Del’s gaze stayed fixed on Seth, analysing his every move. The man’s stance confirmed what Del had suspected from the beginning: he wasn’t a fighter. The way he shifted his weight uneasily, the slight tremor in his fingers as they hovered near his blade—it all screamed of someone ill-prepared for a true confrontation. Seth might have been a skilled woodsman or even a decent trapper, but he was no warrior. His brother Bran, however, had been a different story.

‘He ‘Was’ the fighter,’ Del corrected himself grimly. The memory of Bran’s lifeless body flashed briefly in his mind, but he shoved it aside. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on it.

Seth hesitated, his fingers twitching before slowly sheathing his blade. His hand moved to a small pouch at his side, and Del tensed, ready to react. But instead of drawing another weapon, Seth produced a simple iron key, his movements deliberate as he extended it toward Elara. She snatched it from him without a word, the anger in her eyes barely veiled.

“Where’s Bran?” Seth asked, his voice low and cautious. “How did you find us?”

Del remained silent, his eyes narrowing as he watched Elara unlock the glowing chains around her wrists. The faint hum of magic dissipated with a soft crackle, leaving her rubbing her wrists and glaring daggers at Seth. Only when he was certain she was free did Del finally speak.

“Take a seat,” Del said evenly, gesturing toward a nearby log. “And give the girl a drink. I’m sure you’re both—”

A piercing yelp erupted from the woods, cutting him off mid-sentence. The sound was raw and pained, carrying through the trees like a knife through taut fabric. Seth spun toward the noise, his face twisting with alarm.

“Newt!” he called out, his voice rising in pitch. The yelping grew louder, punctuated by the frantic rustling of underbrush.

Del’s grip on his bow tightened instinctively, his body coiled like a spring. He watched as the massive black dog burst through the undergrowth, its muzzle streaked with blood. Deep gashes ran along its flank, the crimson staining its dark fur and matting in thick, clumped streaks.

Newt whimpered pitifully, his large frame trembling as he charged toward Seth and tried to wedge himself behind his master. The dog, normally imposing, now seemed small and vulnerable, its body shaking with pain and fear.

“What the—” Seth began, his words faltering as his eyes darted from his dog’s injuries to the source of the commotion.

From the shadows, a sleek ginger figure emerged with the calm arrogance only she could muster. Misty strolled into the clearing, pausing to survey the scene with a satisfied look. Blood specked her fur, but she seemed entirely unbothered, pausing to lick a paw and wipe it daintily across her face.

“What in all the hells is that?” Seth exclaimed, his voice teetering between disbelief and horror.

Del smirked. “That’s Misty,” he said simply, his tone tinged with amusement. “Surely you know what a cat is?”

“I know what a cat is, but that thing is some kind of demon spawn,” Seth shot back, crouching beside Newt to inspect his wounds. His hands trembled as he pulled a small tin of salve from his pack, unscrewing the lid with jerky movements. “Have you seen what it did to my dog?”

“She gets protective of Elara and me,” Del replied, his tone casual, as if discussing the weather.

Seth muttered something under his breath, his focus shifting fully to Newt. He worked with surprising care, spreading the salve over the dog’s wounds with gentle fingers. Newt whimpered softly but stayed still, his large eyes darting nervously toward Misty.

The cat sat a few paces away, her amber gaze fixed on the dog. Her tail twitched rhythmically, the slow, deliberate movement sending a clear message: she wasn’t done with him yet.

‘Good girl,’ Del thought, sending the mental nudge to Misty. ‘Extra fish for you tonight.’

Once Seth finished tending to Newt, Del gestured toward the log again. “Sit down,” he instructed firmly.

Seth obeyed reluctantly, lowering himself onto the log with a weary sigh. Newt immediately climbed onto his lap, curling his massive frame as tightly as he could against his master. Seth grunted under the weight, his posture stiff but resigned.

Del watched the scene, noting the way Seth’s hands lingered on Newt’s fur, offering comfort to the trembling animal. Despite the circumstances, there was something almost touching about the way the man cared for his dog, his rough exterior softened by genuine concern.

Feeling the situation was now under control—with Elara free, Newt subdued, Seth pinned under what must have been at least 150 pounds of terrified dog, and Misty ever-watchful—Del finally allowed himself to relax. Slinging his bow over his shoulder, he stepped fully into the camp, his boots crunching softly against the forest floor.

“All right,” he said, his voice steady but firm. “Let’s have that nice, friendly little chat I mentioned.”

He crouched beside Misty, giving her a scratch behind her ears. The cat leaned into his hand for a moment before flicking her tail, clearly pleased with her handiwork and ready to bask in her victory.

“Now, isn’t that better?” Del said, his tone lighter but still carrying an edge of wariness.

Straightening, Del moved to Elara. She looked up at him, her expression a mix of exhaustion and fragile relief. Without hesitation, he pulled her into a gentle hug, feeling the slight tremor in her frame.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“I knew you would come,” she murmured, her voice soft and steady despite everything she’d endured. A ghost of a smile crossed her lips, faint but genuine.

Del smiled back. “Of course,” he said simply, the words carrying a weight of reassurance that didn’t need elaboration.

His eyes flicked to Seth, who sat slumped on the log, his hands resting on the trembling bulk of Newt sprawled across his lap. Seth’s face was a portrait of conflicted emotions: fear, resignation, and—much to Del’s surprise—a hint of relief. It was clear he didn’t want to fight. If anything, the man seemed to cling to the hope that there was still a way out of this mess that didn’t involve violence.

“So, where is Bran?” Seth asked again, his voice faltering slightly as he forced the words out. “How did you find us?”

Del hesitated. Truth had its uses, but it could also be wielded like a blade. He didn’t want to lie, but the full truth could do more harm than good. And he had no desire to fight Seth, especially when the outcome felt all too inevitable.

“Bran is back at the lumber yard,” Del answered, his tone measured. “And you weren’t that hard to track.”

Del studied the man for a moment before continuing. “Why did you drug us?” he asked, his voice quiet but firm. “What was the plan with Elara and me?”

“There’s a man—a wizard, I think—back a couple of days into the woods,” Seth began. His voice was low, almost a mumble. “He came by a while ago and asked us to keep an eye out for an elf girl.”

Del’s gaze sharpened, and he caught Elara’s slight intake of breath.

Seth continued, his tone growing heavier with each word. “Two days later, you both show up. I didn’t want to do anything. Just…feed you, let you rest, and send you on your way in the morning.” His voice broke slightly, and he paused to collect himself.

“But Bran…” Seth trailed off, shaking his head. “He’s always looking for an edge. Always trying to make a quick coin. Next thing I know, he’s got the beer laced, and you’re both unconscious. I knew what he’d done, but I didn’t stop him.”

Seth’s eyes glistened as he glanced at Elara, then quickly looked away. “I argued with him, but he didn’t care. He said either I took you to the wizard, or he’d just…kill you and sell her to the slavers.”

The raw shame in his voice was palpable, and Del found himself momentarily taken aback by the honesty.

“What was his plan for me?” Del asked quietly.

Seth’s hands stilled on Newt’s fur. He didn’t look up. “He said he’d keep you another day or so and then let you go.”

“Did you believe him?” Del pressed, his voice hardening.

“No,” Seth admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. He lifted his gaze briefly to meet Del’s, then dropped it again, unable to hold the weight of the question.

Del’s jaw tightened. “He came at me with a knife,” he said flatly. “But I was already free.”

Seth finally looked up, his eyes searching Del’s face. “There was a fight,” Del added, his voice softening slightly. “He didn’t win.”

The words hung in the air like a physical presence. Seth’s chest rose and fell as he took a deep, steadying breath. “Is he…?”

“Yes,” Del replied gently.

The tears came silently, rolling down Seth’s face as he stared at the ground. “Mum always said one day he’d pick on the wrong person,” he murmured, his voice breaking.

Del glanced at Elara, who stood a few paces away, her expression unreadable but tinged with sadness. Del was well aware of the turmoil in his own heart. He’d been right to defend himself, to stop a man intent on harm. But in doing so, he’d left Seth to bear the weight of a fractured family, alone in the aftermath of his brother’s poor choices.

Seth’s shoulders sagged as Del’s words settled over him. His hand drifted absently to Newt’s head, stroking the dog’s fur with a trembling touch. The large animal whined softly, pressing closer to his master, as if sensing the storm of emotions swirling within him.

“I should’ve stopped him,” Seth muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes remained fixed on Newt, but they seemed distant, as though looking past the dog and into memories too heavy to bear. “I knew Bran was dangerous. Always pushing too far, always looking for trouble. But he was my brother. How do you fight against blood?”

Elara, who had been standing stiffly to the side, shifted her weight. Her arms crossed over her chest, and for a moment, she seemed ready to lash out again. But as she looked at Seth, her expression softened, her anger dimmed by the raw pain in his voice.

“You didn’t stop him,” she said, her tone quieter now but still sharp enough to sting. “And because of that, he nearly got us both killed. Do you realise that?”

Seth flinched as though she’d struck him, his hand stilling on Newt’s fur. He opened his mouth to speak but faltered, his throat working as he tried to force the words out.

“I do,” he choked, his voice cracking. His free hand clenched into a fist against his thigh. “I know I failed. You don’t think I see it every time I look at him?” He gestured toward Del, his hand shaking. “I knew Bran wasn’t going to let him walk away. I knew it, and I still didn’t stop him.”

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze and Newt’s quiet wimpers.

Elara took a hesitant step forward, her gaze lingering on Seth. Her lips pressed into a thin line as though she were waging an internal battle of her own. Finally, she crouched down beside him, her movements slow and deliberate.

“Look at me,” she said softly.

Seth hesitated, his gaze still fixed downward.

“Look at me,” Elara repeated, her voice firmer now. When he finally lifted his head, his tear-streaked face was filled with shame and remorse.

“You didn’t tie me up,” she said, her voice low but steady. “You didn’t threaten to hand me over to the slavers. That was Bran. And now…he’s gone. Whatever he did, whatever he wanted, it’s done. You have to decide what comes next. Are you going to carry on his mistakes, or are you going to do better?”

Seth blinked at her, his lips parting as though to respond, but no sound came out. Instead, his head dipped again, and a tear slid down his cheek, glistening in the dappled sunlight.

Del watched the exchange silently, his grip on his bow loosening as the tension in the clearing shifted.

Seth’s hand moved back to Newt, stroking the dog’s ears with a gentleness that seemed at odds with his rugged appearance. His voice, when it came, was so soft Del almost missed it.

“I just wanted to keep us safe,” he murmured. “Bran always thought he was the strong one, the smart one. I let him make the choices because I thought…I thought he knew better. I thought he’d protect us both.”

“And now?” Del asked quietly, stepping closer.

Seth’s eyes met Del’s, hollow and red-rimmed. “Now I’m not sure I even know what protecting someone means.”

Elara reached out, her hand resting lightly on Seth’s forearm. The gesture was subtle but deliberate. “You don’t have to figure it out alone,” she said softly. “But it starts with doing the right thing now. No more wizards. No more slavers. No more running from the mess Bran made.”

Seth nodded faintly, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. Newt whined again, nuzzling against his master’s chest, and Seth buried his face in the dog’s fur for a moment, drawing a deep, shuddering breath.

Del exchanged a glance with Elara, a silent understanding passing between them. Whatever came next, they’d made it clear where Seth stood—and where he didn’t.

The forest around them seemed unnaturally quiet, the usual symphony of rustling leaves and distant birdsong muted, as if the woods themselves were holding their breath.

‘Menolly, I think you were right about moral ambiguity,’ Del thought bitterly. The clarity he’d sought in his actions was nowhere to be found, replaced instead by a swirling mess of doubt and conflicting emotions.