The following dawn found Remar and Mael concealed beneath a low stone arch, their breaths hanging in mist. Rain had ceased, leaving silence only broken by distant birdcall and the drip of water from mossy stones.
Remar's side pulsed sharply with each heartbeat. He leaned against the archway, sword dangling at his back. The blade lay sheathed—but Remar could feel it, alive in his spine. Not just steel. A burden, a bond.
Mael knelt nearby, wrapping another layer of cloth tighter around Remar's wound. His eyes flicked northwest, toward distant hills where the Order rode at sunset. "They didn't follow us yesterday… but now, they search."
🎯 A Goal Emerges
Remar straightened, gripping the hilt beneath seal leather. He forced himself upright. "We'll make for the crossing at Mossbridge," he said sharply. The ruins lay less than half a day's walk away. If he could delay the knights once more, the villagers beyond might slip away undetected.
He sounded certain—but inside, the Autos Clause whispered in the back of his mind: one-year renewal, thirty days' notice, binding. Every nighttime whisper reminded him the contract had begun. He wondered: would he ever be free?
They eased out into pale morning light and pressed into the forest, the sword heavy on Remar's back.
⚔️ Midday Snare
Just after midday, they came upon overturned wagons and trampled earth beside a ford-crossing. Tracks crisscrossed over dunes of mud. Remar halted, gaze hard.
Mael's eyes widened: steel stakes line the shallow ford—bait. Crossbows aimed from the ridgeline. A trap waiting.
Remar's jaw tensed. "Then we'll make our own path," he whispered. He drew the Dark Sword. Runes flickered violet.
They veered away, parallel to the riverbank. Every step risked ambush. Every rustle a possible crossbow bolt. The forest seemed alive with intent. Calm doesn't mean safe.
🔥 Dusk Battle & Momentum
As the sun dipped low, thick branches sparked as knights swept down the embankment in silence.
Remar pivoted, squared his shoulders. The clash began: crossbow bolts thudded, blades whined.
Remar moved through swirls of steel and wood, sword slicing arcs of violet flame. Each strike halted a knight's advance. Another bolt grazed his thigh, but he pressed forward.
A wave of energy erupted from the blade—runes flaring orange and gold. A knight fell backward. Others halted.
But then a horn sounded across the field. Reinforcements reached ahead by horseback, the ground rumbling under silver hooves.
Remar fought until blood blurred his vision and limbs shook. Only when Mael slashed a pursuer and pulled him back did he fall to one knee, sword gaspingly sheathed.
💭 Emotional Reverberation
Under bloodied cloak and heavy chest, Remar breathed ragged air. Mael knelt, pressing clean cloth to his flank.
He's protecting me, Remar thought. Not the blade. Not destiny. Him. The thought cut deeper than pain.
Yet the bond pulsed again, tingling through every nerve. The contract he signed echoed—its power restorative, but cost-heavy. He wondered if there was ever return.
🌒 Turning Tide at Mossbridge
By twilight, they reached Mossbridge—a crumbling stone crossing arching over dark water. Moonlight glimmered on stagnant surface. A mist curled across the bridge, thick enough to dim vision.
From the far end, a lone torch approached. A figure emerged: arm-bound herald cloaked in midnight, hood shadowing face.
A messenger. One word hissed across the river:"Return."
No threat. But demand.
🧭 Decision in the Crossing Light
Remar shifted to stand in the mist, sword gripped low.
He gazed at Mael. The night's choice hung between safety and duty—to protect villagers or obey demand.
He exhaled. "I'll go," he said quietly. "I'll go alone."
Mael's eyes stung—but he nodded. "Then use the blade for purpose," he whispered.
The herald stepped forward, torchlight dancing across the arch. Then silence fell as Remar moved onto the bridge.
Behind him Mael knelt, eyes steady in moonlight.
⚡ High-Stakes Cliffhanger
The herald halted halfway over the bridge. The torchlight flickered—revealing a wolf helm beneath the hood, its jaws curled in a snarl.
"I know the contract," the herald said low. "We know the expiry terms. We know who signed."
Remar braced himself. Below, water rippled.
Two torches snuffed one by one.
Fog thickened.
A distant horn sounded—silence followed.
The last thing Remar felt: the Dark Sword pulsing with cold urgency.