Rowan pushed open the door of the healer's shack, his breath uneven from the hurried journey. His heart pounded in his chest as he scanned the dimly lit room. There, resting on one of the old wooden beds, was Elias.
His younger brother lay peacefully, his chest rising and falling in steady rhythm, his face finally free of the pain that had tormented him for days. The tension that had gripped Rowan's body loosened slightly at the sight.
Elias looked… better. His skin, once so pale it seemed translucent, now held a hint of warmth. Whatever the healers had done, it had worked. At least for now.
The walk through the camp had been unnerving, a labyrinth of shacks and tents that loomed in the quiet darkness before dawn. The air was thick with the scent of burning wood and something more pungent—herbs, perhaps, or something less natural.
Rowan had kept his head down, his breath tight in his chest as he passed clusters of figures draped in tattered robes, their faces obscured by hoods. They moved slowly, as though in a trance, their eyes hollow as they went about tasks that seemed mechanical and deliberate.
Some carried buckets of water, others shuffled with baskets of dried food, but none of them spoke. The silence of the camp was suffocating, broken only by the occasional murmur of hushed voices or the distant crackle of a fire.
The way to the healer's shack had not been long, but it had felt like an eternity. Every step had been heavy, as though the very ground sought to hold him back.
The flickering torchlight cast long shadows that stretched and writhed like living things, making the narrow paths between the shacks feel even more confined. Rowan had felt eyes on him the entire time, though when he turned to look, no one had been watching. Or at least, no one who wanted to be seen.
As he neared the healer's shack, he passed a group of figures gathered around a low fire, their faces obscured by hoods and flickering shadows.
Their murmurs were barely audible, but he caught fragments of their words—something about sacrifice, something about rising above. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and he quickened his pace.
The door had been heavy under his fingers, the wood worn smooth from use, yet strangely cold to the touch. He had hesitated, just for a moment, before pushing it open.
Now, standing by Elias's bedside, Rowan felt a mix of relief and apprehension. The boy looked fragile but alive, his breathing steady and even. He had almost lost him. The thought sent a shiver through his spine.
This place, these people—they were not what they seemed. He had learned to trust his instincts, and right now, they were screaming at him. The camp was wrong.
The way the people moved, the vacant looks in their eyes, the way Father Gideon spoke in honeyed words that carried a weight Rowan couldn't yet define.
Yet, Elias was healing. Could he afford to question their hospitality when his brother had been at death's door just hours ago?
Rowan exhaled sharply, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. He clasped his hands together, as if in silent prayer.
"I promise you, little brother," he whispered into the quiet. "We'll get out of here. I don't know how yet, but I swear to you—we will leave this place. Together."
The weight of his own words settled deep in his chest. He didn't know what he would have done if he had lost Elias. The boy was his only family, the only thing anchoring him in a world that had tried to chew them up and spit them out time and time again. Rowan tightened his grip on Elias's frail fingers. "I won't let them take you from me."
The warmth of the fire in the hearth cast flickering shadows along the walls. The fatigue in his body finally caught up to him, and he let his head rest against the edge of the mattress, his fingers still wrapped around his brother's. Sleep claimed him before he realized he was falling into its embrace.
---
Morning arrived as a soft glow through the cracks in the wooden walls. The scent of burning wood and herbs lingered in the air. Rowan stirred as he felt movement beside him. Blinking away the haze of sleep, he looked up to see Elias shifting in the bed, his brow furrowing slightly as he woke.
"Elias?" Rowan rasped, his voice rough from exhaustion.
Elias's eyes fluttered open, their usual sharpness returning as he met Rowan's gaze. "Rowan…?" His voice was hoarse, but not as weak as before.
Rowan sat up straight, relief washing over him. "You're awake."
Elias gave a tired smile. "Yeah, already feeling better, don't worry too much."
Rowan let out a small, breathless laugh, overwhelmed by the rush of relief. Without thinking, he pulled Elias into a firm embrace, holding him close. "You scared me," he admitted. "I thought I—" He swallowed hard, unable to finish the sentence.
Elias returned the hug with what little strength he had, his voice quiet but firm. "I'm still here."
Rowan pulled back, placing a hand on Elias's shoulder. "We need to leave, Eli. This whole place—it's not safe. Something's seriously wrong here!"
Elias hesitated, his gaze searching Rowan's face. "Rowan, we should stay. Just for a few more days. At least until I can walk properly again."
Rowan opened his mouth to argue, but before he could, the door to the shack creaked open. A chill ran down his spine as he turned toward the entrance.
Standing in the doorway, framed by the morning light, was Father Gideon.
His dark eyes took in the scene before him—Rowan's protective stance in front of Elias, the wary glint in the older brother's gaze. A slow, knowing smile curved his lips.
"Good morning, my sons," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "I see you're feeling better, Elias. That is wonderful news."
Elias gave a small nod, but Rowan remained silent, his body tense.
Father Gideon stepped further inside, his presence filling the small shack. "You must be grateful, Rowan, to see your brother restored. We keep our promises here."
Rowan's jaw tightened. "Yeah. Thanks."
Father Gideon chuckled, the sound low and knowing. "We are family now, Rowan. There is no need for such hesitation. You and Elias belong here. You both have a purpose among the Risen."
Rowan's heart pounded. There it was—that word again. Belonging. He wasn't sure whether it was meant to be comforting or a warning.
Elias spoke before Rowan could. "I still need rest," he said carefully. "Can we talk about this later?"
Father Gideon inclined his head. "Of course. Rest, my child. Regain your strength." He glanced at Rowan, his expression unreadable. "We will speak soon."
And with that, he turned and exited the shack, leaving behind an unsettling silence.
Rowan let out a slow breath. Elias turned to him, his expression unsure. "Rowan… maybe we should listen to him."
Rowan shook his head, gripping his brother's hand. "No, Elias. We can't trust them. We need to be careful."
Elias hesitated but eventually nodded. "Alright. But… just a few days. Until I'm strong enough."
Rowan swallowed his frustration. If staying a few more days meant Elias would be at full strength when they ran, then he would wait. But he wouldn't let his guard down.
Because deep down, he knew—they had to get out of here before it was too late.
**
The silence in the shack was heavy, broken only by the faint crackling of the fire in the hearth. Rowan sat on the edge of Elias's bed, his mind racing.
He couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched, that every move they made was being monitored The camp was too quiet, too still, as if it were holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.
Elias shifted slightly, wincing as he tried to sit up. Rowan immediately reached out to help him, his hands gentle but firm. "Take it easy," he said softly. "You're still weak."
Elias nodded, his eyes scanning the room. "It's strange here," he murmured. "Everything feels… off."
Rowan's chest tightened. "You feel it too?"
Elias hesitated, then nodded again. "Yeah. But… they helped me, Rowan. I don't know what they did, but I feel better. Maybe… maybe we should give them a chance."
Rowan's jaw clenched. He wanted to argue, to tell Elias that they couldn't trust these people, that the camp was a trap. But the look in his brother's eyes stopped him. Elias was still weak, still vulnerable. He didn't understand the danger they were in.
"We'll stay for a few days," Rowan said finally, his voice low. "But we need to be careful. We can't let our guard down."
Elias nodded, his expression serious. "I understand."
Rowan sighed, running a hand through his hair. He felt trapped, caught between his instincts and his brother's need for rest. He couldn't risk Elias's health, but he couldn't ignore the unease that gnawed at him.
The door creaked open again, and Rowan tensed, his body instinctively moving to shield Elias. But it was only one of the hooded figures, carrying a tray of food. The figure placed the tray on a small table near the bed, then turned and left without a word.
Rowan stared at the tray, his stomach growling despite his unease. The food looked simple—bread, a bowl of stew, and a cup of water—but it was more than they had eaten in days. He glanced at Elias, who was already eyeing the food with a mixture of hunger and hesitation.
"We should eat," Elias said quietly. "We need to keep our strength up."
Rowan nodded, though his appetite had vanished. He picked up the bread, tearing off a small piece and handing it to Elias. "Here. Take it slow."
Elias took the bread, his hands trembling slightly. He took a small bite, chewing slowly, his eyes closing in relief. "It's good," he murmured.
Rowan forced himself to eat, though every bite felt like ash in his mouth. He couldn't shake the feeling that the food was a trap, a way to lull them into a false sense of security. But he had no choice. They needed to eat.
Elias finished his bread, leaning back against the pillows with a sigh. "Rowan… what do you think they want from us?"
Rowan hesitated, his eyes narrowing. "I don't know. But whatever it is, it's not good."