East looked like hope only because every other direction promised worse. Morning was a smear of pale sun through battered clouds as the group broke camp—each movement damp with exhaustion, yet urgent. Sori plotted their path, limping but unbowed. Jun had sharpened her knife three times before anyone else stirred, rough edge matching her mood.
Arl, too battered to walk, was hoisted onto a makeshift sled, teeth gritted against whimpers that shamed no one. The relic-woman pressed her lucky blade into her belt, one eye always on the horizon as if she expected the world to split in two.
Children clung tighter today. Even the oldest bandit strode closer to the core of the group, pretending not to glance at every tree for ambush or omen.
The first hour was silent. Even birds were gone—only the harsh hush of wind through scorched grass and stone.
Jun fell into step beside him. "That blade yesterday—cost you more than you let on."
He shrugged—a weight he didn't know how to set down. "It always does. I remember less each mile, but I remember you. That's enough. For now."
She grunted. "Easy to say. Hard to live."
He took her meaning. Even hope was a wound you learned to bandage on the move.
***
The old pass Sori led them toward wound tight between two ridges—a place hung with prayer flags sunken to rags, cairns piled with bones and faded tokens. She touched a blue scrap as they passed. "This is the place people came to forget or be forgotten. Either way, you need to move fast or you join the stones."
The outcasts clumped up as the trail narrowed, all eyes flicking between footholds and the shadowed heights above. He felt the relic twitch—uneasy, watchful. It still hungered, but not for miracles. Today, it wanted memory, story, the hum of lives scraping by.
A stone tumbled from far above. Jun spun, knife ready. Sori's head snapped up. "Watch the ridge!"
A lone figure appeared at the crest—robes ragged, hair wild, bearing sect colors burned to black. Instead of attacking, she raised a fist—hand empty, palm bare.
Jun hissed, "Trap?"
He peered upward, the relic pulsing warning but not fear. "No. Listen—she's alone, or she'd have killed us already."
The woman called down, voice gravel-thick but clear. "I'm not your hunter. I left sect ten moons ago. Name's Vel. I carry news and water—no sword."
Jun's fist opened slowly. "Let her approach. Cautious."
Vel slid down, one careful step at a time, never reaching for the knife at her hip. When she reached them, she held out a battered canteen and, with her free hand, produced a wooden tag etched in old sect script: Safe Passage.
"Storm's building behind you," she said. "Company, not pursuit. A war party: they don't care who rules, just who bleeds loudest."
Sori grimaced. "Do we have a chance if we keep east?"
Vel shook her head. "If you're fast, yes, before the storm closes both ends. I know a cut through the rocks. Trust comes free today—tomorrow it's sold for blood again."
***
They followed her, Jun at his side, Sori and Arl bringing up the rear. Vel led them through a break in the stones—tight as a coffin, slick with rain from last night's thunder. Children hesitated. The smallest, a boy with raw hands and a stitched lip, clung to the relic-woman's skirt.
He paused, knelt. "You okay?"
The boy's eyes were ancient. "Will we be safe now?"
He wished hope was easier to give. "We'll be together. That's all I can promise."
A squeeze of fingers—thank you or goodbye—and the child slipped ahead.
***
Mid-pass, the mountain loosed its voice—roar of falling stones, the crash of something massive far off.
A handful of sect scouts swept up behind—fox-masks, blades bare, moving fast.
Jun's shout split the hush. "Go, go! If you can't fight, climb higher! If you bleed, bleed uphill!"
He turned as the group scattered, Vel drawing her blade for the first time. "Don't waste time—get clear!" she barked, blocking two scouts.
Sori stayed with the children and wounded, eyes burning with old fury as she prepared to make a stand if needed. The relic-woman shoved Arl forward, one arm bloody, the other still gripping her talisman.
He pulled the relic—let it spark, desperate. "Help us."
A knife flickered into his hand, stained black with the ink of forbidden script. This time, it was heavy, every stroke of pain a name ripped from memory.
He blocked the first scout's cut. Jun darted in, low, her blade a lightning flicker. Vel fought like someone who'd spent years choosing survival over pride.
Three scouts fell—masks cracked, not dead, just left behind. The rest retreated, unwilling to pay for a handful of fugitives with their own blood.
The pass shuddered. Wind rose, howling up the sharp stones. Jun was at his arm again, breath ragged, face streaked with someone else's blood.
"You lose anything this time?" she murmured.
He shook, just a little. "Not sure yet."
She squeezed his wrist, anchoring him in this small way.
***
They made camp in a cut high above the trail, nobody sleeping, everybody too wrung dry to speak much.
Sori checked wounds. Vel stared up at the clouds like she was making a pact. Arl mumbled prayers.
He and Jun sat at the fire's edge. "East is open, for now," she said. "But the bounty's still real. If they catch us, it will be for your name, not our history."
He nodded, weariness etching itself across every line of his face. "If I give it up—leave, run alone—would it keep you safe?"
She looked away, lips hard. "Safety died with the first miracle. We're in this, all of us, until the mountain forgets us or the sects write a new legend."
The relic fluttered, almost gentle.
The children huddled between Vel and Sori. The relic-woman stood the last watch, staring east.
When the sun finally gasped over the peaks, they packed up in silence.
He looked at his found family: Jun's fierce loyalty, Sori's scars, Vel's tired trust, Arl's stubborn hope, those worn children clutching bits of river glass, the relic-woman cradling her blade.
He let himself believe, for one quiet moment, that memory could be shared before it vanished. That every name saved was worth every scar lost.
"Let's go," he said, voice soft as dawn. "Let's win one more day, together."
They slipped forward—battered, cautious, alive. The pass behind filled with the echoes of names too stubborn to be erased.