The blacktusk carcass thudded heavily onto the wooden cart outside the butcher's stall. Old Merken, a gruff man with thick arms and a squint that never softened, stared at it for a long moment—then gave a slow, appreciative whistle.
"Well I'll be cursed," he muttered, kneeling down to inspect the tusk. "You three actually brought one down."
Renji crossed his arms, trying to look casual, but the sweat still on his brow betrayed the effort it had taken. "One shot through the eye."
"It squealed like a dying hog," Hiro added proudly, grinning.
I stayed quiet, still feeling the ache in my arms and chest. My tunic clung to my skin, and the bruises from the charge still throbbed with every movement. But I stood tall beside them.
We had done it.
Old Merken circled the beast once more, then looked up. "You'll be wantin' coin."
"That was the plan," Renji said.
Merken grunted. "Meat's solid, hide's clean, tusk's intact. I'll give you fifty silvers. Sixty if you let me keep the bones."
"Seventy," I found myself saying.
The old butcher turned to me with one brow raised.
"Seventy," I repeated, "and you can keep the tusk too."
He stared for a long moment, then spat to the side and held out his hand. "Done."
---
We split the coin behind the stall, beneath the shade of a crooked roof. It wasn't much per person—not enough to buy dreams—but enough to catch them in your hands, to smell them, to taste the edge of what might be.
I held my share tightly, the cool weight of the silver unfamiliar in my palm.
This was the most I had held in years.
"I'm giving half to Elda," I said. "She'll protest. I'll lie."
Renji chuckled. "Don't tell me you're turning responsible."
"I'm trying," I said, smiling faintly.
Hiro stretched his arms behind his head. "Feels good, though, doesn't it? Doing something. Not just waiting."
"Feels like the beginning," I admitted.
---
Later that evening, after we'd washed up and said our farewells, I walked with Renji and Hiro back to their home. Mari welcomed me in without question and filled the table with leftover bread and stew.
But our laughter was softer tonight.
Aya. Kaela. Theo.
Their absence echoed louder now that the excitement had faded.
"I miss them," Hiro said suddenly, breaking the silence between mouthfuls. "Even Kaela's bossiness."
Renji leaned back in his chair. "They'll write."
I nodded. "We'll see them again. When we're stronger."
"Or richer," Hiro added, flicking a coin in the air.
Renji smiled faintly. "Or both."
---
That night, I returned home and handed Elda the pouch of silver before she could argue. She tried to protest anyway.
"Aisu—"
I cut her off. "Don't. Just take it. Please."
She looked at me, at the bruises on my arm, at the dirt still clinging to my boots. Then she said nothing and wrapped her arms around me instead.
For a moment, I let myself believe we were safe. That I had time. That the quiet days might last long enough for me to catch up.
But outside Colva, beyond the sleepy hills and forest lines, the world had already begun to shift.
Far from the village, on a distant hill cloaked in mist, black robes moved beneath the moonlight.
An old woman knelt beside a dying flame, eyes closed, lips whispering something ancient.
Before her, carved into stone, were the words of prophecy.
> "From the ashes of a nameless child shall rise the end of thrones.
He who dies and lives again shall rend the veil of law and birth a storm."
Behind her stood armored figures—silent, cold, watching.
Arbiters.
They said nothing as their captain stepped forward, his eyes hidden behind silver, his voice like falling steel.
"Colva," he said. "Burn it."