Chapter 17 - Chapter Xvii :The Outers

The fire snapped low in the meeting room, embers popping like knuckles. Arden pushed back his chair and leaned over the scout-map spread across the table. The river-ford was marked with ash, a dark thumbprint at the bend. Three packs, he said. Shaman tracks. Jalen rubbed his jaw. The river-ford's our throat. If they close it— We bleed out, Arden finished. Pria sat with a short sword laid across her lap, fingers drumming a patient rhythm along the spine. Then we plug it. We need blades that don't snap. Arden didn't look up. We have one. Already proved it. Jalen frowned. The maid? She folded a D‑rank without training, Arden said. That's not a maid. That's leverage. She's raw. Raw beats dead. Arden straightened. Rank her. Feed her. Teach her. She keeps the kid safe. She keeps the village breathing. Pria rose. Only if she earns it. Dawn. Yard. I test her. Arden's gaze locked on her. You want to swing at someone who danced a D‑rank into pulp bare‑handed? Pria smiled—thin, eager. Luck's overrated. Dawn smelled of frost and pine. Elira was already awake, Micah warm against her back in the sling, his breath a steady tick at her spine. ORSCU murmured low—an instinctual thrum that matched her pulse. She tightened the knot at her shoulder and stepped into the yard as boots crunched behind her. You fight today, Pria said. Elira turned. I don't have a weapon. Good. Pria's eyes flicked to the sling, to Micah's sleeping fist. You don't leave him. You never do. Elira nodded. Pria angled her chin toward the timber hall at the edge of the yard. Three interlocked marks were burned into the iron above the door. The Wayfarer Accord, she said. We keep roads open and villages standing. You want rations, shelter, warmth—you join us. You earn your keep. And if you want to protect him, you learn to fight. Assessment and ranking. You coming. Elira's fingers tightened on the sling. Micah stirred faintly against her back. She shook her head. I'm not leaving him. Pria's eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. Then you carry him. No excuses. The timber hall was cold and quiet, save for the metallic hum of swords being drawn. Pria faced Elira, stance low, short sword ready. Elira shifted slightly, adjusting the sling so Micah remained snug and safe. Remember, Pria said, voice even, you don't leave him. Not for me. Not for anyone. Elira nodded. The spar began. Pria moved first, precise swings testing Elira's reactions. Elira dodged, parried awkwardly, all while Micah remained on her back. Every movement was careful, measured—she refused to let a single strike risk him. Then a mistake. One of Pria's sword swings came too wide. The edge skimmed dangerously close to Micah's sleeping fist. Elira's world narrowed. ORSCU flared instinctively, a low, humming pulse coursing through her senses. Time slowed. She twisted her body, shifting Micah safely, and countered with a series of moves so fast, so precise, it left Pria momentarily off-balance. Elira's skill—ORSCU—glimmered like a tether of instinct, amplifying her reflexes and awareness. The hall echoed with clashing steel and the thrum of her heartbeat. In the end, neither gained the upper hand. Pria lowered her sword, breathing evenly. Draw, she said. Elira exhaled, chest heaving, Micah still safe against her back. They walked over to the skill crystal. The faint light shimmered, but the crystal offered no description, no explanation—just the silent authority of judgment. Elira's hands hovered over it, ORSCU thrumming faintly at her fingertips. The crystal glowed once. A letter appeared: D‑minus. Pria sheathed the blade, then fixed Elira with a level stare. Raw. Fierce. Dangerous. But undisciplined. You earn your keep, Elira. Start here. Grow. A beat. And another rule—you claim outer from now on. Outer? Elira repeated, voice small. Means you slipped through cracks, Pria said. Born wrong. Human too short, elf without a spark. Whatever people pity, they don't probe. They nod and move on. Makes living easier. She flicked a gaze to Micah. Less questions about why you carry a runt in a sling and still break jaws. Just say you birthed him deformed. They'll buy it. Elira's throat worked. That's cruel. World's crueler, Pria answered flat. Use it, or it uses you.