The morning came, and I had to admit—I was nervous.

This world had a real problem with Outlanders, and from what I had gathered, they tended to fall into two categories.

The first kind were the clueless ones. The ones who arrived here with no idea how to survive. They didn’t understand the System, didn’t adapt fast enough, and usually died early—either to monsters, bandits, or sheer bad luck. Some of them panicked, made enemies, or started conflicts they couldn’t handle.

The second kind were the ones who did understand. Too well. They treated this world like an RPG playground, min-maxing their stats, exploiting the System, and charging ahead without thinking about the consequences. Those were the ones people feared the most—the ones who gained power too quickly, disrupted the balance of things, and eventually had to be put down before they took over everything.

I didn’t know which kind I was supposed to be.

For now, I was still under the radar, but that poster from last night proved that Outlanders were being hunted. By who? I didn’t know. But whoever had put it up had the authority to issue a bounty, which meant someone out there was keeping track.

And if there had been Outlanders before me, that meant their stories had already ended.

I didn’t want to end up like them.

We gathered in the common room of the inn, eating a quick breakfast while discussing our next move. The mood was quieter than the night before—less celebration, more focus.

Garvin stretched, shaking off the last remnants of sleep. “Alright, so we’re heading south to check out where this poster came from?”

I nodded. “That’s the plan. If we can find out what happened to this guy, we might learn more about how Outlanders are seen here. Maybe even what happened to the others before me.”

Drea leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. “And if we find out something we don’t like?”

“Then we decide what to do when we get there,” I said simply.

Malric, who had been silent so far, finally spoke. “We should assume the worst. If someone’s still looking for Outlanders, we don’t want to attract attention.”

Garvin smirked. “So we just roll in, ask a few questions, and act like we’re not a bunch of suspicious mercenaries digging up old business?”

Drea shot him a look. “Something like that.”

The plan wasn’t perfect, but it was what we had.

We finished breakfast, gathered our gear, and set out. The wanted poster was folded in my pack, its presence a constant reminder that, no matter how much I had adapted to this world, I still didn’t belong.

We headed south out of Valdrenn, leaving behind the warmth of the festival and the glow of the city’s lanterns. The road stretched before us, winding through rolling hills and thinning forests as we made our way toward the mountains. Our destination lay on the border of Slate territory, where the land grew wild and untamed, a place of steep cliffs, dense forests, and treacherous cold.

The wanted poster had mentioned sightings near a cliffside settlement, a place where travelers passed through before attempting the dangerous ascent into the mountains. If there were any clues about the Outlander in the poster—or the people hunting them—we would find them there.

The journey started easy. The main road south was well-maintained, lined with signs pointing toward trading hubs and neutral settlements. The Slate merchants controlled most of the southern routes, ensuring they were safe enough for caravans, but the further we traveled, the fewer people we saw. The warmth of civilization faded behind us, and the air grew colder with each passing mile.

By midday, we reached the edge of the dense forest that would lead us to the mountains. The path narrowed, the road giving way to rugged terrain. The trees were tall and ancient, their thick branches blocking out much of the daylight. A faint mist clung to the undergrowth, the kind that never quite burned away even under the sun.

Garvin exhaled sharply, rubbing his arms. “Did it get colder all of a sudden, or is that just me?”

“It’s the altitude,” Drea said. “And the season.”

“We’re not even at the mountain yet,” Malric added, his tone neutral as always. “It’ll get worse.”

Garvin groaned. “Great. Freezing to death wasn’t exactly on my to-do list.”

“You’ll live,” I muttered, adjusting my cloak. Truthfully, I wasn’t looking forward to the cold either. The System had set clear temperature zones across the land, and once we crossed into the mountain path, there would be no gradual shift—just a sudden drop the moment we stepped into the zone’s boundary. Another on/off switch, just like everything else in this world.

As the trees thinned, the trail leading up the mountain became visible. It was narrow, winding along the rocky face of the cliffs. The path was just wide enough for a single cart, though only a fool would attempt to take one up there. Large jagged rocks jutted out from the sides, and a sheer drop loomed on the right, leading down into the shadowy depths of the forest below.

The wind howled as we stepped onto the path, and immediately, the cold slammed into us.

Not a gradual chill. Not a slow drop in temperature. One second, it was tolerable—the next, it was bitter and unforgiving, as if the System had decided now you are cold.

I clenched my jaw as the wind bit through my cloak. Garvin cursed, tugging his hood up. Drea adjusted the furs around her shoulders but said nothing. Malric, as usual, didn’t react at all.

“This is miserable,” Garvin muttered.

“It’s a mountain,” Drea said. “Did you expect a bonfire and a warm meal waiting for us?”

“Maybe a friendly mountain spirit,” Garvin shot back. “Or a hot spring.”

“If you find one, let us know,” I said, keeping my eyes on the trail ahead.

The path twisted up the mountainside, and soon the forest below disappeared into a misty abyss. The higher we climbed, the quieter it became. The wind was the only sound, a constant, low howl that carried through the crags and gullies.

Somewhere up ahead was the settlement mentioned in the wanted poster. If the Outlander had ever been here, if anyone knew who they were or what happened to them, we would find our answers soon. I just wasn’t sure if we’d like what we found.

The settlement was barely standing. What had once been homes were now little more than skeletal remains—small shacks, half-dismantled, their wood blackened with old scorch marks. The fires that had once licked at them had been smothered by time and cold, but the damage remained.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Spears had been driven into the frozen ground, each one topped with a skull. Some human. Some… not.

I exhaled slowly, watching my breath curl in the frigid air. The Slate had been here already.

“Looks like a purge,” Malric muttered, his voice low as he scanned the ruins. His sharp eyes flicked from one broken structure to the next, assessing them like a predator sizing up an unfamiliar battlefield.

Drea knelt near one of the burned-out homes, brushing a gloved hand over the frozen wood. “This wasn’t a raid for supplies,” she said. “They left the houses standing, barely. No signs of looting, either.”

Garvin, for once, was silent. His usual humor had no place here. He stood near one of the spears, staring up at the grinning skull mounted on top. “Damn,” he muttered under his breath.

The Slate mercenaries didn’t waste time with prisoners when they decided someone was a threat. They didn’t leave survivors, only messages.

And this? This was a clear message.

I swallowed, my mouth dry. Was the Outlander already dead? Had we missed our chance?

I stepped further into the ruins, the cold wind whistling through the broken walls. The System kept this place frozen, untouched by decay, as if preserving the scene of a crime long after the guilty had fled.

We were too late. Or so it seemed. Then, I saw the footprints. Fresh. Leading toward the cliffs at the edge of the settlement. Someone was still here.

I followed the footprints carefully, my boots crunching softly against the frozen ground. They led away from the ruins, skirting the cliffside where the jagged rock jutted out over the valley below. The wind howled through the crevices, sharp and biting, but I kept moving, my eyes locked on the trail ahead.

Then, as I rounded a bend, I saw it.

A thin wisp of smoke curled into the air, barely visible against the slate-gray sky. My pulse quickened. I crept forward, pressing myself against the rock face as I edged closer. Just beyond the bend, nestled in the shadow of the cliff, was the entrance to a cave.

Inside, a campfire flickered, casting dancing light on the stone walls. The flames were small, controlled—whoever had built it was trying not to draw attention. Someone had survived.

I turned back toward the others, ready to call them over—

And then I felt it.

The shift in the air. The subtle weight of presence behind me.

Before I could react, an arm wrapped around my chest, and a blade pressed cold and unyielding against my throat.

“What do you want here?”

The voice was rough. Cold. Hardened by time and distance.

I froze. My breath caught in my chest. I knew that voice. Even after all these months. Even twisted by something darker, something heavier.

I barely managed to whisper.

“…Sid?”

The hand released my throat, and I stumbled back a step, turning to face him.

Sid.

It was him, but at the same time, it wasn’t. His face was rougher, hardened by something more than time. Deep scars cut across his cheek and jaw, remnants of battles I hadn’t been there for. His eyes, once sharp with amusement and confidence, now carried a weight I didn’t recognize. The man in front of me looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks, his hair longer and unkempt, his frame leaner, almost gaunt.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The fire crackled softly behind him, shadows flickering across his face.

Then I found my voice.

"If you finished your mission..., why didn't you come back?" My voice was steady, but my chest was tight. "Where have you been?"

I wanted those answers. Needed them. But there was something else I needed more.

Behind me, the sound of boots on frozen stone. The others had caught up, weapons drawn, ready for a fight—until they saw him. Their stances eased, confusion replacing tension. Garvin's mouth opened, then closed, like he wasn’t sure what to say. Drea looked between me and Sid, her eyes narrowed, while Malric remained unreadable, though I could tell he was already calculating possibilities.

Sid watched them all, his grip tight on his weapon, but he didn’t raise it.

I took a breath and stepped closer. Calm. Controlled.

And then I asked the question that mattered most.

"Are you an Outlander?"

"Jason, from London," he replied simply.

The words hit me like a hammer to the chest.

Sid—Jason—was an Outlander. Just like me.

I stared at him, my mind racing, trying to fit this new piece into the puzzle of everything I thought I knew. The months of training, the way he had understood things I didn’t, the way he had given me time to figure out my own place in this world. It all made sense now.

But at the same time, it didn’t.

Because if he was an Outlander, why didn’t he tell me?

Behind me, the group stood in stunned silence. Garvin glanced between us, brows furrowed. Drea’s grip on her axe tightened just slightly, and Malric... well, Malric was just watching. Like always.

I swallowed; my throat dry. How long had he been here? Had he gone through the same confusion? The same struggle? Or had he figured it all out long before I ever arrived?

And then there was the bigger question.

“…Are you still on our side?”

Sid exhaled, shoulders slumping as he stepped back into the cave’s dim light. The fire behind him flickered against the walls, casting deep shadows across his scarred face. His exhaustion was evident—not just in his posture, but in the way he hesitated before speaking, as if saying the words would make them more real.

“I didn’t come back,” he said, voice low and rough, “because I couldn’t. I’m being hunted.”

The cave was silent except for the distant howl of the wind outside.

“Hunted?” I repeated, my stomach tightening.

Sid nodded, rubbing a hand across his jaw, his fingers tracing an old scar. “I don’t know who they are. No one does. No banners, no symbols, no names. Just whispers and dead men left behind. They call themselves the Ashen Court.”

Drea stiffened, and Garvin’s usual smirk disappeared. Even Malric’s fingers twitched toward his bow.

None of us had heard that name before.

No one had.

The weight of it sat between us, heavy and suffocating.

“I ran into them during my mission,” Sid continued. “At first, I thought they were just hired mercs. But they knew things they shouldn’t have. They weren’t just after a bounty. They weren’t looking for prisoners.” His jaw tightened. “They were out for blood.”

A cold feeling settled in my gut.

“What did you do to get their attention?” Drea asked, arms crossed.

Sid let out a dry, humorless chuckle. “I existed.”

He turned his gaze to me. “I trusted the wrong person. Told them what I was—where I came from. Thought I had found an ally.” His voice dropped. “A week later, half my party was dead. The other half scattered. I barely made it out alive.”

I swallowed hard.

If no one knew who they were, if no one had even heard of them, then how powerful were they? How many people had they already erased?

“So you’ve just been… running?” I asked.

Sid gave a small nod. “Staying ahead of them. Keeping to the edges of civilization, avoiding cities when I can. They don’t move like bounty hunters. They don’t ask questions, don’t spread rumors. If they come for you, you don’t get a second chance.”

The air in the cave felt colder.

I clenched my fists. “Then we fight.”

Sid’s expression hardened. “Against what, Sigvard? A ghost? We don’t even know who they are, let alone where to hit them.” He shook his head. “No. I’m dead if I stay out in the open.”

I hated it. Every word.

I wasn’t made for hiding.

But he wasn’t wrong.

“Then we find somewhere safe,” Garvin said suddenly. We all turned to him, and for once, there was no humor in his face. “Somewhere they won’t look. Somewhere they can’t look.”

Sid scoffed. “And where exactly do you think that is?”

Garvin took a deep breath. “My family’s estate.”

Silence.

We all stared at him.

Garvin rarely talked about his noble roots. He didn’t act like a noble, didn’t throw his title around like a weapon. But this wasn’t a joke.

“My father’s lands are off the trade routes,” he continued. “Old territory, well-guarded, but not a place anyone pays much attention to. The Ashen Court, or whoever the hell they are, won’t storm a noble estate without cause.”

Sid frowned. “And your father?”

Garvin hesitated for just a second before shrugging. “I’ll handle him.”

I looked at Sid. “It’s not a permanent solution. But it buys us time.”

Sid studied me for a long moment, then let out a slow breath.

“…Alright,” he said. “For now.”

But we all knew the truth.

The Ashen Court wasn’t going to stop.

And eventually, hiding wouldn’t be enough.