The ridge was long behind them now, lost to the horizon, but the wind still carried a trace of scorched stone and bloodless dust. Afternoon light filtered through the high branches of a thinning woodland path, casting long shadows between their steps.
Elzid walked a few paces behind.
Aria didn't speak. Didn't look back. Her posture stayed even, blade at her side, every motion measured.
No one had said they'd travel together. She hadn't invited him. He hadn't asked. But when she turned from the ridge, she hadn't stopped him either.
Maybe that was answer enough.
The woods thickened and thinned in turns. Their boots pressed into earth gone soft with age, the road little more than a memory. Cicadas buzzed once, then fell silent. Every so often, birds scattered overhead—sharp wings against the bright sky.
Hours passed like this. They moved at a steady pace, conserving breath and words both.
"How long since you left Cidius?" Elzid asked at last.
Aria didn't answer.
"I started tracking the tremors three days ago," he continued, as if speaking to the wind. "Didn't think anyone else would take the mission so fast."
Still nothing.
He didn't mind. He wasn't filling the air for her benefit. It was just the kind of silence that grew too large if left alone too long.
They came upon a dry creek, the stones along its edge white with age. Her hand brushed against the hilt of her sword before she even noticed she'd moved.
She'd felt it too.
Presence.
Not Nexborn. Not beast.
Human.
The moment they crossed the creek bed and rounded the bend, they saw them.
Four figures stood at a clearing just ahead — two leaned against a boulder, another crouched near a broken post, and the fourth waited in the center of the path, arms folded.
All wore long coats, but the colors were faded, seams patched. Their insignias had been torn off. One still had the old Reeve clasp, dulled by time, but wore it on the wrong side — not in honor, but defiance.
They looked up as Aria and Elzid approached.
"Well now," said the one in front. He was older, taller than Elzid by a hair, with rough-cut hair and a scar across his jaw. "What do we have here? A little stroll after patrol?"
Aria didn't answer. She didn't slow.
"Hey, easy," he said, stepping forward, spreading his arms like a shepherd welcoming lambs. "This here's a toll path. Standard rate's one weapon per pair, or whatever coin you're carrying."
Elzid stopped walking.
Aria did not.
The man narrowed his eyes. "You deaf, girl? I'm talking to both of you."
Another man pushed off from the boulder and strode forward — stocky, with burn marks down his left arm. "Wait," he muttered. "That's Reeve black she's wearing."
The first man snorted. "Doesn't change a damn thing. Wielder or not, she's still just a woman."
The others chuckled. The one crouching near the post stood up. A woman — younger, leaner, with two knives strapped across her back.
"She don't look like much," she said. "Too clean to be Reeve. Bet she's a tagalong."
Elzid's voice was quiet. "Ah. So it's you lot."
They all paused.
"You're the ones who've been skimming off Bearers headed home. South trail, alternate route — near the old border markers. Thought you'd crawled farther north by now."
The second man growled. "Still better than letting soft-handed little elites push us around. Rules, missions, hierarchy. Screw that."
The scarred leader sneered. "Used to wear that coat myself. Reeve, ten years back. 'Til they decided I wasn't 'suitable for command.' Now I take what I need."
"Two former Reeves," Elzid said, scanning them. "Sad company you keep."
"Varron," he added, quieter. "Rogue Wielders. You break from the Post, abandon your oath — that's what they call you. Doesn't matter why you left. Only that you did."
The scarred man scoffed "We call it surviving."
Aria finally stopped.
She looked at them, then looked away, like she'd already weighed their worth and found it lacking.
"You don't want to do this," she said.
The woman with the knives stepped forward. "Oh, she speaks."
"She warns," Elzid corrected.
"Cute," the first man said, pulling a heavy blade from his back. "She thinks we're scared. Let's show 'em why we earned Reeve stripes once."
The fight was small.
But not quiet.
The moment they moved, Aria did too — faster than any of them expected.
One step forward, blade drawn in a breath. The woman with the knives lunged first. Aria sidestepped, disarmed, and struck in one seamless movement. The hilt of her sword caught the woman across the jaw with a crack of bone. She dropped.
The stocky man rushed her with a mace. Elzid blocked his swing mid-stride, spun, and slammed an elbow into his ribs. The man dropped his weapon, wheezing.
The leader lunged at Aria directly. He was strong — heavy — but slow. He raised his blade high and brought it down like it would split her in two.
She didn't even block.
She stepped sideways, angled her body just out of range, and let his momentum pass.
Then she moved.
Her blade swept low, knocking his knees out from under him, and the tip reversed mid-motion to press under his throat before he hit the dirt.
He didn't move.
Blood didn't fall. But something else did — his pride.
"You—" he hissed. "You're not just some—"
"I'm no one," she said flatly.
His eyes widened.
And then she stepped away.
Elzid had already finished subduing the last one, who now lay groaning beneath a shallow root, tied with his own coat sleeves.
Aria walked past them without looking back.
"She let you live," Elzid said over his shoulder. "That's more than most would've done."
The woman with the broken jaw tried to crawl upright.
Aria didn't look back.
They left the grove without another word.
The varrons didn't follow.