Jason straightened slowly, chest rising once, then settling as his gaze fixed on the treeline where the last grounder had vanished. His eyes narrowed, the faintest tension rolling through his shoulders.
David noticed it immediately.
"You're not thinking of going after him… are you?" he asked hoarsely.
Jason didn't look away. "Thinking about it? No." A pause. Then, calmly, "Already thought about it? Yeah i definitely am going after him."
David swallowed.
Jason finally turned back to them. His eyes swept over David first, then Ryan slumped against the rock, and finally John who was unconscious, pale, blood drying dark against his clothes.
"It's a long way back to camp," Jason said with an even voice, but there was weight beneath it.
He glanced toward the gully entrance, the path they'd come from then clicked his tongue softly and looked back toward the direction the grounder had fled.
Ryan shifted, wincing, but forced himself upright enough to speak. "We… we can make it back ourselves."
Jason looked at him sharply.
David stared at Ryan in disbelief. "Are you out of your damn mind? You can barely—"
"I said we can," Ryan insisted, breath shallow but stubborn. "We will only slow you down if you stay."
Jason studied him for a long moment, then shifted his gaze to John. The amount of blood loss alone was worrying.
"Are you sure?" Jason asked quietly.
David clenched his jaw, then nodded. "Go, Jason. We'll get him back."
Jason exhaled through his nose. "You know the way?"
David nodded again. "I can retrace our steps."
Jason raised an eyebrow. "And exactly how are you planning on doing that with one almost unconscious and another bleeding out?"
As if on cue, a sharp neigh cut through the trees.
Jason turned, eyes flicking toward the sound. Behind a cluster of trees, two horses emerged hesitantly into view, the same ones that had bolted earlier in the chaos.
For a moment, Jason just stared.
Then a slow smirk tugged at his lips.
"Well," he said lightly, "would you look at that. And so the universe provides."
David almost laughed despite himself.
Jason moved fast after that, helping David hoist John carefully onto one horse, making sure he was balanced and secured. Ryan struggled onto the other, pain etched into every movement, but determination kept him upright.
Jason stepped back as they mounted.
"Follow the river south," he instructed. "Stay off open paths. If you hear anything that doesn't sound right, you hide. You don't fight."
David nodded. "We'll make it."
Jason watched as they rode off, the sound of hooves fading into the forest. He stayed still until they vanished completely, then dipped his chin once in approval and trust.
Only then did he turn.
"Alright," he murmured to himself, eyes dropping to the disturbed soil. "Now then…"
His gaze locked onto a single set of footprints cutting sharply through the underbrush.
"…where did you go?"
And then he was gone, his body leaning forward as he broke into a sprint, feet barely disturbing the forest floor as he followed the trail deeper into the wild.
⸻
The clearing was lit with firelight.
Anya stood near the center, arms crossed tightly as flames crackled in front of her. Warriors moved around the perimeter with some sharpening blades, others standing watch, a few nursing fresh wounds from the last few days of chaos.
The air was thick with smoke… and anger.
No, anger wasn't strong enough.
Anya was furious. Her jaw tightened as her eyes swept over the camp. Too many empty spaces. The bridge mission had failed. The sky people had burned one of their villages. Her patrols had been hit and ambushed at her own base.
Her fingers curled around a stick, and without warning she hurled it into the fire. Sparks exploded upward.
"They were mine," she muttered under her breath.
The prisoners, leverage. The proof of her strength.
Gone.
Freed in the night like frightened animals except animals didn't butcher trained warriors the way he had.
Her thoughts twisted back to him.
The boy, the smiling butcher.
The one who moved like a ghost and struck like a storm. The one whose eyes didn't flinch, whose blade never hesitated even though he wasn't a warrior. She could still see it the way he'd looked at her warriors not with rage, not even hatred, but amusement.
As if deciding how best to dismantle them.
Her hand tightened at her side.
Because of him, her camp lay in disarray. Because of him, bodies burned instead of celebrating victory. And if the commander learned of this failure…
Her jaw clenched harder.
They did not tolerate weakness.
Around her, warriors moved around while patrolling.
Anya straightened up.
At least something remained.
Her men were still bringing in sky crew prisoners they had caught during that little jail break. Not the ones she'd lost but enough. Enough to present and to show that she still had teeth.
Her lips curled into a thin, sharp smile.
'Let Tristan come.'
Let him see that despite the chaos, despite the butcher, she still held blood in her hands.
What she did not know, what she could not hear over the crackle of the fire was the soft disturbance at the edge of the forest.
The forest rustled and instantly every hand went to their blades. Bows were lifted immediately and the warriors shifted into defensive stances as the sound grew closer with an unsteady pace.
One of the grounders near the fire rose from where he'd been sharpening his blade, weapon already in hand, as a figure stumbled out of the treeline and into the clearing.
It was a lone grounder.
Mud-streaked and breathing very hard. His eyes wide with something between terror and relief. Anya's head snapped toward him.
"Why are you alone?" she demanded, stepping forward. Her gaze cut past him, searching the darkness. "Where are the rest of you? Where are my prisoners?"
The grounder swallowed, then dropped to one knee.
"We were attacked," he said hoarsely. "On the way here. The others are dead."
Anya's fingers curled slowly into fists.
"Killed by the butcher," the grounder continued, voice shaking. "The prisoner were freed by him as well."
Anya's fist trembled.
"…What?" she asked, her voice strained thin.
She stepped closer, eyes burning. "You allowed him to ambush you," she hissed, "and now my prisoners are gone?"
The grounder bowed his head, trying to speak but Anya lashed out and her boot slammed into his chest, knocking the breath from him as he hit the ground hard. He gasped while Anya stood over him, breathing heavily, rage rolling off her in waves.
Around them, warriors shifted uneasily.
Then, the horses snorted. One stamped sharply, as its ears pinned back. A ripple of unease moved through the camp.
Anya opened her mouth to speak until a calm voice cut through the clearing.
"Interrupting something, Anya?"
Every head snapped toward the sound.
A figure stood just beyond the firelight, face painted in dark, deliberate patterns. He stepped forward with measured confidence, eyes sharp, posture relaxed in a way that radiated control.
Anya stiffened.
"…Tristan," she said. "You're early."
He dropped down from the slight rise where he'd been standing, landing lightly. "Your left flank is vulnerable."
Anya's jaw tightened. "I have archers in the trees to take out hostiles."
Tristan tilted his head, amused. "Do you?"
She turned fully to face him now. "Are you hostile, Tristan?"
Tristan's eyes flicked briefly to the grounder still gasping at her feet.
"It would seem," he said coolly, "that you are having troubles, Anya." He gestured vaguely toward the treeline. "My rangers are by the river. They're tired. They need food."
The disrespect in his tone was blatant.
Anya's head tilted as irritation flashed across her face but she said nothing. A subtle nod sent warriors moving, some breaking away, others tightening their formation around her.
Tristan circled her slowly.
"And what is this I hear," he said lightly, "about escaped prisoners?"
Anya's eyes followed him. "Our commander sent you here for a reason, didn't she, Tristan?"
He stopped in front of her. "Oh yes. I'm here to clean up your mess."
His gaze hardened. "The mess you've allowed to disgrace you and our people."
Silence fell thick between them.
"You never answered my question," Tristan said. "The prisoners. Where are they?"
They stood face to face now.
"Did these pathetic sky children really manage to outplay you again, Anya?"
Her jaw clenched. "It's not so simple."
Tristan laughed a sharp, humorless sound. "Is that so? And what exactly makes this situation so difficult for you to handle?"
Anya hesitated, then spat the word like a curse.
"The butcher."
Tristan blinked. "…The butcher?"
"One of them," Anya said. "One sky crew member."
Tristan laughed again, louder this time. "One child?" He shook his head. "You should be ashamed. That you can't deal with a single—"
A scream cut through the clearing.
Tristan and Anya turned sharply and as Tristan began to in confusion, an arrow slammed into the ground where he'd had been about to step.
The shaft quivered due to the force it buried itself into the ground with.
Tristan looked down at the arrow, then slowly lifted his gaze to Anya. "Explain."
Anya shook her head. "That wasn't us…"
They both looked up.
High in the trees, one of Anya's archers sat comfortably on a thick branch, bow resting lazily against his shoulder.
"What are you doing, you idiot?" Anya shouted.
The archer tilted his head.
"Simple?" he echoed casually. "That's the word you used, yeah?" He shifted, boots hooking the branch as he leaned back like he was lounging.
"Who exactly are you calling simple, you barbarians?"
Anya's breath caught, her eyes widened as realization slammed into place.
"…You."
The archer reached up and peeled away his mask.
Jason's face emerged beneath it looking calm and amused.
He smiled gently at them.
"Me."