The companions stirred awake slowly, each moving with the stiffness that came not only from sleep on cold earth but from battles fought in both body and spirit.
Aric was the first to rise, though his eyes still carried shadows. He busied himself with the fire, coaxing the last embers back into life. His movements were awkward, uncertain—but determined.
Seliora's voice drifted over, soft and almost teasing. "Careful, boy. You'll set your cloak aflame before you get that tinder to catch."
Aric shot her a sidelong glance. "I've watched you enough times. I can manage."
"Confidence is good," Seliora said, rising with her staff and brushing soot from her cloak. "But fire is hungry. It doesn't care about confidence."
Kael had been awake already, seated a little apart, his blade balanced across his knees. His crimson eyes lifted briefly from the steel as he spoke. "Neither does war."
Darius snorted, stretching his massive frame with a groan of muscle and bone. "And now we're comparing breakfast to war. Wonderful." He clapped a heavy hand on Aric's shoulder, nearly making the boy spill his hard-won flame. "Just don't burn the bread and we'll call it victory."
Aric grinned despite himself, the warmth of their banter pushing back some of the lingering cold in his chest.
They ate in relative peace, the meal simple but filling. For a while, silence stretched—companionable rather than strained. Yet beneath it all was an unspoken awareness: the Sovereign's shadow loomed ever closer, and every hour mattered.
When they finished, Seliora leaned her staff against a broken stone and began adjusting the wrappings on her arm. Aric noticed her wince.
"You're hurt?"
"It's nothing," Seliora said quickly, though her attempt at nonchalance fell short.
Kael's gaze flicked toward her, sharp as ever. "Show me."
For a heartbeat she looked like she might refuse, but Kael's eyes allowed no room for denial. She extended her arm. The wrappings were faintly stained, the skin beneath bruised and lined with a shallow cut.
Darius grumbled, but there was worry beneath his rough tone. "You should've said something earlier. A wound left untended festers faster than you think."
Seliora smiled faintly. "And I should've let you carry me across every skirmish, is that it?"
The banter softened the moment, but Kael's expression remained unreadable as he unwound the cloth and inspected the injury. His hands were steady, surprisingly gentle. He cleaned the wound, applied fresh herbs, and bound it again without a word.
Aric watched intently. There was something grounding in seeing Kael—so often sharp-edged and distant—care for a companion with such precision.
When Kael finally tied the last knot, Seliora tilted her head. "You could've been a healer, you know."
Kael's lips curved ever so slightly. "I was many things."
The words carried weight, a shadow of his past flickering through, but he gave no more.
Darius broke the silence with a huff. "Well, I'd rather have him with a sword than a poultice, thank you very much."
Aric smirked. "With the way you charge headfirst into fights, you'll be the one needing poultices soon enough."
For a second, Darius froze, then barked out a laugh so loud it startled a flock of crows from a nearby tree. "Ha! The boy's got teeth after all."
Seliora chuckled, leaning back against the stone. "Careful, Darius. He's learning from the best."
Kael said nothing, but a faint glimmer of approval passed through his crimson eyes.
The day wore on with quiet travel. The companions moved together across broken plains, the ruins of villages marking the scars left behind by the Sovereign's reach. Yet the heaviness was lighter than before—not gone, but shared.
As the sun dipped low, painting the sky in fire and blood, Aric glanced at Kael walking just ahead. The boy remembered his words from the night before.
By not carrying it alone.
For the first time, Aric believed it.