Victor and Édric took their time coming back.
Not because they were far, but because they were waiting. Waiting for the tremors to leave Victor's hands. Waiting for the redness in his eye to fade, for the weight twisting in his gut to settle, even slightly. He didn't want to return staggering—not when everyone was counting on him to look steady.
Édric waited with him. Said nothing. He'd simply placed a hand on Victor's shoulder, and it stayed there—solid, heavy, grounding. An anchor. A reminder.
At last, Victor adjusted his eyepatch, gave a barely perceptible nod, and they turned back toward camp.
The sun was only just beginning to lower. Shadows stretched long across the stones. The air smelled of dry grass, fading smoke, and lukewarm broth. As they crossed the threshold, the first voices reached them—not laughter, but hushed exchanges, nearly murmurs.
Emma looked up first.
The moment she saw Victor, she stood without hesitation. Wiping her hands on her trousers, she stepped toward him, slow and gentle. He didn't have time to speak: she reached out, touched his cheek, then pressed a light kiss to his temple. He closed his eye for a brief moment. Just a second. And breathed.
"You okay," she whispered.
He nodded, didn't answer right away. She stayed close, and that was enough.
Not far off, Adam was seated on a stump near the fire, cleaning a blade with a cloth. Rufus sat cross-legged beside him, knees to his chest, chewing thoughtfully on a twig, his gaze lost in the flames. He glanced at Victor, then quickly looked away. His body didn't move, but his fingers clung to Adam's trousers with a quiet urgency that went unnoticed. When he saw Victor standing tall and calm, he relaxed slightly. Just a little. But it was there.
And behind them, leaning against part of the wall, stood Aldous. He hadn't said a word. Hadn't asked. But he'd seen everything.
Victor cleared his throat softly.
"We found something," he said. "Actually... Rufus saw it first."
The boy lifted his head, timid. Adam gave him a small, encouraging nod.
"He noticed the stone, up on the beams. Just outside the wall. A big block of limestone. Something was off."
"There was a... a drawing," Rufus added, hesitant. "Clean. Carved. Not old. You could see it well."
Édric nodded.
"We went to check. He's right. The stone is old, but the carving is new. And... recognizable."
Victor inhaled.
"It's the same seal as the one on my signet rings."
Silence fell.
Emma turned her head slowly toward him. Even Aldous seemed to hold his breath.
"We hadn't seen it before," Victor said. "But it was there. And it was made after we arrived. Or just before. Recently enough that the lines are still clean. Which means one thing: someone followed us. Or is still following us. Up to here."
"Shit," Adam muttered.
"Does that mean they're... here?" Rufus asked quietly. "Around us?"
He tried to sound calm, but his voice wavered. He had moved closer to Adam, pressing his shoulder against the older man's leg. Adam didn't comment—he simply slid an arm around him protectively and kept his eyes on Victor.
"We don't know," Victor replied. "Could be a signal. A warning. A waypoint. We don't know. But the fact that it's carved outside the walls isn't a coincidence."
Aldous finally spoke. His voice was deep but calm.
"It's a mark. Not a message. A way of saying: we see you. A signature, maybe."
He crossed his arms.
"But Victor's right. It's beyond the walls. That matters. As long as they stay out there, we're safe in here."
He looked around.
"But we won't just sit on our hands."
He turned to Édric.
"From now on, no one goes out alone. Hunting, pissing, I don't care. Always in pairs. And we're reinstating the night watch. Two at a time, all night."
No one argued.
Even Rufus nodded. He looked younger than his twelve years, but he was listening, trying to read the weight of what the adults weren't saying.
Victor felt something rise in his throat, but this time, he held it back.
He glanced at Édric, who said nothing, but was there. At Emma, who, without a word, slipped her hand into his. At Adam, holding Rufus tight. At Aldous, steady and unflinching.
And despite the fear, despite the returning cold, he felt a little less alone.
"Thank you," he murmured. "All of you."
No one answered. He hadn't expected them to.
---
It had been several days since the carving was discovered, and a tense sort of routine had settled back into place. The watch rotations resumed, the work continued, but everyone had started looking over their shoulders.
And that morning, Victor announced he would go hunting with Adam.
He said it simply, by the fire, while Emma prepared a thyme-based salve and Rufus clumsily moved a basin of water.
"You sure?" Adam asked, raising an eyebrow. "Emma likes going out."
"Exactly," Victor replied, adjusting his belt. "She deserves a break."
Adam looked at him briefly. He understood without needing more. Victor never spoke of it, but Adam remembered too. The ambush. The pillagers. The indirect revenge meant for Edric that had cost Victor his eye.
If someone wanted to hurt Victor, they wouldn't aim for him first. They'd aim for her.
Adam didn't press. He simply grabbed his bow, already prepared, and leaned toward Rufus.
"While we're gone, clean up your corner a bit, alright? You left your shirt balled up on my straw."
"It's not your straw, it's a bundle," Rufus grumbled without looking up.
"Exactly. My bundle," Adam replied, arms crossed. "Give it back some dignity."
Rufus finally looked up, mock-annoyed.
"And if I do... there'll be rabbit tonight?"
"Promise," Adam said with a wink. "You even get to pick your piece."
Victor was already gearing up: bow on his shoulder, sword at his hip. He shared a last glance with Emma, who smiled without a word, and followed Adam into the dew-soaked grass of the morning.
The forest stretched ahead like a curtain of damp shadow. The trunks were dark, the ground waterlogged in places, but the air was soft. The kind of morning where the silence feels focused, not ominous.
They walked side by side, not speaking much.
Victor liked that kind of silence. It wasn't empty. It said: we already understand each other.
Nearly a year earlier, Adam had taught Victor how to draw a bow. How to breathe before the shot. How to read branches, ferns, the delicate signs of passage.
That morning, Victor loosed the first arrow. A quick rabbit, taken cleanly. Adam nodded in approval. Then he fired his own. Another rabbit down.
They moved on, tracking. A faint trail, but legible.
Adam crouched, touched a fresh print with two fingers.
"Big hoof. Maybe a deer. Or a boar."
Victor nodded. They kept going, still silent.
But twenty minutes later, the trail vanished.
Adam stopped, squinting, then straightened with a sigh.
"Damn it. This track's all over the place."
Victor bent down too. Nothing. Just leaves, and a torn stump.
"Think Emma's gonna mock us?"
Adam gave a half-smile.
"She'll bring it up for two weeks."
Victor opened his mouth to reply.
He never got the chance.
A sharp crack to the right, a breath to the left.
Then two masked figures exploded from the trees. Silent. Precise.
Victor's reflexes kicked in: he dropped his bow, hand sliding to his sword. Adam, faster, drew mid-motion.
Then came the clash.
One man, armed with a spear, rushed Adam. The other charged Victor, blade raised.
Steel rang. Victor parried one blow, then another. His opponent was stronger, taller, moved with brutal confidence.
Victor held his ground.
His one eye tracked every motion. He dodged on instinct, his arms moving faster than thought. Everything Edric had taught him surged back like a second nature. He wasn't perfect—but he was surviving. He had changed.
But fatigue was building. His breath shortened. He parried a side blow too slowly, the blade grazing his brow, carving a burning line above his cheek.
Behind him, Adam cursed. A grunt of pain.
No time to check.
His attacker stepped in close. One hand grabbed his shoulder, the other his collar. Victor hit the ground hard.
Air gone.
He struggled, panic rising. But the man didn't strike. He held him down. Too strong.
And he wasn't striking.
Victor, pinned, felt the truth crawl into him: this man wasn't here to kill.
Not yet.
Why?
He saw a flash of steel. A dagger.
Not again.
The thought stabbed colder than the blade. He wanted to scream, to lash out, but his body froze. That old terror. Of traps. Of helplessness.
Then—
A thud. Wet and solid.
The weight above him faltered.
Then collapsed.
Victor needed a second to grasp it.
A silhouette stood there. Small. Out of breath. Arms still raised around a bloodied stone.
Rufus.
The boy was panting. Red-cheeked. Dirty-handed. Wide-eyed with fear.
Victor pushed himself halfway up. Looked for Adam. Saw blood. A red streak down his left arm. Deep, but not fatal.
Adam was staggering. He saw Rufus. His jaw clenched.
He took one step. Then another.
And then his legs gave out.
He dropped to his knees in front of the boy, opened his arms—and Rufus crashed into them, wordless.
"You idiot... you little idiot..."
Adam gripped him tight. His good hand pressed to Rufus's back. And suddenly, his chest started to shake.
Victor approached slowly, heart still hammering. He saw Adam rest his forehead on the boy's shoulder, his fingers buried in the fabric.
And he understood.
Adam was crying.
Not loud. Not like a child.
But his shoulders quivered. His breath caught. And Rufus said nothing. He just stayed there, the stone fallen at his feet, hands clinging to Adam's coat.
Victor knelt beside them. His head throbbed. He looked at the two bodies, the trees, the blood, the earth. The silence.
He looked at Rufus.
"You saved us."
Rufus shook his head, still trembling.
"I was scared..."
"Me too."
Victor remained there, knees to the ground, ears ringing, pulse pounding.
The silence after the fight felt unreal. The birds were silent. Even the wind held its breath.
Adam held Rufus against him, breathing ragged. His face was taut with pain and shock. Sweat beaded on his brow. Blood still streamed from his arm.
Victor turned to the man who had tried to kill him. His skull was bleeding, fingers still curled around the dagger. Slowly, Victor pried it loose. Then he leaned down and pulled back the hood.
The mask was crude. Just dark cloth, tied behind the head. He untied it with shaking fingers.
A face. Young. Scarred. No one he knew.
He turned to the other corpse. Adam hadn't let go of Rufus, but his eyes tracked Victor.
Same process. Hood. Mask.
Another stranger. No tattoos. No mark. No insignia.
Victor searched the body. Empty pouch. A cloth tied at the wrist, no symbol. An old scar along the jaw. That was all.
No crest. No sign. Nothing.
Just two masked men. Armed. Silent.
Victor stood. Stepped back, blood on his hands. Doubt twisted his gut. He'd hoped for proof. A clue. Something to explain it all.
There was only emptiness.
"Victor," came a voice.
He turned.
Adam still had Rufus held close with one arm. His wounded hand pressed hard to his own gash, trying to stem the bleeding. His face was pale.
"We can't stay here."
"I know... but they came for me. I need to know who they were."
"You won't learn anything if we die out here."
Adam's voice was low. Sharp. He was swaying, but upright. Rufus, frozen, looked between their faces, panicked.
"If there are more... we're done."
Victor nodded slowly.
One last glance at the bodies. The dark woods. The blood on his skin.
He grabbed his bow. Checked his sword.
Looked at Rufus, still clinging to Adam like a lifeline.
"Let's go."
They left.
Victor led, sword in hand. Adam behind him, gripping his arm. Rufus walking beside them, quiet and alert.
They didn't look back.
---
When the abbey came into view, Édric was the first to spot them.
He was by the well, sharpening his blade against a flat stone, when he lifted his head out of habit—and saw the three figures emerging from the tree line. At first, they were blurred, wavering in the low light of late afternoon. Then clearer. Too clear.
Victor in front, sword still in hand.
Adam, his arm bloodied, the sleeve of his tunic torn.
And between them, Rufus. Tiny. His hand clenched tightly in Adam's.
Édric shot to his feet, dropped the blade, and ran.
—"What the— Adam!"
He reached them just as they stepped past the outer stones of the abbey. His voice was tense, but under control.
—"Blade to the arm," Adam grunted, gesturing to his left side. "It's bleeding, but I've had worse."
Victor said nothing. He walked straight ahead, face tight. Édric reached out as if to touch his shoulder, then stopped—he felt the tension in the young man's body.
—"Emma!" he called over his shoulder. "Emma!"
She burst out of the tent, a cloth in her hands. Her breath hitched the moment she saw Adam—but she steadied herself, fast. That calm fire she carried in a crisis was already flaring to life.
—"Over there. By the wall. Adam, sit. Keep the pressure on."
She moved with brisk efficiency, already tearing a clean strip from her own shirt. Kneeling beside him, she looked him in the eye.
—"Did you black out?"
—"No."
—"Blurry vision? Nausea?"
—"Told you. I've had worse. I've been to war, remember?"
—"Good. Then shut up."
She went to work on the wound with practiced hands. Victor had crouched nearby, sword still across his knees, soaked in blood. Rufus stood stiffly, arms hanging at his sides. He was shaking, but his eyes never left Adam.
Édric knelt next to Victor.
—"Talk."
Victor took a slow breath. His heart was still pounding, but he spoke.
—"Two men. In the forest. Masked. One had a spear. The other, a sword. They came out of nowhere."
—"Pillagers?"
—"Too precise. Too clean. And... they said nothing. Not a word. Like they knew exactly what they were doing."
He paused. His voice hardened.
—"I think they were there for me."
Édric frowned. Emma, still working, didn't look up—but she was listening.
—"Why?"
—"They could've run. Or gone for Adam. But they didn't. One kept him busy. The other... he pinned me. At first, I thought he wasn't trying to kill me. Just control me."
—"And then?"
—"Then he pulled a dagger."
He fell silent.
A heavy pause settled.
Emma tied the bandage tightly.
—"So they know who you are."
—"And where I am."
Victor looked up at Édric.
—"We searched the bodies. No mark. No name. Not even an accent. Total strangers."
—"But trained men."
Victor nodded.
—"The only good news," Adam said, his voice still rough, "is they didn't strike inside the perimeter. Or too close to the abbey."
—"Which means they're watching," Édric concluded. "They're picking their moment."
Victor clenched his jaw.
—"And their target."
Emma turned to him. Her face was tight, eyes shining with restrained anger. She stepped closer, laid a hand to his cheek, and kissed his forehead gently.
—"We'll deal with it. Together."
He closed his eyes for a moment, then forced himself to rise. Rufus was still standing nearby. Now, he crept toward Adam, step by step.
Adam placed his good hand on the boy's shoulder, pulled him in.
—"You disobeyed us," he murmured. "You shouldn't have left camp. It was dangerous, Rufus."
The boy lowered his gaze. A smear of dry dirt crossed his forehead, and his cheeks were flushed—whether from effort, fear, or both.
—"I didn't mean to... I just didn't want to sit and wait. Not knowing. Alone. You were gone... and I got scared."
Adam listened in silence. He placed a hand on the boy's neck.
—"You screwed up," he said, voice softer now. "But you saved Victor."
Rufus gave a tiny nod, voice barely audible.
—"I saw the dagger. I thought... it was like in the nightmares. That he was gonna die."
Adam shut his eyes, pulling him tighter.
—"Thank you, kid."
He stayed there a moment, kneeling, one arm wrapped around Rufus like a shield against the world. Then, almost to himself, he added:
—"Still gonna have a serious talk about these little adventures of yours."
Rufus didn't answer. But he stayed pressed against Adam, fingers curled into his vest like a lifeline.
Victor watched them. A heavy, burning gratitude thudded in his chest.
This boy had risked his life for him. And Adam—despite the blood, the pain, the fear—still had the strength to be a steady anchor.
That was their group. Battered. Flawed. But real.
And that's what made Victor afraid.
Because he knew exactly what he stood to lose.