything in it. I wanted to wake you and Samel up, but I saw the rebels coming and arrows were already hitting the camp. I followed Fin and Raynar, but they went a different way. The rebels got to them pretty quickly and I hid behind a bush. Raynar got hit first. Straight to the head. He fell down as if he’d never lived before. Fin got angry and was about to fire his bow, but they got him, too. That’s when I decided to... run...”

Emotion was starting to overcome Rowan, something that Heror hadn’t seen happen before.

“I shouldn’t have run,” she said, sniffing.

“I would’ve done the same thing,” Heror said. “They were going to kill you if they found you.”

“No,” Rowan said. “I should have woken you up. You could’ve died. And now Samel’s probably dead.”

She held her face in her hands.

“We act like death doesn’t mean anything,” she complained, sniffing some more. “Why doesn’t death mean anything?”

“I remembered them,” Heror said quietly.

“What?”

It took Rowan a moment to calm down and understand what Heror was saying, but she soon knew what he meant.

“Well...” she said. “Why don’t you remember them again?”

Heror’s eyes were closed now; he was falling into a deep sleep, but he slowly nodded.

Rowan took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She spoke slowly.

“Brothers Edron, Besentine, Detros, Findirion, Raynar, Samel, and Turth... Go into the Next... and Reside well.”

“To the Next,” Heror mumbled, below a whisper.

He fell asleep. Rowan thought about shaking him awake, but decided against it. She stood up, gazing at Heror for a moment. She walked into her tent and grabbed a sheet, bringing it out and laying it over Heror.

She fetched her bow, and went off to hunt. She couldn’t help but feel happy that Heror was alive. All the others were missing, and likely dead, but Heror being alive made her happy. She didn’t want to be happy. She grumbled as she walked into the woods, searching for prey. She wanted to be upset that her friends were dead; that was what she should have been feeling. But she wasn’t upset. She was happy. She realized in this short time that the reason she didn’t care as much as she wanted to was because she hadn’t cared about the rest of the group like she cared about Heror.

She forced compassionate thoughts out of her head and quickly spotted a hare. She pulled back on an arrow and let loose quick, but the arrow sailed harmlessly over its head. The hare scurried away, not bothering to look in her direction. She gritted her teeth and ran to pick up the arrow. She was rusty. She didn’t normally hunt, but you weren’t going to catch rabbits and deer with a knife.

She soon spotted a deer grazing at the foot of a tree and let another arrow fly. The arrow sailed to the right of its target and barely knicked the deer’s hind leg. The deer jumped and collapsed on its leg for a moment. Rowan fired another arrow and this one embedded itself in the deer’s side. The deer let out a wail and slumped to the ground. She approached it and stood over it. The deer looked at her with eyes pleading to let it go, but Rowan pulled out her knife and finished the job. She glared, taking the meat.

“I’ve got two mouths to feed now,” she grumbled, placing the venison in a bag. “I almost wish he died. Would’ve made it a lot easier.”

She finished her work and stood, slinging the bag and the bow over her shoulders.

“It’s going to be hard enough to get to Cerdeon,” she mumbled. “Now I’m the nurse.”

Rowan came back to the camp  and Heror was still asleep. She started a fire and started to cook the venison. The light woke Heror up, and he started to sit up, wincing at the pain in his back.

“How you feeling?” Rowan asked, not making eye contact. She felt sudden guilt at what she had said to herself in the woods.

“I’m alright,” Heror muttered, slowly lying back down. His back was bothering him. Rowan knew it.

“You’re not a good liar,” Rowan said, glancing in his direction.

Heror stared upward at the amber sky. The trees danced like shadows. The sun was hiding somewhere. The light was dim.

“Where are you from, Rowan?”

Rowan was a bit startled by the random question.

“Why?” She asked.

“Just curious,” Heror answered.

Rowan didn’t want to answer. She didn’t even know if she knew the answer. She’d been to so many places. But there was only one place she could be from.

“You can guess,” Rowan said finally, offering him a small smile.

“Pylantheum,” Heror answered.

“Wrong.”

“What?” Heror jolted up a bit, lying back down from the pain in his back. Rowan couldn’t hold back a smirk. “But your name sounds like it’s Pylanthean.”

“It might be,” Rowan shrugged. “I don’t have a clue.”

“That was my only guess,” Heror laughed lightly, wincing again.

Rowan smiled and turned the venison over.

“Tephire,” she said finally.

“Tephire,” Heror repeated. “I would’ve never guessed that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rowan asked suddenly, trying to smile to let Heror know that she wasn’t offended. She just wanted to know if she should’ve been offended.

“Nothing, really,” Heror said. “It’s just that... you don’t have their attitude.”

“What attitude? C***y and arrogant? I think I have their attitude, Heror,” Rowan laughed.

“No, I don’t think you do,” Heror argued. “Not the rich, snobby attitude, at least. I guess the stubbornness is there.”

“Heror, if we’re talking about stubbornness here, then you could be from Tephire,” Rowan grinned.

Heror smiled and laughed lightly. They laughed for a moment and they fell quiet. Heror’s smile fell and he glanced at Rowan.

“How did you wind up all the way over here?” He asked.

“What do you mean?” Rowan asked, trailing off from the conversation.

“You’re from Tephire,” Heror said, then paused. “Tephire is a long way away.”

Rowan frowned and started to think. Some memories were painful.

“I was born into a wealthy family,” Rowan said. “Get this: my name was originally Rowanna.”

“No,” Heror laughed, shaking his head. “That’s terrible.”

Rowan couldn’t help but share the laugh.

“I know,” she said with a smile.

“Continue,” Heror said after his laughter subsided.

“I was born into a wealthy family,” Rowan said. “They were the Heriles. My father, Thadren Herile, didn’t like me. He liked his two sons, my brothers, Thadren and Roniche. He said that they were the ones who would carry on the family name. He ignored me. He insulted me. Sometimes he... well... hurt me. And my mother was never home. I don’t even remember her name. I remember seeing her face every... I dunno, five years, but she didn’t seem to care. I hated it there. And so when I heard that I was being forced to marry a man I didn’t even know, I fled. My father called me a criminal to my face when I tried to escape. He tried to stop me, but I killed him. I ran and ran until I knew I was safe. Then I got a horse and rode east, through Mathingar, and I eventually found my way to Cerdeon. I was hungry and desperate, and when I heard about the Red Dragon Crest, how they help people... I guess I came to them crying. They took me in... I think Olfand is still the Champion there... I changed my name to ‘Rowan’ there. I told them my name was Rowan and ‘Rowanna’ became a legend...”

She looked up at the sky.

“I didn’t like Tephire,” she said, her voice quiet, but blunt.

Heror had been listening intently. He realized that he and Rowan had had almost opposite childhoods.

“I wish you could’ve met my parents,” Heror said. “They weren’t like that.”

“We were taught that Pylantheum was a Kingdom of beggars,” Rowan said. “Pylantheum doesn’t have much respect in the other Kingdoms.”

Heror blinked, breathing in small clouds of smoke from the fire.

“I’ve heard that,” Heror said. “When I was growing up there, we didn’t worry about the other Kingdoms. We couldn’t. We had to worry about ourselves first. There was a drought.”

“Maybe that was my family’s problem,” Rowan muttered.

“A drought?”

“No, no,” Rowan replied. “Their problem was that they didn’t have to worry about themselves. They didn’t have to worry about what kind of people they were because they were already rich and powerful.”

“Maybe,” Heror said half-heartedly.

Silence broke into their camp for the first time in a long time.

“So you got to Cerdeon,” Heror said. “Then what?”

Rowan took a deep breath, surprised that Heror was this interested in her storytelling.

“I stayed in Cerdeon for a few years. I was young when I got there, and so they kept me there with others who needed help. Eventually, I was let go because they said I was old enough to fend for myself, but I didn’t want to leave. Saboseth, an Emissary there, insisted that at sixteen years old, I was old enough to fend for myself, but Olfand, the Champion, decided to give me a chance. And so they had a test for me.”

“A test?”

“A test to join the Red Dragon Crest,” Rowan said, lowering her head. “The wizard there, Tabbot, came out and he started throwing insults at me. Out of thin air. The words hurt, Heror, they hurt, but I had to show I was strong.”

“That’s their initiation?” Heror asked, a bit surprised.

“Everyone is different,” Rowan said. “They hold you as a recruit or a refugee for a few years and then if you wish to join their Order, they create a test for you based on their experience with you. I lost my temper pretty easily, so...”

“Imagine that.”

Rowan almost glared, but she couldn’t help smiling.

“Anyway,” she said. “I lost my temper pretty easily, so they tested my mind, not my muscle. But I passed the test, and joined up. One year later, I was sent to Cuyasa. Olfand had heard that the Provision had left Cuyasa and he knew that our outpost there was the only Provisionary ally there. So he sent me and a dozen others to reinforce it. Now... here I am, five years later... I’m going in a damn circle.”

She almost laughed, but the pain and magnitude of her many memories overwhelmed her. She looked away and took a deep breath.

“Smells like it’s done,” Heror said about the venison as he closed his eyes.

Rowan jumped at the remark and quickly took out the meat from the fire. She began to prepare it while Heror rested, his back still transmitting pings of pain. Soon, Rowan was back with one half of the meat for Heror.

“Try to sit up,” she urged him, holding the meat on a strip of cloth.

Heror tried, but his back refused and he gritted his teeth in pain, slumping back to the ground. Rowan slid her hand under his back and started to lift.

“Come on, I don’t want to feed you like a baby,” Rowan grumbled.

Heror sat up slowly, and soon, with the help of Rowan, he was sitting upright. His back stung, but he ignored it for now, slightly wincing.

“Just take small bites,” Rowan said, gently handing him the meat.

Heror nodded and took the meat with shaky hands. Rowan walked back to the tent and came out with her food. She approached the fire again.

“You sure your back is alright?” She asked, concern in her voice.

“You want me to be honest?” Heror asked inbetween bites.

“No, I want you to lie so that when we get moving again, your spinal cord severs,” Rowan mumbled.

Heror took a bite, then coughed.

“It hurts when I talk,” Heror said. “And when I eat.”

“And when you sit up, apparently,” Rowan added.

“It hurts,” he concluded.

“I’ll check it out when you’re done eating,” Rowan said, taking a bite from her meal.

Heror wasn’t going to argue. He did know something was wrong with his back. But part of him wanted to keep it unknown until they got to Cerdeon. He would get better care there. In his condition, however, he didn’t have a large chance of making it to Cerdeon.

When Heror finsihed his venison, his whole body was shivering from pain. He wanted to lie down, and he almost fell backward when Rowan caught him. He let out a whine of agony.

“No!” Rowan said. “I need to look at your back before you lie down.”

She lifted the torso up over Heror’s neck and observed the wounds on his back while Heror shook from the pain.

“Hurts...” He managed to say.

“I know, I know...” Rowan replied, her voice softer than usual. “Just stay strong.”

It was bad. There were long, red gashes stretching from the base of his neck to his lower back. Dirt and mud had mixed with the dried blood, giving it a sickening orange tint. A couple of lumps sat in the middle of his back. Bruises dotted around the scratches and some spots were still bleeding. Rowan realized that the inside of Heror’s shirt was a dark red from the blood.

“It looks bad, Heror,” Rowan said, unsure that eating before this was a good idea.

“Feels bad,” Heror said weakly.

“Here,” Rowan kept him up, placing her hand under his arm. “Can you stand up?”

Heror shook his head.

“Yes you can, Heror,” Rowan’s voice was growing urgent. “Now stand up.”

She placed her other hand on his back and lifed upward. Heror let out another yell.

“Heror, I need your help if you want mine,” Rowan demanded.

Heror slowly put his left leg forward and tried to push up. His back screamed in agony and it locked up, almost preventing him to move.

“Use your legs,” she pleaded.

Heror put his other leg out now, and slowly straightened them. Rowan pulled him up, and he planted his feet on the ground. Rowan held onto his arms as he stood, and slowly let go. Heror wobbled and winced.

“Can you lie on your stomach?” Rowan asked.

Heror only looked at Rowan, breathing heavily.

“Let’s try it, come on,” Rowan exclaimed. “Lie on the sheet.”

Heror couldn’t. He was stuck. He collapsed to his knees, a few feet in front of the sheet. Rowan rushed to help him. He laid on the ground and rested his cheek in the lush grass. Rowan made sure he was fine there, and then she stood up.

“Still not used to the scenery?” She said sadly, hoping for a response.

Heror forced a painful smile, his eyes closed.

“No...”

Rowan laughed lightly, but sadness soon overcame her. She hated to see Heror like this.

“I’ll go get some medicine,” she said, hurrying into the tent.

Heror found that lying on his stomach was more comfortable than on his back. There was no pressure on his back now, and the cool night breeze massaged his wounds. The pain was still there, but it was almost tolerable. He breathed slowly, trying to calm himself. He hated being restrained. He felt like he was in an invisible cage, and every time he moved, the cage pressed in on him, growing smaller and smaller. His breathing began to stammer. He coughed once, sending enthralling pain into his entire body.

Rowan searched her pack for any kind of medicine, or instructions from Donnox, who had been the medic of sorts in Cuyasa. She found a small bundle of parchment and shuffled through it for any type of medical information.

“Damn,” she muttered, searching deeper into the pack. She feared that Heror’s blood was poisoned from the dirt and grime. She also feared that his spine was damaged. She knew enough about what could happen to a person, but she didn’t know how to stop it.

She didn’t know why, but she started to panic now. She turned the pack inside out, but found nothing. She cursed and walked back out to see Heror there on the ground. She bent down and felt the bumps on his back, careful to be gentle.

“It’s the bone,” she said quietly. Heror winced.

She thought a moment, then exchanged looks with Heror.

“I have to push them back into place, Heror,” she said with a frown.

Heror only nodded. He knew it had to be done.

Rowan took a long, deep breath, and placed her hands on the bumps. She grimaced at the feel of them. It was horrible to look at. She glanced at Heror, who looked asleep.

“You ready, Heror? Can I do this?”

She didn’t know why she was asking permission.

“Yes...” Heror said, his voice a smooth whisper.

Rowan turned back to her job and pressed down the bumps with her thumbs, stabilizing Heror’s back with the other fingers. One bump snapped back quickly. It was a perfect fit, but Heror yelled in pain. He curled up and kicked out one of his legs. Then he straightened back out, rolling lightly.

“One more, Heror, just one more,” Rowan reassured him, not making eye contact. He was restless. She put her hands on his back and he calmed down, but only slightly. He relaxed as much as he could, shaking from the pain.

“D... do it,” Heror said, teeth chattering.

Rowan pushed the second bone back in. This one took more force, but Heror was ready for it this time, and he shook lightly, gritting his teeth. He didn’t squirm. Rowan felt around the wounded area to make sure she had done her job accurately before standing.

“How does it feel?” Rowan asked.

“It’ll feel better...” Heror whispered.

Rowan smiled subtly and went back into the tent. Now she looked for medicine to apply to the wounds. They looked infected. She had seen it before.

She searched, but there was still nothing. She walked back out and sat next to the fire, going past Heror as she went.

Heror rolled slowly onto his back and saw the stars. He winced from the slight pain, but it was feeling better.

“Thanks,” he muttered to Rowan, who sat a short distance from him.

Rowan turned to look at Heror, who lay with one leg bent and the other straight. He stared up at the sky. Rowan wondered if he was looking for something. She wondered if she should be.

“Thanks for showing up,” she answered.

Heror was asleep. Rowan put out the fire, grabbed the sheet and placed it over Heror. She went into the tent.

There weren’t many unoccupied rooms, and those that were empty were far from maintained. Heror soon found a decent lodger, however, and stepped inside, setting his pack on the ground. His sword was back at the Wall, in the hands of the Provision.

He sat in a chair in the corner and thought of something to occupy himself. For the first time in what seemed like a millenium, all he had to do was wait for someone else. He merely had to wait for Olfand’s answer.

For whatever reason, he reached into his pocket, wrapping his fingers around the bird call, just to be sure it was there. When he felt the soft frame, he retracted.

A man stepped into the doorway, an emotionless expression on his face. He wasn’t much older than Heror, with dark hair and pale skin. A thin beard lined his face.

“What are you doing?” He asked, his voice heavy and cold.

“Is something wrong?” Heror asked, not sure what he had done.

“Is something wrong?” The man repeated, stepping into the room. “This is my lodger, mate.”

Heror stood. The man approached him slowly, clenching his fists.

“But it’s empty,” Heror contested, anxious.

The man drew his sword. Heror backed into the wall.

“That’s because I like it empty,” the man said. “Like my soul.”

He stepped forward quickly and pressed his sword against Heror’s chest.

Heror hugged the wall with his back and raised his chin, avoiding the sharp blade. The man stared at him with dark eyes for a moment, then began to laugh slowly. Heror didn’t return the laugh. The man backed away and sheathed his sword, laughing harder.

“Sorry, mate,” he laughed. “We do this to all the new recruits. Most of ‘em start squealing for Olfand!”

Heror relaxed and sat again, taking deep breaths. The man continued to laugh, leaning against the doorframe.

“Your face was the best!” He chuckled, unable to contain himself. “I could eat dinner on those eyes!”

“You had me fooled,” Heror admitted, glancing up. He wasn’t in the mood for pranks, but he couldn’t deny his defeat.

The man stepped forward again.

“Eh, usually we get more of a reaction,” he said. “I’m not the best at it, but once the sword comes out, pop! They’re up and against the wall!”

He held out his hand, gesturing for Heror to stand. Heror took his hand.

“My name’s Tetran,” the man introduced himself. “Soon to be an Emissary on top of this rock. And you?”

“Heror,” Heror said as he stood up.

“Nice to meet you, Heror,” Tetran said with a wide smile. “A meeting’s been called. All Knights who aren’t on guard are required to attend. You certainly aren’t guarding anything in here.”

Heror followed Tetran out of the room and walked beside him as they proceeded down the hallway through which Heror came. They made a left once they reached the end and soon Heror found himself back in the lobby area. Now Tetran gestured to the right. They slid through an arch and entered a crowded room. The walls were a pristine black stone and glass shielded them from the sky above. Heror stopped to take it in. Tetran smiled at his wonder.

“We call this the sky room,” Tetran announced. “We don’t have to worry about cleaning the glass ‘cause the birds don’t fly this high.”

“Not yet,” Heror muttered, clutching his bird call in his pocket.

The room resembelled a sphere; a glass dome hovered overhead, and ten rows of stone seats ran around the room in a bowl shape until the floor lay flat at the bottom of the bowl. Olfand sat at the bottom, talking with a pair of men. Most of the seats were occupied; there were hundreds of people at the outpost. Heror saw Rowan sitting with a group of people, but she didn’t seem to be talking, to his surprise.

“Come with me, Heror. I’ll introduce you to some of the Knights here.”

“What’s this meeting for?” Heror asked.

“We have these every week or so,” Tetran replied. “I usually don’t remember what they’re about. Nothing important to me.”

“What is your job here, anyway?” Heror asked.

“Well,” Tetran said, looking up at the roof. “You see, I designed this. I designed the lodger areas, too. It took the full time of my being here to complete and we still need more rooms. You see, everyone uses triangles to build because they think they’re sturdy, but arches... arches add a certain quality to the design.”

“How long did this take?” Heror asked, looking up at the glass. He wasn’t interested in much else.

“This was a separate project,” Tetran said. “We completed it last year. Now it’s our meeting room.”

“Please have a seat. everyone!” Olfand called from below.

“Alright, Heror, let’s go,” Tetran urged.

“No,” Heror said, glancing at Rowan. “No, Tetran, I’ll sit somewhere on my own.”

Tetran eyed him curiously, then smiled.

“I see,” he laughed before turning and walking in the other direction.

Heror ignored him and walked toward Rowan. When he reached her and sat down, she glanced up at him before looking back at the ground. When she didn’t speak first, Heror tried his luck.

“What’s the meeting for?” He asked.

“I guess we’ll find out,” Rowan muttered, not interested in giving answers.

Heror wasn’t sure about her answer, but before he could ask again, the crowds went silent and Olfand stood tall at the center of the room.

“This meeting has been called for dire reasons,” he announced. Rowan winced. “Today, we received a new member.”

He looked at Heror.

“Heror, would you stand up, please?”

Rowan didn’t smile, but she was happy Olfand got Heror’s name right this time. Heror stood reluctantly and eyed the hundreds staring at him.

“This is Heror,” Olfand said. “Now he isn’t a recruit, in case some of you have met him and made assumptions.”

Heror thought of Tetran.

“Heror,” Olfand took a deep breath. “Is a World Seeker.”

Everything became silent. Not even the breaths of the masses was audible in the glass room. The room seemed to darken, and Heror did not feel welcomed.

“And you know what this means,” Olfand continued with a flawed voice. “If a World Seeker walks among us, then we are in grave danger. The rebellion pushing west is not merely searching for freedom and independence; they are searching for Heror. The rebellion is not what it seems. If it sweeps across the Kingdoms, the Provision will fall and the connection between the Deities will be lost. Our freedom, our independence... will be overwhelmed by this force of great strength. There are darker powers at work.”

A recruit stood.

“You said the rebellion was growing strength because it was confined inside Orsaridon!” He shouted. “Not because...”

A name was said, and Heror winced. His ears began to ring and his vision grew blurry for a moment before he managed to focus again.

“I know what I said,” Olfand replied. “And I know what I said is now wrong. In the end, Heror is the only person who can stop the dark powers creeping towards us. Our job is to help him complete his duty.”

“We’re going to die for him?” One man demanded. “All of us?”

“Remember who you are!” Olfand ordered. “You are a Knight of the Red Dragon Crest. It is and has been our duty for thousands of years to uphold the balance in the Nine Kingdoms. This is who we are. Now I’m sorry that life has been hard, but the rebellion will make it here, and when they do, our first priority is to make sure Heror is safe.”

The Knights were quiet. The sun began to set outside the dome.

“Any more tempers I need to fix?” Olfand growled.

No one said a word.

“Then this meeting is concluded,” Olfand said. “Treat Heror with respect and remember your duties.”

People were already flowing out the doors. Olfand stood in the center of the room, joined by no one. Rowan stood next to Heror.

“How do you feel?” She asked.

“Fine, thank you,” Heror said quietly.

“Did I ever tell you it’s not a good idea to be tough like me?” Rowan inquired.

Heror looked at Rowan.

“What?” He asked, wanting more detail.

“People have been dying for you,” Rowan said. “Good people. And these good people... well, they’re going to die for you, whether they want to or not. And I would die for you. But I know you, Heror, and...”

“And what?” Heror asked.

“I know that you don’t want me to die for you because you’re the World Seeker,” Rowan said. “If I died for you, you would want me to do it because I care about you.”

“I don’t want anyone to die for me,” Heror whispered.

“But you’re last in line, Heror,” Rowan shrugged. “Chances are, a hell of a lot of people are going to die before you do.”

Rowan hesitated a moment before she walked off, blinking away something in her eye. Heror looked down at Olfand, who gave him a solemn nod. He turned and rushed away without a word. His pulse was elevated. All these people had a death sentence because of him. That was what is seemed like. It reminded him of Grendal.

Grendal.

He returned to his lodger and Tetran was sitting on the bed, staring him down.

“This isn’t actually my room,” he shrugged. “But it is empty like my soul. And yours, apparently.”

Heror glared.

“Olfand said it himself. This is what you put yourself up to.”

Tetran laughed and hopped off the bed, making a thump as his feet hit the ground.

“It’s a lost cause,” he said with a uncomfortable smile. “One man against an army.”

He approached Heror and his expression morphed into a scowl.

“We should be fighting alongside the Provision instead of sitting here protecting you from the inevitable.”

Tetran started to shove past Heror, but Heror grasped him and pushed him back. Tetran gritted his teeth.

“If it’s such a lost cause, what good would a couple hundred of you do alongside the Provision?”

“Two hundred is better than one,” Tetran argued.

“Why join the fight if you’ve already given up?” Heror demanded.

“You didn’t join the fight,” Tetran recoiled, turning around. “You aren’t one of us. Olfand may say you are, but you aren’t. Just because you were born with a gift doesn’t mean you get a free pass here. You didn’t have any initiation.”

“If you knew what I’ve been through, you’d know that I don’t need an initiation.”

Tetran turned again, now in the hallway.

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” Tetran growled. “It’s already gotten to your head.”

He turned away and disappeared behind a wall. Heror closed the door. How could someone he’d just met make harsh judgements so easily? He scowled at the thought and sat in a chair in the corner. Almost immediately after he sat down, he heard a knock on the door. He stood and went to see who it was, reluctant to check, thinking it would be another angry Crest member.

It was Rowan.

“What do you want?” He asked after they looked at each other in silence.

“A lot of people don’t think you’re a World Seeker,” she said. “There’s a rumor that you’re a fake.”

“Already?” Heror asked, refusing to make eye contact.

“They’re just in shock,” Rowan assured him, leaning on the doorframe. “It’s a whole lot to believe.”

“Who can blame them?” Heror said. He was frantic inside, but kept calm outside; he was good at this.

“Heror, they’re unprepared, and you’re blaming yourself for that,” Rowan exclaimed. “They were supposed to know what they’re joining when they signed up. Most of them do understand, but they’re the ones staying quiet.”

Rowan smiled lightly.

“I guess you would say that they don’t know what they’re fighting for.”

“That’s not the point, Rowan. The point is...”

Rowan stepped forward.

“What’s the point, Heror?”

“Nevermind.”

“What is it?”

“I’m overreacting,” Heror said, calming himself down.

Rowan sighed and looked at him, trying to study his emotions.

“Olfand said he didn’t know if you’d be able to control yourself,” she said. “He didn’t know if you were the right one for the job.”

“Well, what do you think?” Heror asked.

“Do you really have to ask that?” Rowan said with a smile.

Heror sat down and looked at the ground, relaxing himself.

“I think that you caring for other people says a lot about you,” Rowan said. “Caring for other people that you don’t even know. I don’t think you get enough credit.”

Heror didn’t smile at the compliment, but Rowan could tell it reached him.

“Thanks,” he managed to say.

“I mean, I don’t even care about people I do know,” Rowan continued. “You and I... we’re total opposites.”

Heror and Rowan spoke for a while longer. Their conversations grew more engaging with every word. Heror listened to Rowan, but her words didn’t calm him down. He didn’t want people to die for him. This outpost was Grendal. And the Knights were his family, neighbors, acquaintances. They would all die in fire, on steel, because of him.

Rowan left after about an hour, returning to her lodger. She knew that not every word she said reached Heror. He made it look like everything was fine, but she knew he was frantic on the inside. Frantic because he was trying to make sense of everything that was happening to him. She knew that he was the only person in control of those thoughts.

The night fell upon the outpost, and they put aside their worries, leaving them in the veil of the dark. For one night.