The fire in the square had burned down to sullen red coals. No one had fed it fresh wood. No one had the energy to move.
They sat in a rough circle villagers and village soldiers together. Kardinal slumped against a broken cartwheel, rifle across his knees. Comotanos beside him, cleaning a bayonet that was already clean. Morley trying to roll a cigarette with trembling hands, tobacco spilling into the snow. Other men from the garrison stared at nothing, at their boots, at the pyres still smoldering beyond the tree line.
The reinforcement soldiers stood guard around the perimeter Alfred's men, dark green coats visible in the firelight, rifles ready Their Rognarrs shifted in the shadows beyond the square, massive shapes breathing steam into the cold air. Bojj was with them somewhere, Hector knew. His father had sent the big lizard to join the line when the horns blew.
Alfred walked into the circle, boots crunching frozen ash. He didn't sit ,first He looked at each man in turn, then eased himself down next to Kardinal and morly with a grunt and He pulled a flask from his coat shook it and it was Empty "Tch already empty?"
"Hey morely I Thought you'd have wine i Expected better hospitality."
"There is some whine left in the cellar"
" Good vintage?"
"No it's not and it's quite Terrible i made it myself I barely drink it myself"
"haha What a shame man " Alfred capped the flask, tucked it away He sat silent for a moment, watching the embers. "I forgot to ask you ,How's your wife Freeman?"
"Thank goodness She's alright.... she's over there collecting the things that survived"
he gestured at her while she was busy taking out Stuff under the ruins
Alfred nodded Then he caught sight of Hector beside his young Ragnarr pet close to Charlotte, sketchbook clutched to his chest, Mutt's head pressed against his leg. "Oh, Freeman that must be your son no? he looks like you a lot ?"
Kardinal looked up "Yes..." ,"Son come over here" Kardinal called
Hector walked to them, small boots crunching snow. He stopped before Alfred, looking up at the tall man with the buzz cut and amber eyes.
"Hello,there " Alfred said, bending slightly. "Who might you be?"
"Hector" "my name is hector freeman"
Alfred made a smile he extended his hand to have a hand shake with hector "Well mr Hector Freeman I'm Alfred and I'm honored to meet you"
"It's a pleasure to meet you too sir Alfred" hector said shaking hands with Alfred
"Haha clever boy!" Alfred patted hector's head Alfred turned to Kardinal
"Your son sounds like a grown man when he speaks" puff .....
"I wish I had a wife and a son who was as sensible as yours. Sigh... being single is really screwing me over—"
"Alfred"
-"what?"
"You bastard is this really the time for this bullshit? For God's sake can't you see what they've done to the village? Everyone is losing their minds with grief people have died Alfred!"
Alfred looked at kardinal for a moment and said "easy man I haven't said anything wrong. I only said that I also wished I had a family. I know the people are upset now by god I'm upset too about this destruction but can grief and sorrow bring anything back to its place? Just be a little grateful that nothing happened to your family"
Alfred dapped his arm around Kardinal's neck "My dear friend look as long as your brother Alfred is around, you won't be homeless. Don't worry about a place to stay; I will provide a nice place for you and the people of the village in my city."
"It isn't just a matter of a place to live, Alfred. I come from the Freeman family don't you know what they did to our ancestors? After all that slaughter by the Vonlellian Kingdom, the Freemans weren't allowed to enter the cities. I have two brothers and a sister; all three of them live in the city of Skarnov, and even then, they are living with fake identities. My situation is so wretched that for eight years I haven't been able to visit them,I've only been able to talk to them through messages , even one my brothers is sick like hell and I couldn't find the opportunity to visit him and check on his state"
Alfred let out a breathy, single-word exhale. "Wow."
The word hung in the freezing air, disappearing into the steam of the nearby Rognarrs. Alfred's hand, which had been draped casually over Kardinal's shoulder, stilled. He didn't pull away, but the weight of it changed it went from a boisterous gesture to a grounding one.
He looked at Kardinal, the amber in his eyes darkening as he processed the weight of the Freeman name.
"I..." Alfred started, then paused to clear his throat. "You told me before about your family situation, Kardinal, but I didn't realize there was so much more to it. I didn't know the how absurd it was till you told me more "
"8 years of messages," Alfred muttered, more to himself than anyone else. He shook his head slowly. "To be that close to your own blood and still have to hide... I'm sorry, man. I truly am. I'm a loud mouthed idiot sometimes"
Kardinal didn't wait for him to try. He just shook his head, the movement heavy.
"It is what it is, Alfred," Kardinal said, his voice flat he was just tired of talking about it.
He turned his gaze away from the fire and the soldiers,fixing on His son The boy looked so small against the backdrop of the ruins A sudden, sharp spike of gratitude hit Kardinal a realization that despite the Freeman curse and the burning village, his son was standing right here
Kardinal reached out, pulling Hector into the crook of his arm He pulled the boy close and pressed a long, lingering kiss against his temple, his eyes closing for a brief second as if to memorize the fact that his son was warm and breathing
The beard scratched hector's cheek like angry wire and Cevver sat there taking it because what was he going to do, complain? The man just watched his village burn. He'd earned a moment. Even if that moment involved assault by facial hair.
Kardinal's eyes were squeezed shut. Holding on like Hector might dissolve. And Hector-Cevver stayed perfectly still because sometimes that's what people needed. Someone to hold. Someone to not move.
The kiss went on a moment too long Then another. Then finally stopped.
Kardinal pulled back, looked at him, and Cevver smiled. Easy. Automatic. The smile you give when you don't know what else to give Kardinal put hector down and gently hand in hand with hector he started to walk aww
The fire crackled. Somewhere a Rognarr shifted in the dark, scales scraping against stone.
Kardinal walked toward the ruins where Charlotte was busy collecting the items that survived, Hector's small hand in his
Behind him, by the embers, Morley and Comotanos watched him go.
Morley's half-rolled cigarette finally fell apart, it's tobacco sprinkling into the snow. He didn't notice. He was looking at Freeman's back, at the way he moved through the wreckage of his home like he'd done it a thousand times before.
Which he had. In a way. The Freemans had been losing things for generations.
Comotanos cleaned his bayonet again. Still not dirty. Didn't matter. The motion was the point.
"He good?" Morley asked.
Comotanos didn't look up. "His wife's alive. His kid's alive. He's walking toward them instead of sitting here with us."
"So that's a no."
"That's a 'leave him alone' you bum."
Morley Watched Freeman disappear into the shadows. Watched the small shape of Hector beside him
"The Kid's weird," Morley said.
Comotanos grunted.
"Nah I mean it. You've seen him. Ever since he could walk, he's been... off. And he Never cried as a baby. Not once. Freeman told me that Charlotte was worried and sick about it, thought something was wrong with him. But he was fine. Just... didn't cry. Ever."
Comotanos kept cleaning the bayonet.
Morley continued "Then he starts talking. Full sentences. No baby talk, no gibberish, just... words. Proper words. Scared the hell out of Kardinal the first time. Kid looked at him and said sentences clear as you or me. He was barely two"
A pause ,Snow falling slowly.h
"And the drawing. You seen his drawings? All those sketches he carries everywhere? They're not kid drawings. They're not stick figures and sunshine. They're machines, He draws like someone who's been doing it for thirty years."
Comotanos finally looked up. Followed Morley's gaze toward the darkness where Freeman had gone.
"You think he's touched?" Morley asked. "By... you know. The Convergence. Something."
Comotanos was quiet for a long moment.
Then: "I think he's a Freeman. That name's been cursed longer than any of us have been alive. You expect normal?"
Morley considered that. Rubbed his face.
"Yeah. Suppose not."
He gave up on the cigarette, brushed tobacco from his coat, and sat in silence with the only friend he had left in a world that kept taking things.
The fire popped. The snow kept falling
Alfred rolled up his sleeves and grabbed a shovel. He let out a sharp whistle to the group, signaling them: "Men, up! Let's get to work before the snow hardens. Dig the graves of the dead a little further over there."
With that, the entire group set aside their weapons. They took up their shovels and began to force into the earth. As they dug, the snow began to fall more heavily, tightening its grip on the frozen soil.
Alfred turned back toward Freeman, Hektor, father, and son huddled together, anchored in their own world. Alfred raised his shovel and called out, his voice loud enough to reach Freeman: "Freeman! If you're finished there, come and lend a hand. Perhaps we can finish the work before the first light of dawn."
Freeman looked back and gave a wave of acknowledgment,
----------------------------------------------------
Kardinal walked hand in hand with Hector toward Charlotte.
He saw her from a distance before he reached her. Shoulders shaking. Head down.
He stopped walking for just a second. Looked away. Jaw working slowly like he was chewing on something that wouldn't go down. Then he exhaled through his nose, squared his shoulders, and kept walking.
"Charlotte — don't wear yourself out now, alright? I'll come back, we'll pull whatever's left of our things out together. Just — go. Wrap yourself up, stay with Hector. Or if you can manage it, go see if the other women need hands."
But Charlotte was in a bad way. Her breath kept catching in her throat and she couldn't hold herself together.
"What women. What help." She let out a long broken breath, almost laughing through the tears. "Are you not seeing this, man? Are you not looking at what has happened to us?" The laugh died. "All that time. All those years. Every bit of suffering it took just to build that house and now — " She stopped. Shook her head. "Now we have nothing."
Kardinal put his hand on her shoulder. His grip tightened there — just briefly — before he spoke.
"Hey. We are just like the rest of these people here, my heart." His voice came out quieter than he intended. "Why can't you be grateful — that you're here, that I'm here, that our boy is here and whole? There are people in this crowd who came out of this completely alone. Everyone they had — gone. And even they, even they pulled themselves out of it still breathing."
He reached out and caught her tears with his thumb before they fell.
"Hold yourself together. Come on now — don't be like this, falling apart like this here." A pause. "Here, take him. I'm going with the men to bury the dead. I'll be back."
He guided Hector gently into Charlotte's arms then turned without looking back toward the men. Charlotte pulled the boy hard against her, buried her face deep into his hair, and just — couldn't stop. She sat herself down on a wooden plank, pressing Hector's head against her chest, shoulders shaking.
Hector —Cevver you rascal — truth be told, he didn't mind this one bit.
Terrible situation and all. But what else could be done. We can't help it,
We can't help it.
...
CEVVER. She is your MOTHER. Your MOTHER. Get yourself together right now—
She pulled him tighter against her chest.
...okay.
Okay listen. This is a perfectly normal thing that children do. I am a child. This is fine. Nobody knows anything. I am fine. I am completely—
She smelled like smoke and ash and something underneath all of it that he didn't have a word for.
He went very still.
...I don't have a word for that.
I have never had a word for that.
Charlotte's hand moved slowly through his hair. Her shoulders were still shaking but she'd gone quiet now, like she'd run out of tears and hadn't noticed yet.
Get a grip, he told himself.
Get a grip get a grip GET A—
...she's warm.
Cevver you absolute—
She's really warm.
He squeezed his eyes shut
I have never had a—
White,Cold
Something down his throat that wasn't air. A sound — steady, mechanical, breathing for him — and the light so flat and pale it had no warmth in it anywhere. A weight across his chest he couldn't lift. Couldn't move. Fingers that wouldn't answer him. Toes that weren't there. Just — stillness. The kind of stillness that had no bottom to it.
And the smell. Something sharp and chemical that coated the back of his throat and sat there.
A sound. Steady. Rhythmic.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Somewhere above him — far above him, like hearing voices through water — something was moving. Shapes he couldn't resolve into faces. A hand. Someone's hand on his arm, the grip loose and dry and familiar in a way that went through him like—
Beep.
Beep.
A voice. Kurdish. Low and rough and worn completely through at the edges like an old cloth that had been wrung out too many times.
"...still here. You hear me? Still right here."
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
A finger. Twitching. His finger. He was — he was trying — something in him was screaming and nothing was moving, nothing was answering, everything was so heavy and cold and the sound just kept going—
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. BeepBeepBeep—
"Movement. We have movement — he's—"
"—get the—"
"—awake, he's—"
Something tore.
Charlotte screamed.
The wooden plank cracked against the ground. Hector's small body had gone rigid in her arms without warning — back arching clean off her chest, head thrown back, every muscle pulled taut like something inside him was trying to climb out through his own skin. His fingers clawed at the air. His heels kicked against nothing.
The scream that came out of Hector was not the sound of a frightened child.
It was high and raw and endless — a child's throat producing something a child's throat was never meant to produce — pain that had no wound, no source, no logic that anyone standing in that field could grab onto. Charlotte lurched backward off the plank, Hector's rigid body nearly pitching them both into the dirt. She caught him, barely, both arms locked around a boy who was no longer with her — back bent like a bow, small fingers clawing at nothing, heels hammering against the ground in a rhythm that had no rhythm.
"HECTOR—"
Her scream brought Kardinal at a dead run.
He dropped to his knees and got both hands on the boy — one across his chest, one behind his skull — and even his grip, Kardinal's grip, the grip that had steadied cartloads and carried beams and never once shook — even that couldn't flatten this. The small body fought him like it was fighting something three times its size. Something invisible. Something that wasn't here.
"What happened—"
"Nothing, we were just sitting, I was just holding him—"
"Did he fall, did he hit his—"
"He didn't fall, Kardinal, we were just sitting—"
The boy screamed again. That same high terrible sound. The women nearby had gone still. A man across the field had stopped mid-step and not continued. An old woman's lips were moving silently around words nobody asked her to say.
Kardinal looked at his son's eyes.
Then he looked away.
His jaw worked once. He pulled Hector hard against his chest, wrapped both arms around the rigid little body, pressed his mouth against the boy's hair, and held on.
Just held on.
It went on.
The light changed. The crowd around them thinned, then thickened, then thinned again. Someone brought water that wasn't used yet. Someone else brought a cloth. Charlotte hadn't moved from the ground. Her hands kept reaching and pulling back and reaching again — touching his face, his arms, his hands, finding nothing wrong and that being somehow worse than finding something.
Kardinal tried the water.
Nothing.
He tried again.
Nothing.
The third time — nothing.
The boy just kept burning through it, thrashing down to exhaustion and then somehow finding more, the screams going hoarse and then recovering and going hoarse again, the small body doing things small bodies weren't designed to sustain for this long.
It was Alfred who eventually came and said quietly that the caravan had to move. That they couldn't wait for the road to ice over. That he would put the Freemans in their carriage and Charlotte could stay with the boy and Kardinal could take the reins.
Kardinal didn't argue. He just gathered his son up from the dirt and carried him.
The caravan moved through the grey dark, wheels turning slowly over frozen ground, torches guttering at the front of the column. Their carriage moved with it — not behind, not ahead — just part of the long procession of people carrying what they had left out of what used to be their home.
Kardinal sat up front, reins loose in his hands, breath fogging in the cold. He didn't speak. Just watched the road and the torches ahead and listened.
Behind him, inside the canvas, Charlotte held the boy and didn't sleep.
Outside, in the dark on either side of the carriage — two shapes moving. Mutt, enormous and silent, his bulk drifting alongside like a shadow with scales. And further back, just at the edge of the torchlight, Boj — larger still, following at his own pace, the sound of him just barely audible over the wheels and the wind.
It went on.
And on.
Until it didn't.
Somewhere in the deep hours the screaming finally stopped. Hector went completely limp — bonelessly, totally unconscious — and Charlotte pulled him against her chest and pressed her mouth against his hair and stayed exactly like that until the grey light started coming through the canvas gaps.
Morning came slow and pale.
The caravan was still moving. Wheels on packed earth. The smell of horses and cold air and woodsmoke drifting back from somewhere up the column. The canvas above Hector's face brightened gradually, like a held breath being let out.
Inside, he was wrapped so thoroughly in blankets he could barely locate his own arms. Swaddled like an infant — layers and layers of it, tight and warm and slightly suffocating in a way that was also somehow not entirely unpleasant.
His vision came back in pieces.
Canvas ceiling. Grey light. The rocking. His own weight against something solid.
"Hector."
A face. Two faces. Blurred at the edges, sharpening slowly like something rising through water. Charlotte inside beside him, Kardinal's face appearing through the front canvas gap — reins still in one hand, body half turned, eyes finding his son's face immediately.
"Hector."
Charlotte's voice had nothing left in it. She'd spent everything it had.
"Hector — Hector —"
Kardinal's hand came through the gap — rough, dry, slightly cold — pressing flat against Hector's cheek.
"Hey." Low and stripped down and completely unguarded. No camp. No audience. Just this canvas and the road and his son's eyes finally, finally focusing on his face.
"Hey. There you are." A breath. "He's awake, Charlotte."
Outside the carriage, something large shifted. Mutt's enormous head appeared briefly at the canvas opening, wet nose first, and was immediately pulled away by nothing — he just thought better of it. Somewhere further back, the steady rhythm of Boj's movement continued without interruption.
Hector opened his mouth.
What came out was not words.
Just the crying. Sudden and total and completely beyond his control.
Charlotte made a sound and pulled him against her. Through the gap Kardinal's hand stayed on the back of his head as long as the road allowed it