Cloud Company 7 packed up camp with the rising sun, and set out to beat the heat. The calendar said they had two more weeks before the official start of the hot season, but the sun seemed to have other plans. Did the Isvaran Sun Priests at the Temple of Light have any say? Somehow, Ren doubted that.

As a forester, he was often called to support the scouts in their duties, which meant he got to enjoy the cool shade of the trees rather than walking in step with the company out on the open road.

The sun hadn’t quite reached its peak when a whoop sounded from the front of the column. Ren peered over through the trees to see a man pointing ahead before receiving a dressing down from a sergeant for breaking discipline. Kuviir must be in sight.

Soon the forest gave way to orchards of dates, mangoes, and the famous Kuviiri mini-oranges. As was his duty, Ren kept an eye on the men and women busy at work, climbing the trees with woven baskets on their backs, harvesting the fruits that were ready. The scouts were called back in as they neared the city walls, and Cloud Company 7 marched through the open gates.

Kuviir was more of a large town than a city. Built on the side of a hill in the old, pre-empyrean style, earthen homes stacked atop each other in tiers, roofs serving double duty as walkways and sitting areas.

They made their way to the garrison to stow gear and drop off the carts for resupply. Ren led the mules to the stables and was dismissed. As usual, his first stop was the mail depot.

“You’ve got a package and two letters,” said the postal worker.

Ren took his mail and rushed back to the barracks. His package was a bundle of tightly bound burlap that jingled a bit when he shook it.

He ripped open the accompanying letter first.

Hope you’re doing well kid. Had to fight to get this for you, but your badger friend convinced the captain you deserved it for your part in the kill. If they lose their edge, you’re going to have to figure out how to sharpen them yourself. As it is, Bargan’atar had to help me with the carving.

-Markens

Ren took his knife—Hamsa’s knife, really—and cut open the package, unrolling the wrap until the contents were revealed. Five bone-white arrowheads and a forearm length blade of the same material, with a short tang and setting that looked like it was meant to be fixed to a spear. It was about the same size as his standard issue forester knife, which gave him an idea.

But what was the material? His part in the kill? Could it be…

Lifting the blade—which cut him when his hand brushed the edge with the slightest pressure—it felt like bone but heavier, and sent a foreboding tingle up his arm. The alpha?

Ren grinned and took in the kingly gift. Then he frowned. He really should sell it. The six pieces would probably fetch a lot. At least a few gold to pay toward his family’s freedom.

But they were his. His friends had gone out of their way to get them for him. And he’d almost died. And all the other men had died. Maybe he could make a bigger difference next time if he kept them. It would be wrong to sell them.

But… was this just him being selfish? Justifying what he wanted. The way he’d wasted most of his entire silver coin on a fancy shirt to impress Sitara back in Katarn?

What had the Scout Captain said to him? Distinguish himself. Think long term.

Even if he somehow got five gold, he’d still have nearly twenty to pay off.

No. He was keeping the gift. At least for now.

As soon as that was decided he pulled out his standard issue knife and held the sheath up against the bone blade. If he could adjust the stitching it would fit. He just needed some good wood for the handle.

He grabbed the knife he’d won in that first competition with Hamsa and entered the hall of the barracks looking for the other man’s room.

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Ren found him reading a letter on his own bunk and held out the knife. Hamsa eyed him suspiciously.

A fox never leaves an enemy in the den.

“Take it. It’s a family heirloom right? You can just buy me a couple extra drinks some time.”

The man’s face softened and he accepted the knife, cradling it like a long absent lover. “You’re a man of honor, Ren.”

“It’s nothing, Hamsa.” He scratched his cheek sheepishly. “I got a blade in the mail and I want to build a handle for it. Didn’t feel right to keep yours.”

“That doesn’t take away from the act. You need anything, you just let me know.”

“Well, if you see any suitable wood for a knife handle, let me know?”

Hamsa nodded and Ren made his way back to read his second letter.

It was from Norn. Garam’s Inn was closing. With the food shortage, the overhead was too high to keep it running. Plus, he’d apparently been jumped when he was out tending to the needy at the edge of the maze. Even with a crutch he was struggling to walk.

Ren ground his teeth, and darkness coiled in his center. What kind of bastard would go after Garam. The man was a saint.

Also… what kind of monster could get the drop on Garam?

Apparently, to make ends meet—and no doubt to hunt down the culprit—Norn had put in an application to the Katarn City Watch. And they’d accepted her. Ren could see her scouring the city on a crusade for justice. It made him smile and shiver in equal measure.

The rest of his note told him his father was continuing to improve. He’d even started working part time for the Osirus again. Mom and the twins were getting worked hard, which explained why he hadn’t received an update since his birthday the previous month. The details were light, probably in an intentional effort to mask Norn’s own concern and shelter Ren from worry.

It wasn’t necessary. Not a day went by that he didn’t remember what he was fighting for, didn’t wonder how they were doing, didn’t drive himself mad imagining all the things that could happen to two indentured kids wandering the market without supervision.

But maybe with Norn in the guard she could look out for them.

His excitement had drained. Some wine would be nice.

Ren made his way over to Hamsa again. “Ready to buy me a drink?”

***

Two days was all they got in town. Two days to rest and resupply. Two days to set his new arrowheads on his favorite shafts—ones fletched with black raven feathers. Two days to try to wash away his concerns with Kuviiri orange wine—a famous local specialty that he hardly tasted as he threw it back.

But this time Ren was actually relieved to be moving again. He could barely sit with himself. Meditation was torturous, and his lungs felt shallow, halting his progress with the Three Chamber Breathing technique. Still, he kept pushing. It was all he could do.

A ring of men formed around the fighting circle, closing Ren in with his opponent. One of the older soldiers. Not the best in the unit, but a step above the greenhorns.

Ren settled into his stance and tried to slow down and enter the Silver Fox Meditation. It eluded him.

Instead of the cool, wide angle, calculating, connected focus he was hoping for, a dark anger boiled up from his gut. An animal rage that set his body alight with primal bloodlust. He needed to break something.

His opponent halted his charge, seeming to perceive the change. Like any animal, he sensed danger. Yes, that was right, what were humans but animals with tools? Just beasts, overly fond of words.

Ren was a beast, wasn’t he. A predator. A hunter. He’d stood before a tier four Aether Beast and lived. What was this puny man to him?

“You okay, Forester Ren?” The sound of his name broke his mind free enough to see the concern painted across the soldier’s face.

What had he been thinking? He shook his head and took a deep breath. “I’m okay. I was just thinking about… something. I’m ready.”

The man nodded and raised his training sword.

This time Ren managed to slip into his meditation—just in time to notice the shifting of his opponent’s center of gravity. He raised his guard for the coming feint and twisted around a kick that burst forth. Before he could press his advantage, another slash forced him to raise his guard again and allow the man to plant his foot and regain his stance. Ren launched into the offensive, studying each movement as their blades smashed together like battle drums and their feet skirted and danced and circled about the ring.

His Qi was dangerously low but he had the opponent’s measure now. Dropping the meditation, he watched the same shift of weight that had opened the fight. Once again, he met the feint, but this time he kept their swords in a bind as he launched his weight forward past the kick that shot out, threw his free elbow into the man’s gut, knocking him onto the ground and bringing his sword down to hover above the soldier’s neck.

The man dropped his sword in defeat and Ren doubled over. He’d pushed too far this time. If he risked this kind of Qi depletion in real combat, he’d be dead. Shakily making his way from the ring to the sound of applause—and some curses from those who’d lost bets—his thoughts were broken up by the call of a scout.

“Rider incoming!”

Cloud Company 7 was armed and in formation by the time the rider appeared, horse laden with baggage, and armor sparkling in the golden light. Commander Narwalla dispatched a man to meet the newcomer and learn what business brought him to a military camp with the setting of the sun. The man returned to the Commander with a scroll which was examined before the rider was waved over.

“Men, we have a new officer joining us, fresh from leadership training. Give your loudest welcome to Lieutenant Kareem.”