The west wing of the outpost medical hall was quieter.
No high walls or stone arches here — just rows of cots, worn sheets, and the soft rustle of bandages. The windows were shuttered, letting only thin streaks of afternoon light through the slats.
Bram sat with his back against the cot's headboard, sling propped on his lap. His arm throbbed — a slow, deep ache that medicine dulled but didn't erase. Across from him, Soren lay back, staring at the ceiling.
Neither of them spoke at first.
Outside, footsteps passed. A medic murmured a name. Somewhere, someone coughed.
Finally, Soren spoke.
"…Do you think it was all true?"
Bram looked over. "Phoenix's story?"
"Yeah. One man. All those beasts. The whole company gone." Soren's voice was quiet. "You think he really stayed behind and fought them alone?"
Bram shifted, his shoulder twinging. "He didn't lie about what we saw. The wounds. The way he moved. How Ryliegh didn't question it. That's enough for me."
Soren frowned. "It just sounds like a tale. Like the kind of thing they carve into stone walls and twist into legend."
"He didn't act like a legend," Bram said. "Didn't even act proud."
Soren turned to face him. "He acted like someone who expected not to be believed."
The silence returned.
They could still hear Phoenix's voice, low and rough, from the march:
"I didn't win. I didn't conquer. I just didn't die."
Bram leaned back, staring at the rafters. "The part that gets me — isn't that he lived. It's that he stayed. The company broke. Most ran. He didn't."
"He could've," Soren said.
Bram nodded. "And he didn't."
They sat with that for a long time.
Then Soren added, "I thought Ryliegh would've left him. At first."
"Yeah. Me too."
"But he didn't."
"No. He didn't."
Soren closed his eyes. "You think… we would've stayed? If we were there?"
Bram didn't answer right away.
Then, softly: "I don't know."
Neither did Soren.
But they both felt the weight of the truth Phoenix had carried — and the burden Ryliegh had chosen to share.