Morning came slow.
The barracks were still. Only a faint creak from the rafters above and the low, rhythmic breathing of the other occupants broke the silence. No shouts, no urgent footsteps. Just the fragile peace mixed with uncertainty of the day ahead.
Aiden pushed himself up slowly, muscles stiff, ribs still sore under the tight bandages. His mouth felt dry, and the weight of the dream hung in the back of his skull like fog refusing to lift.
"Ugh..." he muttered, rubbing his eyes. For a brief second, he almost expected the reflection to still be there when he opened them again.
But it was gone.
Only sunlight remained now, bleeding through the gaps in the wall. Thin beams cast long stripes across the barracks floor, highlighting piles of scattered gear, cracked boots, and half-packed satchels.
Across the room, a few elves were already stirring. They moved quietly, fastening belts and adjusting their worn armor without words. Some cast brief glances toward Aiden, unreadable. Not hostile, but cold. Distant. He wasn't part of their rhythm. Not yet.
Except for one.
A smaller figure cut through the drifting haze of dust and light, her steps sharp and deliberate. She didn't hesitate like the others. She walked directly toward him, her posture rigid but sure. Her black eyes locked onto his with uncomfortable intensity.
Vaena.
Aiden recognized her immediately. The same woman who had stood over him when he first arrived, blade in hand. One of the first two who confronted him after the portal. Back then, she hadn't said much to him. Now, she seemed even more guarded. Narrow-shouldered and lean, her features were drawn tight from exhaustion, but her expression gave nothing away.
She stopped a few feet from his bedroll, arms crossed.
"You're up," she said simply. No warmth, no hostility. Just fact.
Aiden nodded cautiously, uncertain where this was going.
"Good." Her tone stayed neutral, but her eyes scanned him slowly, like weighing something unseen. "I was wondering if you'd sleep through morning like a wounded animal."
You are also injured.
Aiden raised an eyebrow. "Didn't plan to. Hard to sleep with cracked ribs."
That earned a slight, barely visible smirk. More tension release than humor.
"You're not as useless as I thought," Vaena said, tilting her head slightly. "But you're still new. Don't expect kind words."
"Wasn't planning on it," Aiden replied evenly.
Will you once acknowledge that I helped you even survive?
She stared for a moment longer, then gave a short nod, like she'd quietly confirmed something about him.
"Good. Zane wants you. Council hall," she said, stepping aside to clear his path.
"Zane?" Aiden asked, frowning slightly at the unfamiliar name.
"Lyanna's brother. Our leader." Vaena's eyes narrowed a fraction, her voice turning just a shade more pointed. "You really are strange."
Aiden stiffened slightly at the way she said it.Not knowing him is surely strange.He made a mental note, again, to be more careful with his words. Every slip felt like a crack forming beneath his feet.
Before he could say anything else, Vaena turned sharply and started walking away. The sunlight caught her short black hair as she moved, turning it almost silver at the edges. A few steps away, she paused, glancing back over her shoulder.
"Are you going or not?"
Aiden ran a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath. "Yeah... I'm going."
He followed after Vaena, leaving the barracks behind. Outside, the village looked different in the morning light. The gloom of yesterday was still there. Too many wounded, too many gaps in the walkways where people should have been. But it felt steadier somehow. Fires crackled softly, children darted between hanging laundry, and groups of elves and humans alike quietly repaired damaged walls and cleaned weapons.
Was this place recently attacked?
Vaena led him down a narrow path that curved between rows of houses until they reached a larger building. Unlike the rest, this one looked sturdier. Its walls were reinforced with dark wood, and faint carvings marked the beams. Spiraling patterns that looked both decorative and ritualistic. Two guards stood outside, bows slung across their backs.
Without ceremony, Vaena nodded to them and pushed open the heavy door. She motioned with her chin for Aiden to enter.
Inside, the air felt thicker. Warmth clung to the walls from a small hearth at the back. But more than that was the weight of presence.
Around a wide, cracked table sat several figures. Mostly elves, though one or two were human. Older, scarred. They carried themselves stiffly, watching Aiden as if he was something to be measured or weighed.
At the center, leaning forward slightly, was Zane.
Aiden instantly recognized him from yesterday. Tall, sharp-eyed, and cloaked in red. The confident way he held himself reminded Aiden less of a warrior and more of someone used to control and having others listen when he spoke.
Zane looked up as Aiden entered, his dark eyes cool and unreadable, appraising him without warmth or hostility.
"So," he began, voice smooth but edged with something sharper. "You're the outsider who saved my sister and what remains of her team."
Aiden shifted slightly under the scrutiny of the room. Every eye lingered on him, quietly judging.
"I helped," he said simply, his tone flat but steady.
"That's right. Aiden, correct?" Zane asked, though he clearly already knew. Without waiting for confirmation, he turned toward the rear of the chamber and gestured to a plain wooden door.
"Follow. We're going for a walk."
Without another word, he pushed the door open. Fresh air and a glimpse of the village beyond spilled into the heavy room. Before stepping through, Zane cast a glance back over his shoulder to the gathered elders and advisors still seated around the worn table.
"Meeting's over," he announced curtly.
His words stirred disapproval immediately. A few of the older elves exchanged glances. One, narrow-eyed and grim, muttered openly. "You're walking a thin line, Velastra."
Zane ignored the elders' disapproval completely. Not a twitch of acknowledgment as he stood in the open doorway, waiting with calm expectation.
Aiden hesitated only for a breath, then followed. The door shut behind them, cutting off the cold, judging eyes of the council.
They walked side by side for a while, leaving the clustered homes and murmuring streets behind. Zane didn't speak at first. Only when the hall was far out of earshot did his voice finally break the silence.
"Aiden," he began, softer than before. "I hope you're not too bitter about your treatment here. Even after saving lives."
He paused, glancing sideways as if weighing his words.
"But I ask you to excuse them. Everyone's on edge. We've lost far too much recently, more than ever before." His shoulders tensed slightly. "Still, I recognize what you did. And, in time, I'll make sure you're properly rewarded when such luxuries are within our grasp again."
His tone shifted as he spoke. Less rigid now. More natural, as though he could afford to relax away from the heavy gazes of the elders.
Aiden kept his own voice even. "You're being hunted by humans. Doesn't that make it complicated? Living here with them mixed among your own?"
Zane's lips pulled into something faintly bitter. "It would, yes. If only it was humans."
He slowed slightly, his eyes darkening as his words grew heavier.
"But it's not just them. It's our own kind who lead this hunt. It's elves who sit at the top, placing targets on our backs, sending the Silvers to execute their will."
Aiden processed that quietly. So it really was elves. And Silvers... Silver Watch? The men he'd killed, wearing that silver armor. Soldiers, not bandits. It explained their coordination. He almost regretted not bringing back some of their gear.
"We're at our lowest point," Zane admitted, voice dropping. "And honestly... I can't imagine what would've happened if Lyanna hadn't returned."
His composure cracked, only for a second. Guilt flickered through his expression before vanishing behind resolve.
"I've heard," Zane continued, his gaze sharp again. "That you wanted to help us. Tell me, are you sure?"
Aiden didn't hesitate. He needed them. Their trust, their resources, their shelter. He forced the most genuine, steady voice he could.
"Yes. I'm ready to prove myself."
Zane studied him for a beat, then gave a faint, knowing smile.
"Good," he said simply, before shifting subjects. "In that case, how about sparring for a moment?"
Aiden blinked, caught slightly off guard.
"Sparring? With you?" He glanced at the bandages still tight around his ribs. "I'm not exactly in prime condition. Not to mention, I wouldn't say I'm that confident with a blade."
Which wasn't even a lie. His victories so far had come from regeneration, instinct, and Po's lingering skill. Not anything he'd earned himself. And now, without regeneration active, he felt far more vulnerable.
Still, Zane chuckled quietly, waving aside the concern.
"It won't be serious. I just want to see how you move. No better way to learn about someone than through a blade."
Before Aiden could argue further, they arrived at a simple training ground.
An arena of packed dirt stretched out before them, flanked by worn fence posts and a scattering of weapon racks. A few groups of soldiers were already training on the far side. Clashing wooden blades. Calling out techniques.
Zane's eyes drifted toward an empty ring near the center.
"Over here," he said, his voice light but commanding.
Aiden exhaled slowly.
Looks like I'm being tested again.
Zane approached one of the racks and selected a wooden sword. Without ceremony, he tossed another to Aiden, who caught it clumsily with one hand. The weight felt strange. Lighter than the scavenged blade he'd been using.
"Just for a minute," Zane said, stepping back into position. "There's something I want to see."
That didn't exactly sound comforting.
Aiden rolled his shoulders and followed, the ache in his ribs reminding him to stay cautious. They paced to opposite sides of the ring. Zane planted his blade into the dirt for a moment, signaling readiness, then raised it smoothly into a balanced stance.
Without a countdown or much warning, he lunged forward. Not recklessly, but with enough speed to make Aiden step back on instinct.
Aiden's body moved before he thought. His grip tightened on the wooden sword, and rather than swing wide or aim for Zane's blade, he thrust. Straight, sharp, and simple.
Zane deflected easily, but his eyes narrowed slightly in interest.
Aiden reset, circling slightly. Again, when Zane pressed forward with probing strikes, Aiden's response was the same. Tight footwork, small movements, and quick, stabbing thrusts.
He wasn't aiming for flair or heavy blows. Just controlled jabs. The kind meant to cut distance or exploit an opening to the throat.
It became obvious fast.
Aiden wasn't a brawler. He wasn't swinging wildly or locking blades. His style, if it could even be called that, leaned heavily on thrusts. Precise. Direct. Almost too direct.
Zane tested him further, weaving faint slashes and low feints, but Aiden didn't take the bait. Each time, he answered with more of the same. Narrow steps, careful angles, and short, straight stabs.
Not elegant. Not flashy.
But efficient.
Zane eventually stepped back, lowering his blade slightly as they disengaged. He studied Aiden with a small, thoughtful frown. As if trying to puzzle out something that didn't quite fit.
"Interesting," Zane muttered, mostly to himself.
Aiden let his arms fall slightly and focused on steadying his breath. His ribs ached with each inhale, but that wasn't what made him wary.
He needed to be careful now.
"Aiden," Zane began again, his tone sharper this time. "Are you trained?"
Aiden hesitated.
Was he?
He hadn't thought much during the spar. His body simply reacted, following patterns that felt natural. Too natural. But where they came from, he couldn't say. Fragmented memories and instincts guided his hands, not knowledge. Not lessons.
"I don't know," Aiden admitted carefully. "I didn't really think while fighting."
Zane's eyes narrowed slightly, not in anger but in scrutiny.
"You aren't used to a sword. That much is obvious. You don't handle it like someone trained in blade forms or stances," Zane said, tapping the wooden weapon lightly against his shoulder. "But that's not the strange part."
Aiden tensed, listening closely.
"You fight like you're holding a dagger," Zane continued, eyes sharp. "You go for the neck. Always the throat. You ignored easier targets to aim for vital spots. Every movement you made was about closing the distance, ending it fast, before I could react."
He took a step closer, lowering his voice slightly.
"That's not how soldiers fight. Not here."
Aiden's throat tightened. He tried to keep his face blank, but Zane's words hit harder than expected.
"Tell me, Aiden. Where are you from?" Zane asked, the question carrying far more weight than simple curiosity.
Aiden froze. He had no answer. Not a real one. No names, no places. Just fragments and vague memories of a world not like this.
Zane saw the hesitation. His jaw tightened as if confirming something for himself.
"You don't know," he said quietly. Not accusing, but firm. "I figured as much."
He turned slightly, glancing down the training field before speaking again.
"Po and Ro… they were the ones contracted to find a new outpost. Selina handled the messages, but the one who gave her that right was me." His eyes slid back to Aiden, colder now. "I knew them both. Personally. They helped build this camp. At the beginning at least."
Zane's voice softened, but only slightly.
"And then silence. No word. No updates. Until suddenly, Poraven appears. Without his brother. Not recognizing anyone. Not even me. My sister trusted you, so I didn't press."
He took another step forward. Close now.
"But now, I need to ask. As someone responsible for this place."
His gaze bore straight into Aiden, sharp and cutting.
"Who are you really, Aiden?"