Third POV
Two months had passed since Elias told the story about the boy who could walk anywhere.
Life in the camp rolled on — cold mornings, blistering days, and the endless cycle of work.
But something had shifted. Lydia smiled more often now. Sam lingered by Elias's side even when there was no reason to. And Tyrek… well, Tyrek still made jokes at Elias's expense, but they carried less bite.
First POV
The day's work had ended with my shoulders aching from hauling stone. The overseer finally waved us off, and a few of us sat in the dirt near the woodpile, letting the last light of the day stretch across the camp.
That was when Tyrek appeared, his breath fogging in the evening air, eyes darting like he'd just stolen something.
"You lot hear what happened?" he asked, his voice pitched low.
We shook our heads.
He crouched down, glancing over his shoulder as if expecting a guard to stroll by. "A group tried to run. Four of them. Two nights ago."
My chest tightened. "And?"
"They made it past the outer wall," Tyrek said. "Got as far as the ravine before the sect caught wind. Three are dead. The fourth…" He shook his head. "Let's just say they didn't bother patching him up. You get caught out there, the cold'll finish what the disciples don't."
One of the slaves nearby muttered, "Better to die trying than rot in here."
Tyrek didn't answer, and the silence stretched until Garon's shadow fell over us.
Third POV
The blacksmith-turned-slave stood with his arms crossed, his gaze hard as iron.
"Better to live and bide your time," Garon said. "The impatient die quick. The desperate die quicker. You want freedom? You wait. You watch. You learn. When the time comes, you move. Not before."
His voice wasn't loud, but the weight in it stilled every tongue.
"Those four weren't ready," he added. "They had no plan. No knowledge of the roads. No idea how to feed themselves past the walls. Their end was written the moment they stepped into the snow."
First POV
His words landed heavy. I could almost see the image in my head — four shadows vanishing into the white, thinking they'd escaped, only to find the world beyond colder and sharper than the camp itself.
Third POV
Later, when the barracks had quieted, Elias lay awake, turning over scraps of overheard conversation in his mind.
From the stories and boasts of passing disciples, he'd pieced together fragments of the sect's power system.
Cultivation here wasn't called "foundation" or "condensation" — the disciples measured their strength in tiers. Tier One was the entry level, barely above ordinary men. Tier Five… that was the stuff of legend, enough to split boulders or crush a man with a glance.
The Iron Fang Sect's master was rumored to be Tier Six. The strongest disciple Elias had ever seen was Tier Four.
And the one who'd tried to lay hands on Lydia a year ago? Tier One — just strong enough to remind everyone how weak they were.
First POV
I rolled onto my side, the boards of the barrack creaking under me.
Garon's words wouldn't leave my head. Wait. Watch. Learn.
Patience. That was the key.
And while I waited, I'd keep collecting pieces of the world, fitting them together like a puzzle. One day, I'd have the whole picture.
And when that day came… I'd start walking.