Aric Vale
The rabbit's blood steamed in the cold morning air.
I held the small body carefully, feeling its warmth fade between my fingers. Three pounds, maybe four. Enough meat for five days if I smoked it properly. The pelt would patch the hole in my left boot. The bones would boil down for broth when winter came.
Nothing wasted. Not out here.
Seven years in the Wastes teaches you that, if nothing else.
I set the rabbit on my work stone and reached for my skinning knife. The blade caught the dawn light, showing me my reflection for a moment. I looked away quickly. I'd stopped enjoying mirrors around year four.
The knife work came automatically now. Belly cut, careful around the organs. Peel back the skin in smooth, even strokes. My hands knew the movements so well I didn't need to think about it. That was good. Thinking led to remembering, and remembering led nowhere useful.
A crow called from the dead forest to the east. Just one. That was fine. When three crows called together, something was wrong with the Wastes. When seven called, reality was bending in ways you didn't want to see. One crow was just a crow.
I finished with the rabbit and stretched the pelt on my drying frame. The sun was higher now, burning off the mist that clung to Blackwatch Keep's broken towers. The place had been a proper fortress once, before the Wastes corrupted this part of the kingdom. Now it was just ruins and me.
I'd made the northern tower habitable, patched the roof, built a hearth that only smoked a little. The rest I left alone. Too much work, and I didn't need space. I just needed four walls and somewhere to cook.
I gathered kindling and started building the smoking fire. Oak and apple wood made the meat taste better. I'd found twisted apple trees three miles north, growing in patterns that didn't make sense. Their fruit was black and inedible, but the wood was good.
The Wastes were like that. Gave with one hand, took with the other.
Fire started, I set the rabbit meat on my smoking rack and settled in to wait. This part took hours. Nothing to do but sit and watch and make sure the fire didn't go out.
Nothing to do but think.
Thoughts about Dorian. About that night seven years ago. About what I couldn't remember and what I couldn't forget.
I'd been Commander Aric Vale then, youngest knight ever appointed to the Royal Guard. Dorian's protector and his friend. We'd grown up together in the palace. He'd insisted I call him by name, not title. Had trusted me with his life.
And I'd failed him.
The details were foggy. I remembered the border patrol mission. I remembered riding into the Wastes. Remembered Dorian laughing about something.
Then nothing. A blank space. Then walking beside his body with blood on my hands.
The court wizard found dark magic on me, a curse he couldn't identify. King Aldric, mad with grief, needed someone to blame. I hadn't fought it. Dorian was dead, and I'd been responsible for keeping him alive.
So they stripped my title and sent me here. To Blackwatch Keep, to the edge where reality bent wrong. To exile that felt like mercy because at least I could be alone with my failure.
Seven years now.
The fire burned steadily. I added more apple wood and watched smoke curl into the gray sky. The Wastes didn't have blue skies like normal places. Today it was gray. Better than most days.
I was reaching for more wood when I saw them.
Riders. Six of them, cresting the hill to the south.
My hand froze. Nobody came to Blackwatch Keep. That was the entire point. The king had exiled me here specifically because it was nowhere where I couldn't hurt anyone or remind anyone of failure.
But there they were. Six horses in formal riding formation, heading directly toward my tower.
I stood slowly, wiping my hands on my pants. My sword was inside, ten feet away. I'd stopped carrying it years ago. But old instincts screamed at me to get armedarmed.he riders got closer. Royal Guard, by their polished armor. The way they sat their horses like they'd been doing it since childhood.
I'd sat a horse like that once.
They stopped twenty feet away. The lead rider dismounted. Young face, maybe twenty-five. Captain's insignia on his shouldeshouldee stared at me for a long moment. I knew what he saw, a man gone to seed, silver hair that had been dark brown, clothes patched and re-patched, hands stained with blood.
"Commander Vale?" His voice cracked on the old title.
The name hit like a physical blow. Nobody had called me Commander in seven years.
"Just Aric now," I said. My voice came out rough. "Commander died seven years ago."
The young captain flinched but recovered. He pulled out a sealed letter and held it toward me like it might burn him.
I didn't move. "I can't read that from here."
He took three careful steps forward. I took the letter. The king's seal, dragon and sword.
I broke it open. Read.
Murder. Soldiers killed. Mark of the Vale. Princess taken.Summons.
"No," I said. "Tell the king I'm exactly where he put me."
"It's not a request." The captain's voice shook. "Seventeen murders in three months. Soldiers torn apart. Every one is marked with your insignia."
My mark. The dragon wrapped around a sword, breathing silver fire. I'd designed it when I was twenty-two and stupid.
"That's impossible," I said. "I haven't left Blackwatch in seven years."
"We know." An older soldier spoke up, scar across his jaw. "Whatever's doing this knows your mark perfectly. Burns it into bodies like a brand."
The rabbit meat was starting to smoke too much. I moved to adjust the fire, buying time.
"When did they start?" I asked.
The captain checked a journal. "Twelve weeks ago. Border patrol officer. Found in a ditch, throat torn out, your mark burned into his ribs."
Twelve weeks. Late summer. I'd been fixing the roof. Or maybe that was thirteen weeks ago. Time moves strangely here.
"And the princess?"
"Princess Elara. Taken three nights ago from her chambers. Claw marks on the walls, your mark burned into the floor. Blood on the sheets."
Elara. I'd met her once, years ago. Pretty girl with careful eyes, standing beside Dorian at some ceremony.
Why would I remember that specific moment?
"I don't know anything about this," I said.
"Maybe not consciously." The scarred soldier's voice was gentler. "But the king thinks you might know something. The curse, what if it's connected?"
"You think I'm killing people in my sleep?" The words came out harsh.
"You're living where time moves wrong and reality bends. You've got a curse nobody understands. Someone's using your mark to kill. What should we think?"
I had no answer.
"The king is offering a choice," the captain continued. "Come with us. Hunt whatever's doing this. Bring back the princess. Succeed, and you'll be pardoned. Your honor is restored."
My honor. After seven years of accepting I'd never be anything but the knight who failed.
"And if I refuse?"
"Then you stay here. Forever. No second chances. Just you and whatever's left of your conscience."
Forever was long. But I'd already lived seven years of it.
"I need time," I said.
"Until dawn. We ride at first light." The captain's jaw tightened. "With you or without you."
I heard them mount and ride away. I didn't watch it. Just stared at my fire and tried to figure out which version of forever I could live with.
Seventeen murders. My mark.
And the truth I'd been avoiding, I didn't remember most nights here. I'd wake exhausted, like I'd been running. Sometimes there was dirt under my nails that I couldn't explain. Sometimes I'd be somewhere else with no memory of walking there.
I'd blamed the Wastes. Blamed the curse. Blamed time moving wrong.
But what if it wasn't the Wastes?
What if it was me?
The sun set, painting the sky purple and gold. I finished the meat as darkness fell. Banked the fire. Went inside and stared at my sword on the wall.
The Mark of the Vale etched into the pommel.
My mark. My responsibility.
By dawn, I'd decided.
Not for honor or redemption. But because if I was the monster, I needed to know. And I needed to stop it.
Even if stopping it meant destroying myself.