Chapter 6: The Fracture of Faith
The morning came heavy and gray. Clouds pressed low over the forest, turning the light to a dim haze that made the camp seem half-asleep. The fires were being stoked again, thin trails of smoke curling into the air.
Auron sat near the edge of the encampment
He had buried the coin again last night, marking the soil with a broken twig to remember the spot. But the image of that beast-born sigil would not leave his mind.
He had replayed it through the night, the glint of black metal, the scent of iron and smoke, the faint trace of clawed fingers on the leather wrapping.
The forest was speaking its language of omens, and he had learned how to listen.
Across the camp, Lucian was arguing with a cook over the taste of bread. His laughter rang soft and untroubled. The sound almost made Auron forget the rot beneath this calm surface.
Almost.
He rose, sheathed the sword, and walked toward Lucian.
The boy turned at once, smiling as if dawn itself had brought him good news. "Auron! Come on, you have to try this. It's the last of the honey bread."
Auron's reply came quiet, even. "Later. We need to talk."
Lucian blinked, the smile faltering at the tone. "About what?"
Auron glanced toward the trees. "Not here."
He led Lucian away from the fires, past the wagons and the resting horses, to where the forest thickened into shadow. The sound of the camp faded behind them until only birds and wind filled the silence.
Auron crouched near a gnarled root and began to dig with his hands. Lucian watched, puzzled. When metal scraped stone, Auron pulled out the oil-wrapped parcel and placed it between them.
Lucian's brow furrowed. "What is that?"
Auron unfolded the wrapping and revealed the black coin. Even in the weak daylight, it gleamed with an oily sheen. The carved wolf's head stared up at them, eyes slit like a predator in the dark.
Lucian took a step back. "That's not from Ironheart minting."
"No," Auron said. "It is not. It belongs to the Beast-born."
Lucian's face went pale. "Beast-born currency? That's outlawed across the kingdom. Where did you find it?"
Auron held his gaze. "Buried beneath the oak by the river. Two of your servants left it there last night. I followed them. They said it was for a delivery. The same word I heard Asher use with men in dark."
Lucian frowned deeply, confusion and denial warring in his eyes. "That cannot be true. Asher has been with my family since before I was born. He's fought for us, bled for us."
Auron unrolled the parchment next, placing it beside the coin. The coded symbols marked trade quantity and time.
"One shipment," Auron said quietly. "At midnight. Payment secured. That payment was this coin."
Lucian shook his head slowly. "You're reading it wrong. You have to be. Asher would never—"
"Lucian," Auron interrupted. His tone was still calm, but it carried a weight that silenced the boy. "You said yourself your father's house is desperate. The mines are empty. Trade is collapsing. Men like Asher do not stay loyal when gold disappears. They find it elsewhere."
Lucian's lips parted, but no words came. He stared at the coin as though it might burn him. "You think Asher would sell me or you mentally fine? maybe this is due to trauma you suffered in the forest"
Auron did not answer immediately. He studied the boy's trembling hands. He could see the hope trying to fight through disbelief, and it hurt to crush it. But truth did not wait for permission.
"I do not think," Auron said at last. "I know."
Lucian's breath hitched. "You are lying."
Auron's eyes hardened. "If I wanted to lie, I would not bring proof."
Lucian turned away, pacing a few steps. "No. You are mistaken. Asher saved my brother's life once. He trained me himself. He said he believed in me. He…" His voice broke, then steadied again. "You must be mistaken."
"Look at the coin again," Auron said quietly. "Do you think I forged that? Do you think I can mimic the mana of a Beast-born metal?"
Lucian's denial faltered. His eyes darted between the coin and Auron's face, searching for something that would let him dismiss this truth. There was nothing.
Finally, he spoke in a whisper. "If this is true, I need to hear it from him."
Auron's hand shot out, gripping his arm. "Do not confront him yet. We need to know who else is involved. The servants. The guards. You must act as though you know nothing."
Lucian looked down at Auron's hand, then met his gaze again. "You expect me to sit by while he plans whatever this is?"
"Yes," Auron said. "If you rush, we lose the chance to save you."
Lucian's jaw clenched. The prince's arrogance was gone now, replaced with a sharp and frightened courage. "You sound just like my father's advisers. Always waiting. Always watching."
"Because watching is how you survive," Auron replied.
The two stared at each other for a long moment. Then Lucian pulled his arm free. "I will be careful," he said. "But I need to know."
Auron saw the decision had already been made. He could not stop it, only contain the damage.
"Then we do it my way," he said finally. "Before you go to him, I will find who else is in his shadow."
Lucian nodded hesitantly, though his eyes were still clouded with disbelief.
****
The rest of the morning passed under a strained quiet.
Auron spent his time walking the perimeter of the camp, fixing wagon wheels, checking ropes, doing anything that made him look like part of the background. He watched faces.
Their movements were too sharp for boredom. Their hands never strayed far from their sword hilts.
Auron kept his expression neutral as he passed them, pretending to inspect a broken wheel on a nearby cart. His senses reached outward, subtle pulses of mana feeling for disruption. One of the guards carried a metal charm at his belt; its aura was identical to the coin's faint hum.
More proof.
Inside Asher's tent, he heard the faint clatter of armor and the low tone of a voice. Auron strained to listen, but the thick canvas muffled the words.
He stepped away, circling toward the servant quarters. Two servants were whispering near the supply wagon. Their faces went pale when they noticed him.
Auron smiled faintly, pretending to stretch. "The stew smells burnt," he said casually. "You may want to check it before the captain scolds you again."
They nodded nervously and hurried off. The crate they had been guarding was marked with the Arvel crest, but the seal was faintly scratched. He pried it open a fraction with his dagger. Inside lay dry meat, but beneath that, a pouch of red dust shimmered faintly with mana. Beast-born trade powder, used for tracking through scent and energy resonance.
He closed the lid and straightened up.
Everything was aligning.
****
By the time the sun had begun to sink, he had mapped every piece of the deception. Asher was not working alone. Two guards, at least three servants, and one unknown carrier across the river were involved. The deal would happen within the next day.
He had the truth. What he lacked was time.
Lucian would not stay silent forever.
That evening, the camp glowed with the soft orange of twilight. The smell of roasted meat and damp wood filled the air. Auron sat alone near the edge, his sword beside him. He could feel the wolf bracelet pulse against his wrist in slow, deliberate rhythm, as though it too could sense what was coming.
Lucian appeared just as the first stars emerged. His face was drawn tight with resolve.
"I have to talk to him," he said.
Auron looked up sharply. "Not yet."
Lucian shook his head. "If I stay silent, I'll lose my mind. I cannot pretend any longer. You said the guards were in on it. What if he acts before I do?"
Auron stood. His height and calm presence made the boy hesitate, but not for long. "You are walking into a trap," Auron said.
Lucian straightened. "Then I will walk through it with my eyes open."
Auron wanted to argue, but he saw in the boy's eyes the same stubborn fire he had once seen in Godfrey. Some battles could not be won by force.
He sighed. "At least take this." He handed Lucian a small talisman carved from shadow lynx bone. "It will pulse if mana gathers near you. A warning. If that happens, run."
Lucian closed his hand around it. "Thank you."
The boy turned toward Asher's tent. Auron followed at a distance, keeping to the shadows.
The camp had quieted; most guards were at the fires, drinking or cleaning gear. The night insects had returned, their hum weaving through the air like a warning.
Asher stood outside his tent, speaking with one of the guards. His posture was relaxed, his tone polite. When Lucian approached, the knight's smile widened with practiced warmth.
"My lord," Asher greeted, bowing slightly. "You should be resting. The road ahead will be long."
Lucian's voice trembled but held steady. "I wanted to speak privately."
Asher nodded, dismissing the guard. "Of course."
They stepped inside the tent. Auron crept closer, close enough to hear faint words through the fabric.
Lucian's voice first, quiet but sharp. "What are you planning with the Beast-born?"
There was silence, followed by a short, disbelieving laugh. "Who told you that?"
"I found the coin," Lucian said. "I know about the shipment. Tell me it is not true."
The silence stretched longer this time. Then Asher's tone changed. It lost its polish, turning colder, deeper. "You should not have gone digging where you do not belong, my lord."
Auron's hand tightened on his sword.
Inside, Lucian's breath quickened. "You are betraying House Arvel. Betraying me."
"I am saving what can still be saved," Asher replied. "Your father has doomed our house. He bleeds gold into empty mines. He gives away what power we have left to keep a throne that no longer looks our way. The Beast-born offer strength. You were a convenient price."
Lucian's voice cracked. "You would sell me like cargo?"
"Asher's answer came calm and cruel. "Not sell. Trade. Your life for the survival of the house. Your father would do the same, if he were brave enough."
Auron's heartbeat pounded in his ears. He stepped closer, hand on the tent flap.
Inside, Lucian said, "You disgust me."
Asher's armor creaked. "You should not have come here alone."
The words carried a cold promise.
Auron moved to enter, but the tent flap lifted before he could reach it.
Lucian stumbled out backward, face pale, eyes wide.
Asher followed, sword already drawn, its edge catching the starlight. His smile was gone, replaced by something hollow and predatory.
"You should have stayed ignorant," he said.
Lucian froze.
The blade moved.
The night exploded into motion.
And everything that followed began with that single sound of steel slicing through air.
End of Chapter Six: The Fracture of Faith