Arin and Karl had already been running for half an hour through the broken wilderness of the front line, yet neither of them had spoken a word. Their feet struck the earth in a steady rhythm while the wind rushed past them and the distant sounds of battle rolled across the plains like low thunder. The silence had lasted so long that it no longer felt natural. It felt deliberate, as though both of them were waiting for the other to speak first.
At last, Arin gave in. "Grandpa, what are the trade families?" he asked between breaths. "I've never heard of them before, yet now I'm being dragged to some meeting with them." Karl glanced sideways at him but did not slow down. "It is no surprise you know nothing," he replied. "Most of your generation does not. We kept it that way intentionally." Arin frowned. "That sounds suspicious." Karl snorted. "It is practical."
They vaulted over a fallen tree and continued downhill without breaking stride. "We are one of those families," Karl said after a pause. "Though we rarely use the title anymore. It matters less to us than it once did, and the parts that still matter were hidden from the youth." Arin looked even more confused. "Why?" Karl answered without hesitation. "Because young people are impulsive, emotional, and exceptionally talented at making bad decisions."
"That seems harsh," Arin said. "It is also true," Karl replied calmly. He stepped over a jagged rock and continued speaking as though he were giving a lecture instead of running across a battlefield. "A trade family is a bloodline that has existed continuously since at least the Middle Ages, often longer. Such families dedicate themselves to a single craft or profession across generations. Skills, secrets, methods, and discipline are preserved and passed from parent to child until they become second nature."
He glanced at Arin with faint amusement. "Before you ask, yes, our family counts." Arin immediately asked anyway. "So what are we?" Karl's smile widened. "Rangers." Arin nearly missed a step. "That sounds made up." Karl chuckled. "It does not become false simply because it sounds dramatic."
They crossed a shallow stream in two easy leaps and climbed the far bank. "For centuries," Karl continued, "our family specialized in woodland survival, tracking, scouting, bowcraft, concealment, border patrol, hunting dangerous beasts, and removing troublesome people when necessary." Arin gave him a flat look. "You mean assassins." Karl waved a hand dismissively. "I said, troublesome people." "That means assassins." Karl ignored him and kept talking.
"In older times, every region had problems that cities could not solve. Roads through forests needed guarding. Bandits needed to disappear. Nobles needed men who could survive where soldiers failed. We were valuable because we could do things ordinary troops could not." Arin's eyes brightened. "So that's why we trained with bows since childhood." "Yes." "And the hiding games." "Yes." "And all those ridiculous competitions." Karl coughed lightly. "Those were educational."
"They were traps," Arin muttered. "They built character," Karl corrected. Arin muttered something less respectful under his breath, but Karl chose not to hear it. "In those days, many trade families were granted land or rights in exchange for service. Forest claims, mills, workshops, river tolls, and even small towns to govern. Enough wealth to let them focus entirely on their craft rather than waste time chasing coin."
He gestured at the open land around them. "That is how mastery is built. Time, repetition, and generations devoted to one purpose. A blacksmith family produced master smiths. A healer family produced miracle doctors. A merchant family controlled routes no one else understood. We produced hunters and shadows." Arin could not deny that it sounded impressive.
"So what changed?" he asked. Karl's expression darkened. "Modern nations. Bureaucracy. Central governments. Men in offices who had never defended anything are deciding who should own what. Old rights were rewritten. Ancient agreements were dismissed. Families that had protected their lands for centuries were suddenly told to prove they deserved them."
"That sounds annoying," Arin said. "It was insulting," Karl replied. "So the trade families finally began speaking to one another properly around the last two hundred years. Before that, most of us lived far apart under different rulers and cultures. There was little reason to cooperate. But once outsiders began threatening all of us in the same way, unity became useful."
Arin thought on that for a while before asking another question. "Why did noble houses tolerate families like ours in the first place?" Karl laughed. "Because we were useful, prestigious, and dangerous. To possess a respected trade family under your banner was a symbol of status. It gave access to specialists while costing less than maintaining large forces. Most of us had no interest in politics. We only wanted to practice our craft in peace."
"That almost sounds reasonable," Arin admitted. "It was," Karl said. "Which is why politicians ruined it," Arin smirked. "That sounded personal." "It was personal." Karl's tone made it clear the subject still irritated him centuries too late.
They ran in silence for a few more minutes before Arin spoke again. "Then why is our family different? You said our history was not like the others." Karl's face hardened. "Because for a long time, we served directly under one of the great houses. Not loosely allied. Not contracted. Direct subordinates." Arin blinked. "That doesn't sound like us at all."
"It was not by choice forever," Karl said. "At first, there was debt. Then obligation. Then habit. Eventually that house grew arrogant and forgot the rules that bound such relationships." His eyes sharpened. "They committed an offense so severe that our ancestors chose to erase them. Every man of that line was hunted down. Their fall echoed across the region and marked the end of an age."
Arin stared at him. "You're serious." "Entirely." Karl's voice remained calm, which somehow made it worse. "And when other great houses moved to profit from the chaos, our family retaliated against several of them as well. Matters became... bloody." Arin was silent for several steps. "What rule did they break?"
Karl shook his head. "No. You are not ready for that story." Arin groaned loudly. "Come on." Karl smirked. "Partly this is revenge for getting my tea confiscated. Mostly it is because records show young people who learned the truth often wished to do something incredibly stupid. Even adults with children struggled to remain calm."
A cold edge entered Karl's voice, and for a moment Arin felt the weight of true hostility beneath the old man's usual humor. "Let us say only this: what they did angered us so deeply that our ancestors nearly wiped out every great house connected to them. They were stopped only because other trade families intervened and because the enemy threatened to finish what they had started."
Arin did not joke after that. "So we went into hiding?" he asked quietly. Karl nodded. "Back into the forests. Back into silence. That is also why the great houses learned to respect trade families. They realized some of us could destroy them if pushed too far." A thin smile crossed his face. "Fear can be educational."
He pointed ahead toward a cluster of organized camps rising in the distance. "Especially families like the Bingen. They are physicians of ancient standing. Brilliant healers. But those who understand medicine deeply also understand poison deeply. Never make enemies of people who know exactly how the body fails." Arin followed his gaze and swallowed.
"So that's where we're going?" he asked. "Yes," Karl said. "Their camp sits between the three fronts so any army can reach them quickly. Every member chose mage classes and gained healer professions. Combined with modern medical knowledge, they save countless lives." His tone became unusually respectful. "Many who would otherwise suffer resurrection owe them everything."
Arin shuddered. No one remembered resurrection clearly, yet everyone feared it instinctively. The body recoiled at the mere idea of death. Some memories, it seemed, the soul itself refused to keep. "Right," Arin said after a moment. "Thanks for the history lesson. I suppose I should apologize to Uncle Dennis later. But I am still not forgiving you for dragging me here without warning."
"That is fair," Karl said cheerfully. "I did not expect forgiveness. Only attendance." Arin glared at him. Karl ignored it and pointed toward the banners ahead. "Come on. We are almost there, and if you embarrass me in front of the Bingen family, I will make you attend meetings every week."
Arin's face paled. "That threat is evil." Karl laughed loudly as they ran the last stretch toward camp.