The clash started suddenly.
Hunter had been leaning against the village well, arms folded, watching the late-afternoon sun bend across rooftops. He wasn't causing trouble. Not this time. But trouble didn't need his help to find him.
The Miner patrols burst into the square from three different alleys, heavy boots hammering stone. Shields locked, axes gleamed, crossbows clicked into place. Their leader pointed straight at Hunter and Vince.
"There they are!"
Hunter sighed. "And here I thought today would be quiet."
Vince didn't waste time talking. His hands dropped to the hilts of his twin blades, sliding them free with a hiss of metal.
"This is your fault," Vince muttered, taking a fighter's stance.
Hunter blinked. "My fault? You're the one who told their officer he had the posture of a dying llama."
"I didn't say that."
"You shouted it," Hunter shot back.
Vince gritted his teeth but said nothing more. The patrol was already moving.
The first wave was only four—three axemen and one with a reinforced crossbow. Hunter moved like water, slipping past a swinging blade to ram the pommel of his sword into a Miner's visor. The man staggered, dazed.
Vince was faster. His blades clashed against an axe, sparks flying, and in a single twist he cut the wooden haft clean in half. A sharp kick sent the Minerman sprawling.
"Precise," Hunter admitted, ducking another swing.
"You're sloppy," Vince replied, twisting past his opponent and dropping him with one efficient strike.
"Sloppy?" Hunter grinned as he elbowed the crossbowman square in the jaw, sending him tumbling. "That's called improvisation!"
"Or luck."
"Same thing!"
They barely had time to breathe before the second wave arrived. Boots thundered against stone as half a dozen more soldiers rounded the corner, shields locked. Villagers screamed, scattering into their homes.
Hunter's grin faltered. "Oh. That's a lot of shiny helmets."
Vince's eyes narrowed. "Too many."
Hunter tilted his head. "What? You mean we're not sticking around? I thought you were the stoic 'fight-to-the-last-breath' type."
"I don't fight battles I can't win," Vince said flatly. "We retreat."
Hunter paused like the concept offended him. Then another volley of bolts snapped past his shoulder, forcing him to duck. "…Right. Strategic repositioning. Lead the way!"
They bolted, weaving through alleys as shouts rang out behind them. The patrols gave chase, armored boots pounding, horns blaring for reinforcements.
"Where are we going?" Hunter panted as they ducked under a low archway.
"There's a base past the woods," Vince said, voice steady even while sprinting. "If we make it that far, we live."
"And if we don't?"
Vince didn't answer.
They burst past the last row of houses into the tree line. The forest swallowed them in shadow, and Vince navigated by painted markers left on the rocks—blue, red, green. Without hesitation, he veered left.
Hunter froze mid-step, then swore and yanked Vince's arm. "What are you doing? That's red!"
Vince scowled. "No, it's green."
Hunter stared. "It's red! Bright, bloody, obvious red!"
For a moment, Vince's face twitched. He clicked his tongue. "…Tch. Fine. Wrong path."
Hunter blinked, then a grin spread across his face. "Ohhh, don't tell me. You're—"
"Don't."
"Colorblind!" Hunter crowed, half-laughing as they sprinted. "You almost walked us into a trap because you thought red was green!"
Vince's jaw tightened. He didn't answer.
Hunter leaned closer, still grinning like a maniac. "You must see the world like a depressing painting. All grey and sad, like… like a sheep that hasn't been washed in years!"
"Shut up."
"I won't tell anyone," Hunter promised mock-seriously. "But man, this explains so much. No wonder your outfit looks like it came from a stonecutter's leftovers."
Vince snapped, "Keep talking and I'll let the Miners catch you."
Hunter gasped, clutching his chest in mock offense. "And abandon your navigator with actual working eyes? Terrible trade, partner."
"I'm not your partner."
Hunter smirked. "Not yet."
The forest path shook with pursuit. A pair of Miners crashed through the brush behind them. Vince whirled, blades flashing. He struck once, clean and efficient, splitting a shield down the middle. Hunter moved in reflex, knocking the second Minerman's legs out with a clumsy but effective swing.
The skirmish was short, but noisy—enough to draw even more pursuers.
Hunter's grin wavered. "They're multiplying like rabbits."
"They won't stop," Vince said. "So we don't stop."
Hunter's hand twitched. For a moment, his palm flared faintly blue—Soul Fire, unbidden. He clenched his fist until the light died, refusing to unleash it. Not yet. Not here.
Instead, he grinned, hiding the weight in his chest. "Fine. You lead the way. Just promise me next time you won't walk us into lava because you thought the sign said 'emerald green.'"
Vince shot him a look sharp enough to cut. "Next time, I leave you behind."
Hunter barked a laugh. "You'd miss me."
"Doubtful."
Yet they ran side by side, rhythm clashing but steady, through shadow and stone. The forest swallowed their noise, but the pursuit never fully faded. Neither trusted the other, neither liked the other, but for now survival meant running together.
Hunter adjusted his jacket, still grinning. "Face it—we're a team."
Vince didn't respond. But he didn't deny it, either.