The green fields near the edge of Crowvale had already vanished behind them. Grass became dry weeds. Dry weeds became cracked earth. The trees thinned until only crooked trunks remained, their branches bare and claw-like against the pale morning sky. Dust rose beneath the wagon wheels and followed the marching force like a second army.
Ahead, far beyond the uneven land, dark mountain ridges stood like broken teeth.
Somewhere beyond them waited the Goblin's fortress.
In the barren land of Aegulus.
No one needed to say its name for the weight to enter their chests.
Inside Shieldbreaker's wagon, the silence was worse than noise.
The wooden frame groaned with every rut in the road. Weapons knocked softly against packs. A hanging lantern swayed above them, though the daylight outside made it useless. The smell of leather, oil, dust, and nervous sweat filled the cramped space.
Priest Maynard sat near the back, his old hands folded over his holy grimoire. His eyes moved quietly from one face to another, sharp beneath his gentle brow.
He had seen soldiers before battle.
He had seen fools before battle, too.
This wagon held both, though he was kind enough not to say which was which.
Kiel sat closest to the side opening, peeking through the canvas flap every few seconds. His Devil's arm rested across his knees, and his fingers tapped against the creepy handle with quick, uneven rhythm.
Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.
His hand was shaking.
Not from fear.
At least, not only fear.
Excitement lit his eyes so brightly it made him look younger than he already was.
"This is it," Kiel whispered, more to himself than anyone else. "A real mission. A real battle."
Shalotte, seated across from him, tightened both hands around his staff until his knuckles paled.
"Please stop saying real," Shalotte muttered. "It makes everything sound more likely to kill us."
Kiel glanced at him and grinned. "But it is real."
"That's exactly the problem."
Shalotte's smile tried to appear and failed halfway. His shoulders were stiff. His cloak was arranged neatly, but one corner kept slipping from his knee because his leg would not stop bouncing.
Beside him, Maddy sat with her back straight and her hands resting on her lap. Compared to the others, she looked calm.
Almost too calm.
Only Maynard noticed how her teeth pressed into her lower lip every few moments. She would stop when she realized it, smooth her expression, then do it again after the wagon hit another bump.
Petra sat quietly near the far side.
Her scythe was secured beside her, wrapped in cloth. Her eyes were lowered, but not in fear. Her breathing was slow. Steady. For someone with such a timid nature, she looked strangely peaceful, like she had already been there many times.
Maynard watched her for a second longer.
Like a curious child.
Ulon sat near the front beside Shane, louder than usual, which was saying something because Ulon treated silence like a personal enemy.
"So I told him," Ulon said, waving one hand dramatically, "if your arm is still attached, don't scream like you already lost it. Save the dramatic voice for when the bone is outside the skin."
Kiel laughed nervously.
Shalotte looked horrified. "Why would you say that before a battle?"
"Because it's useful advice."
"It is horrible advice."
"A memorable one."
"Worse."
Ulon leaned back with a proud smirk. "Good advice and memorable advice are cousins."
Maynard gave a small cough. "Distant cousins, perhaps."
Petra's mouth twitched faintly.
Maddy covered her lips, though whether to hide a smile or another nervous bite, no one could tell.
At the front, Shane held the reins with relaxed hands.
Molly pulled the wagon at a steady pace, her large body moving with surprising grace for something so heavy and stubborn-looking. The beast snorted now and then, shaking her head whenever dust blew too close to her eyes.
Shane guided her easily, his face calm, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.
He looked as if he were driving toward a market, not a fortress full of goblins.
Ulon looked sideways at him.
"You're too quiet, boss."
"I am driving."
"You can drive and talk."
"I can also drive and enjoy peace."
"Heartless."
"Indeed."
Ulon clicked his tongue. "See? This is why I sit here. If I leave you alone too long, you'll turn into that Keeper named Charles."
Shane did not look at him. "Unacceptable."
Ulon slapped his knee and laughed, but it was louder than needed. The sound bounced around the wagon, bright and forced.
Maynard noticed.
So did Shane.
But Shane did not comment.
Instead, he flicked the reins lightly.
"Molly," he said, voice quiet. "Mind the rock."
The beast shifted left before the wheel could strike a jagged stone.
The wagon rolled on.
For a while, only the creaking wheels spoke.
Then Maynard leaned forward slightly.
"It is natural," he said.
The others looked at him.
The old priest smiled faintly.
"To feel heavy before a battlefield. Your hands may shake. Your mouth may run faster than sense. Your heart may try to climb out of your throat." His eyes moved gently to Kiel, then Shalotte, then Maddy. "There is no shame in that."
Kiel immediately stopped tapping his fingers.
Shalotte lowered his gaze to his staff.
Maddy released her lip.
Ulon raised a finger. "For the record, my mouth runs fast even on peaceful days."
Shane said, "That is not a defense."
Petra let out a tiny laugh.
It was soft, almost swallowed by the wheels, but everyone heard it.
The tension eased by a thread.
Maynard smiled.
Then the wagon passed over a ridge, and the land ahead opened wider.
No one laughed after that.
The barren land stretched before them, dry and colorless, with old battle scars still visible in the earth. Burned pits. Broken stakes. Rusted spearheads half-buried in dust. A shattered wagon wheel lay near the roadside, its wood gray from age.
Kiel stared outside, his excitement dimming slightly.
Shalotte swallowed.
Maddy's fingers curled against her skirt.
Petra looked up at last, her calm eyes reflecting the dead land.
Shane's expression did not change, but his grip on the reins tightened by a fraction.
Ulon leaned back and muttered, "Well. That killed the mood."
No one disagreed.
**
Eason's wagon traveled several carts behind Shieldbreaker's.
Klaus sat near the side opening, one elbow resting against the window frame.
His hood was up, his face hidden beneath shadow.
Across from him, Eason poured tea with the same grace he had used to pour wine the night before.
For a while, the old man said nothing.
Then he looked up.
"Do you feel nervous?"
Klaus did not look at him.
"No."
The answer came easily.
Because it was true.
He did not feel nervous.
Not in the way Kiel shook with excitement, or Shalotte gripped his staff like it might apologize and run away, or soldiers marched with tight jaws and pale faces.
His heart was not racing from fear.
His palms were not damp.
His breathing was steady.
No.
Klaus was not nervous.
Worse.
The memories came without warning.
Spells falling like colored rain.
Fire bursts against shields.
Screams cutting through the smoke.
Metal clashing.
Men dying.
Goblins shrieking.
A wagon overturned, its cage split open, bodies spilling into mud.
Leopold's hand gripping his shoulder.
"Move, boy."
That voice.
Rough. Commanding. Alive.
"Don't look back."
But Klaus had looked back.
Of course he had.
Children always looked back when told not to.
He remembered the battlefield as broken pieces.
A soldier with no helmet crawling through blood.
A mage burning from his own failed spell.
A goblin with a spear stuck through its chest still trying to bite someone's leg.
Leopold dragging him through smoke, one hand holding a sword, the other holding Klaus like letting go meant losing him forever.
Toward freedom.
Toward the cave.
Toward the promise that came later.
Klaus blinked once.
The barren land returned.
The wagon wheel hit a rut.
The table trembled slightly.
Eason watched him over his cup.
"You answered quickly," the old man said.
Klaus' head tilted slightly. "You wanted me to lie slower?"
Eason smiled. "I wanted to see whether the lie would arrive before or after the memory."
Klaus finally looked at him.
The shadow beneath his hood made his face unreadable, but his silence was sharp enough.
Eason lifted his cup as if in apology.
"Forgive an old man's curiosity."
"You're not curious," Klaus said. "You already know."
"Knowing and understanding are not identical."
"They're close enough."
"Not to me."
Klaus looked back outside.
Another broken wheel passed by.
This one was older, half-sunk into the earth, with dry weeds growing through the spokes.
Eason's voice softened.
"Two years is not long."
Klaus' fingers rested against the window frame. They did not tighten, but the shadow around his sleeve deepened slightly.
"It's long enough."
"For revenge?"
"For learning patience."
Eason gave a quiet hum. "And have you?"
Klaus' mouth curved faintly beneath the hood.
"No."
The answer made Eason chuckle.
"At least you remain honest in inconvenient places."
Klaus watched the horizon.
Somewhere far ahead, beyond dust and ridges, Aegulus waited.
The fortress that had eaten soldiers, slaves, heroes, and fools.
The place where Leopold had guided him out once.
Now he was going back.
Not as a slave.
Not as a boy.
Not as someone running behind another man's back.
He was returning with a sword at his side, black fire in his shadow, gold enough to waste, and a promise buried beneath fresh soil.
Eason set his cup down.
"Memories have a habit of marching faster than armies," he said quietly.
Klaus did not answer.
Outside, the wind changed direction.
Dust brushed against the wagon's side like fingers.
For a moment, Klaus heard it again.
Screams.
Steel.
Leopold's voice.
"Move, boy."
His jaw tightened.
Then he breathed out.
"I'm not nervous," Klaus said again.
Eason looked at him carefully.
This time, Klaus continued.
"I'm just remembering."
The old man's expression softened, though his eyes remained sharp.
"That," Eason said, "is often heavier."
Klaus gave a faint shrug.
"Weight builds muscle."
"Or breaks the back."
"Depends who carries it."
Eason smiled faintly. "And you believe you can?"
Klaus looked out toward the barren land.
His voice was quiet.
"I already did."
The wagon rolled on.
Ahead, the road bent toward Aegulus. The army followed, slow and steady, carrying weapons, grudges, fear, hope, and ghosts.
Klaus kept his eyes on the horizon.
And in the dust beyond the wagons, for one brief moment, he almost saw Leopold walking ahead of him again.