The fire crackled quietly in the cold night air, its warmth barely cutting through the chill. Kael sat beside it, his gaze fixed on the flames, though his thoughts were far from the flickering light. Around him, the survivors of the battle laid in silence, too tired or too wounded to speak.
Harlan groaned softly, his leg bound in rough bandages, blood seeping through the cloth. Veyron was tending to him, but the wound was deep, and the makeshift supplies they had left were barely enough to stave off infection. Kael knew they needed rest, time to recover, but he also knew they didn't have that luxury.
They were running out of time.
Veyron glanced up from Harlan's side, his eyes meeting Kael's. "He won't make it if we keep pushing like this."
Kael's jaw tightened. "We don't have a choice."
"We always have a choice," Veyron said quietly. "But if we keep running, we'll be down another man."
Kael turned away, staring out into the darkness beyond the firelight. The weight of the losses was heavy, but there was no room for hesitation. Not now. Not after everything they had been through.
"Kerric is out there," Kael said, his voice low but firm. "And the Iron Circle is still hunting us. If we stop now, we die."
The night stretched on, the silence broken only by the crackling fire and the occasional cough from Harlan. The others had fallen into an uneasy sleep, their exhaustion too great to resist.
Veyron sat across from Kael, his expression hard but calm. "You're pushing them too hard."
"They can handle it," Kael replied, though he wasn't sure if he was saying it for Veyron's benefit or his own.
"Not everyone's like you, Kael," Veyron said, his voice edged with frustration. "Harlan's barely holding on, and the rest of the men are shaken. After what happened with the rider... they're questioning whether this is worth it."
Kael's gaze darkened, his hand instinctively tightening around the hilt of his sword. "I don't care what they think. Kerric is out there, and we're not stopping until we find him."
Veyron studied Kael for a moment, his expression unreadable. "And what if Kerric's already dead? What if we're chasing ghosts?"
Kael's eyes flashed with anger, but he bit back his response. Veyron wasn't wrong to ask—Kael had wondered the same thing, late at night when the weight of the losses pressed hardest.
"If you want to leave," Kael said, his voice cold, "then go. I'm not stopping you."
Veyron's eyes narrowed, but he didn't argue. Instead, he stood slowly, glancing at Harlan before turning back to Kael. "I'm not leaving. But I hope you know what you're doing."
Kael didn't respond. He couldn't. All he knew was that stopping now wasn't an option. Not with the Iron Circle closing in. Not with Kerric's fate still unknown.
The next morning, they set out before the sun had fully risen. The landscape was barren and cold, the ground hard beneath their feet as they trudged northward. Every step was a reminder of how close they were to the end of their strength, but Kael pushed them forward, his mind focused solely on the path ahead.
Harlan hobbled along, supported by one of the younger men, his face pale and covered in sweat. Veyron stayed close, watching Kael's every move with a mixture of wariness and loyalty.
Hours passed in silence, broken only by the sound of their boots on the frozen earth. But as they crested a small rise, Kael's sharp eyes caught movement in the distance. He raised a hand, signaling the group to stop.
"What is it?" Veyron whispered, his voice tense.
Kael didn't answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the horizon. A group of figures was moving through the valley below—too far to make out clearly, but there were at least a dozen of them. They moved with purpose, though their direction seemed random, like they were searching for something—or someone.
"The Iron Circle?" Harlan rasped, his voice strained.
"Maybe," Kael muttered, his mind racing. But something was off. The group moved too erratically for a trained patrol. Whoever they were, they weren't organized.
"We go around," Kael decided, his voice firm. "We don't have the strength for another fight."
Veyron nodded, though there was doubt in his eyes. "And if they see us?"
"Then we make sure they don't," Kael replied, already moving toward the treeline.
The trees began to thin as they reached the edge of the forest, and Kael signaled for the group to halt. He crouched low, peering through the underbrush. The figures were closer now, their shapes more defined. There were more of them than he had thought, twenty at least, and they were heavily armed.
But something else caught Kael's attention. At the center of the group was a figure, bound and stumbling as they were pushed along by the others. Even from this distance, Kael recognized the gait, the familiar shape of the man.
His heart raced.
Kerric.