The air grew lighter as they left the ruined camp behind, the smoke thinning, the heavy scent of blood slowly replaced by damp earth and leaf rot. Green returned as the dominant color, vibrant and alive, climbing trees, carpeting the ground, dancing in soft shafts of filtered sunlight.
Aiden glanced back at the group trailing behind him.
Lyanna and Vaena each supported a wounded elf — one barely conscious, her skin blistered and red from fire. The third survivor, the medic, limped along unaided, gritting his teeth with each step but keeping pace.
Selina walked beside Aiden in near silence, her cape singed, her face streaked with ash. She was their guide now. And Aiden, despite the stabbing pain in his ribs, was their sword.
Every few steps, the wound flared. A shiver rippled through him, not from fear or cold, but from the dull ache threatening to slow him down.
Didn't I have regeneration?
The thought struck him suddenly.
Back in that throne room, there had been pain, sharp and spreading down his spine. Then, just as suddenly, it had vanished.
He hadn't thought about it since.
Aiden's hand moved behind him, brushing the base of his back, the place where that first strange pain had bloomed.
He slowed his steps, eyes narrowing as his fingers found the edge of the mark. He tugged aside what remained of his leather armor, if it could still be called that after nearly falling apart in the last battle, especially after being tossed around like a ragdoll by that damned golem.
His skin — or what passed for it — felt smooth and dry, but his fingertips met something different.
A shape.
Etched into the skin.
A mark.
He twisted, trying to get a better look, but couldn't quite turn far enough.
Black. That much he could tell. Jagged around the edges. Not natural.
Not a scar. Not a wound.
It felt alive.
Aiden straightened slowly, breath shallow.
I need a mirror.
Selina looked at the mark. Her gaze lingered for a second longer than usual, but to Aiden's surprise, her expression didn't change. No shock. No confusion. Nothing.
"Is something wrong with it?" she asked, voice low and tired, tinted with something else — an emotion Aiden couldn't place.
She knows about it?
Is that normal here?
His thoughts raced, the weight of her calm pressing against his chest.
Aiden let out a short, breathless laugh meant to mask the flicker of panic crawling up his spine.
"I just... rarely get a full look at it," he said casually, adjusting his armor like it was no big deal.
Selina's eyes narrowed slightly. "Really? You seemed pretty familiar with it."
Her expression softened, just a touch of amusement or curiosity.
Pretty familiar? Is she talking about the window?
"Not really," Aiden replied, careful to keep his tone light. "It's not exactly my area of expertise."
"Can I see it?" she asked. Her voice was tired, but something new crept in, curiosity.
So she is interested in the mark. Is it magical? Cultural? A status thing?
Aiden shifted, tugging the edge of his ruined armor aside. He couldn't get a good look at it himself, but Selina clearly could.
She leaned in slightly, eyes scanning the shape.
"That's... interesting," she murmured. "Could you explain how it works?"
The mark? Or the blue window?
They're connected, right?
"It's just a defense shield," Aiden said quickly.
Selina didn't look convinced. "Right... but your mark..."
She trailed off, then silently reached down and pulled aside part of the cloth around her ankle. A black mark stained her skin there, dark and sharp, shaped like curling roots blooming outward.
Aiden stared.
So they do all have one?
Selina stood upright again, and the group kept moving. The path narrowed slightly, roots weaving through the underbrush, crunching underfoot.
"From what I can tell," she said, brushing dust from her sleeve, "ours are a similar type. That's why I asked — why a shield?"
"I'm... more on the defense," Aiden replied.
What kind of explanation is that?
"Hmm. Makes sense, maybe," she mused, her voice turning more thoughtful than questioning. "So it's personality-based? Or shaped by life experience?" She tilted her head slightly. "But you fight pretty aggressively. Maybe there's a hidden factor."
She wasn't really talking to him anymore. More like thinking aloud.
She's passionate about this. Yeah, that's probably the word.
"Selina!" a voice called from behind.
Lyanna was moving quickly, one arm wrapped around the injured boy who leaned heavily on her. Her face was tense, strained.
"His condition's getting worse," she said. "We need to stop. Now."
She eased him to the ground, his many injuries visible, open, red, and raw.
Selina dropped to her knees beside him without hesitation. Her expression sharpened, her focus narrowing as she hovered her hands just above his wounds.
The rest of the group slowed. Some sat. Some stood. All watched.
Selina placed her hand gently over one of the wounds. At first, nothing.
Then, movement.
Tiny, small vines began to emerge, threading through the torn flesh. They twisted, pulled, and wove the wound closed in slow, deliberate patterns. The skin around it shifted, no longer raw, but pale and beginning to knit together.
It wasn't full healing, but it was enough to keep him alive.
"Time's running out. We need to move faster," Selina said, her tone firmer now. When it came to her duty as a healer, the weariness in her voice vanished, replaced by clear, clinical focus.
Lyanna nodded and slipped the boy's arm back around her shoulders. She turned to the rest of the group.
"We're speeding up. No more stops. No more talking."
Her gaze fell on Aiden.
"We're heading to our village. We can offer shelter, but only if we make it without drawing attention."
Aiden blinked. That was the first time she'd actually told him where they were going. Until now, he'd just been walking, blindly trusting the path.
"You'll go ahead," she continued. "Scout the path, make sure it's clear. That way, we don't waste time watching every shadow."
She tilted her head toward Selina. "She'll guide you on the route."
Her tone held no room for debate. But at least now, he had a direction.
The hours bled together in a haze of green and silence.
By the time the sun dipped low again, Aiden had already made several scouting runs ahead of the group — five in total. Each time, he pushed forward through winding paths and narrow clearings, then doubled back to report. The group moved slowly, forced to a crawl by the injured, but thanks to the system they'd agreed on, he and Selina had managed to gain a considerable lead.
His ribs still ached, every step a dull throb, but he pressed on, slower than he liked yet steady.
The forest had shifted.
The trees grew closer together here, thicker, older. The air was heavier too, the sunlight filtering in dull and gold through a higher canopy. Even the birds had gone quiet. No rustling. No distant chirps. Just a stillness that settled like a weight.
Now came the final stretch.
Aiden and Selina stood near the base of a broad tree, its roots curling over stone. She had motioned for them to stop. The village, she'd said, was close, but only Lyanna could authorize him to see its exact location. Even now, after all he'd done, that boundary hadn't changed.
So they waited, him leaning slightly against the tree to ease the pressure in his ribs, her sitting nearby, watching the path behind them.
Any minute now, the others would catch up.
Aiden glanced at Selina. Though they had walked together for hours, their conversations had been sparse, mostly practical comments about the terrain or quiet observations about the forest's wildlife. Each time Selina shared some piece of knowledge, it became painfully clear how little Aiden actually knew. And every gap, every hesitant reply, only risked raising more suspicion.
Still, his ignorance wasn't just a threat to his cover — it was a danger to himself.
And now, with nothing but silence and waiting between them, he had no better chance.
"Who were the men hunting you?" Aiden asked bluntly.
Selina blinked, clearly surprised, though not as much as he expected. "You… don't know?"
Her gaze lingered on him, and something shifted behind her eyes.
"Aiden… you're not Po, are you?"
His breath caught.
It was a miracle he'd kept that lie alive this long.
"No," he said quietly. "But I knew him. He is missing in the prison."
Selina's gaze dropped. Her shoulders sagged just a little, her face unreadable, but something flickered across it: sadness, maybe, or guilt.
"He was the one you exchanged letters with?" Aiden asked.
"Yes… we…" She trailed off.
"I'm sorry," he said, then added, "Let's hope he's still alive."
Cruel. But did he have a choice?
Probably.
"Let's hope," she murmured, her expression growing distant.
Then, after a pause, her eyes met his.
"So... why did you help us?"
There was no accusation in her voice. Just genuine curiosity.
He didn't answer immediately.
The truth was complicated. Souls. Survival. Opportunity. But also, he hadn't wanted to see the wounded slaughtered. That part mattered too.
"It felt like the right thing to do," he said at last.
Selina nodded slowly. "It was."
She hesitated.
"So… you're not from here, are you?"
Aiden met her gaze, but said nothing for a beat.
Not just this forest. Not just this country. Not even this world.
"No," he said. "I'm not even sure what's going on here."
Selina exhaled softly. "We're just scouts," she said. "For the rebellion."
"Rebellion?" he echoed.
"We're being hunted," she said, voice low. Her fingers fidgeted slightly. "We tried to resist. And now…"
"By who?" Aiden asked, stepping forward.
But before she could answer, a familiar voice rang out behind them, cutting through the woods like a blade through silence.
"Aiden! Selina!"
Lyanna.
The group emerged from the trees, tired but intact. Lyanna led them, her steps urgent. They eased the injured to the ground near a fallen log, then Lyanna approached, her eyes locked on Aiden.
"We need to talk. Now."
Selina stepped aside without a word, giving Lyanna space.
"Selina," Lyanna added over her shoulder, "make sure the injured are ready to move once we're allowed in. We can't risk them catching something out here."
Selina nodded and turned to the others, leaving Aiden and Lyanna alone.
Lyanna didn't waste time.
"You've done more than we expected. More than anyone asked. But we're at a crossroads now."
She stood straight, eyes hard with something unreadable, command maybe, but tempered with honesty.
"You can come with us. Or part ways here. We can't reward you — not yet. Maybe not for a long time. But if you stay, you'll be asked to do more. We need help, more than you probably realize. So this is your choice."
She paused, letting the weight of it settle.
"Decide quickly."
Aiden took in the battered group behind her. They were bruised, burned, broken — but alive. And right now, they were his only thread of connection to this world.
He had nowhere else to go. No real idea where he even was.
And more than anything, he needed three things: shelter, knowledge, and time.
He'd earn his keep. He didn't plan on standing still anyway.
"I don't exactly have other places lined up," he said, offering a faint, tired grin. "So yeah. I'd gladly accept."
Lyanna sighed, her expression unreadable.
"Aiden, you just joined the losing camp. I hope you don't regret it."
Without another word, she turned and headed back toward the others.
Well… that part I was already piecing together.
Aiden exhaled and followed.
The group was gathered in a loose circle. Selina knelt beside the two most injured, checking their bandages, whispering something Aiden couldn't hear. Her face was focused again, calm but drawn thin. Vaena stood nearby, sword still drawn, her eyes scanning the tree line like she expected another fight at any second. At least this time, Aiden wasn't the one being watched.
The third injured — the young man Lyanna had carried — now sat up, barely, speaking in low tones with her as she crouched beside him. Aiden caught only fragments, nothing useful.
I wonder how many more people they have... if there's even a "they" beyond this.
He didn't have time to dwell on it.
"We're going home," Lyanna said suddenly, her voice rising just enough to be heard.
A normal group might have paused to gather their things, but this group didn't have any.
No tents. No spare gear. No supplies.
Just what they could carry... and a handful of exhausted survivors.
They moved quickly, guided more by familiarity than direction. The trees thinned. The brush grew shorter. The air felt different, less wild, more worn. The faint sound of running water trickled through the canopy, along with something heavier, more deliberate.
Footsteps.
Voices.
Civilization.
And then, it came into view.
A wall.
Wooden, weatherworn, and tall enough to shield the horizon. Not massive, not some fortress, but sturdy. Built to hold back threats that wouldn't care about neat lines or polite warnings.
A few figures stood atop it, bows in hand, eyes narrowed.
Guards.
One of them shouted something Aiden didn't catch.
A moment later, the gate began to creak open.
Not fully, just enough to let them through.
Let's see what the losing camp looks like from the inside.