Time passed.
How much, there was no way to know.
Eventually, Kifk pushed himself fully upright. It took longer than it should have. His leg protested with every shift of weight, pain blooming and receding in dull waves. He ignored it.
He found his wand where it had fallen.
The gem at its tip was cracked straight through. A clean fracture, like glass split by cold. He turned it once in his hand, then closed his fingers around it and stood.
The construct lay on the floor, as if a smith would resume working on it anytime soon.
Kifk could not bear looking at it again.
The way out came easier than he expected, and more difficult at the same time Leaving the place where he'd lost his family hadn't fully reached him yet.. The route back was marked, they always made sure to— "always know your way back", Havel used to say.
The corridors felt wider now. Devoid of Maelin's worry, Rysa her drunken laughter…
When he emerged into daylight, the sun was already low. Late afternoon. The sky was clear, blue stretched thin and endless above the treeline. Birds called somewhere far off, unaware.
The camp was still there where they left it.
Nothing had disturbed it.
The fire pit sat cold and grey, ash undisturbed. Bedrolls lay where they'd been left, some neatly folded, others didn't bother. Rysa's cup was tipped on its side near a log, the last of yesterday's drink long since soaked into the dirt.
Kifk stopped at the edge of it.
For a moment, he couldn't move.
It felt wrong—stepping into it. Like entering a room that should have been sealed. Like opening a door that was no longer his to open.
He stepped in anyway.
Each thing he passed felt heavier than it should have been.
Bram's reserve shield leaned against a tree, polished and cared for even though it was only his spare. Maelin's satchel hung from a branch, so the insects wouldn't get to it, herbs still bundled neatly inside. A scrap of cloth marked where Havel had sharpened his spear, habit more than necessity.
Kifk lowered himself onto the log beside the fire pit.
The wood creaked softly under his weight.
For a moment, firelight flickered in his mind again. Laughter. Arguments that weren't really arguments. The sound of food cooking. Someone always complaining about the smoke.
His chest tightened.
He stood again, abruptly, and turned away before the memory could finish forming.
The chest sat where it always had—half-hidden beneath a tarp, trapped by Rysa, wedged between two roots. Plain wood. Iron bands. A lock that had—if you really wanted to, was gone in a second.
Kifk knelt in front of it, and disarmed the trap beneath the chest, slow and careful. Carefully lifting the claw, that if left unarmed, would have snapped any unsuspecting arm right off.
His fingers hesitated at his collar.
Then he reached beneath his shirt and pulled out the key.
Small. Dull. Unremarkable.
They all wore one.
In case of emergencies, Havel had said. In case one of us goes down. In case the worst happens.
The lock clicked open.
Inside was exactly how they left it.
A few gold coins, more silver, covered by bronze ones. Spare tools. Rolled documents. A dagger wrapped carefully in cloth.
And beneath them—
The pendants.
Six of them.
Attached to a simple cord. Untouched by time, never having had any need. Each one different. Each one familiar in a way that made his throat close.
He picked up the simple cord, which held all 6 pendants.
He lined them up on the edge of the chest, and tied the cord behind his neck, hands steady despite the way his vision blurred.
A memory surfaced then—as if the blurring of his eyes caused it.
They'd been sitting around the fire. Not long after Kifk had joined. The night had been cold. Freezing cold despite the season.
Rysa had been the one to bring it up.
"If I die," she'd said, completely serious, "I'm not haunting any of you. Too much effort."
Bram had snorted. Maelin had scolded her. Havel had sighed the way he always did when he knew a conversation wasn't going to go away.
But they'd talked about it.
Quietly. Honestly.
If one of them fell, the others would carry their pendant back. To where they'd started. To where they'd chosen to stop running alone and become something else.
No graves.
No monuments.
Just a marker that said: I was here. I walked this far.
Kifk collected the other items, and closed the chest.
The sun dipped lower.
Shadows stretched long across the clearing.
Kifk stood in the middle of the camp, holding what had been left to him.
He did not feel ready.
He did not feel strong.
But he knew what he had to do.
And for now—
that was enough.