The next morning, the caravan gathered just outside the city gates. It wasn’t much—two wagons loaded with supplies, a handful of guards hired by the Empire, and a man in fine clothes sitting atop a horse, his expression screaming that he didn’t want to be there. That had to be the representative.
Sid stood by one of the wagons, checking over the supplies with his usual thoroughness. When he saw me approach, he nodded toward an empty seat on the second wagon. “Grab a spot. We’ve got a long way to go.”
I climbed up onto the wagon, settling into the hard wooden seat. The driver, an older man with a face like weathered leather, gave me a curt nod before snapping the reins to get the horses moving.
The city faded behind us as we rolled out onto the open road, the morning air cool and crisp. Fields stretched out on either side, dotted with farmers working their land, and the faint smell of wildflowers drifted on the breeze.
For a while, the trip was uneventful. The wagon creaked beneath me, the horses clopped steadily along, and Sid walked beside us, his eyes scanning the horizon like he was waiting for something to jump out of the tall grass.
Eventually, I couldn’t take the silence anymore. “Alright,” I said, turning to Sid. “You said you’d train me. Let’s start.”
He smirked, not breaking his stride. “Eager, are we?”
“Eager to not die the next time I’m outnumbered,” I shot back.
Sid stopped walking and motioned for me to jump down from the wagon. I hopped off, landing with a slight stumble that earned me an unimpressed look from him.
“First lesson,” he said, drawing his sword and pointing it at me. “Grip.”
I hesitated, then drew my own sword and mimicked his stance.
“Too tight,” he said immediately. “You’ll wear yourself out before you even swing. Loosen your grip. The sword’s not going anywhere.”
I adjusted, feeling slightly ridiculous, but Sid nodded in approval. “Better. Now, footwork. Your feet are all wrong.”
The lesson went on like that for the better part of an hour—Sid barking corrections at me while the caravan rolled on ahead at a slow pace. By the time we caught up, my arms ached and my legs felt like jelly, but I’d started to feel the faintest hint of improvement.
“You’ve got a long way to go,” Sid said as we climbed back onto the wagon. “But you’re not hopeless. That’s something.”
“Thanks for the glowing review,” I muttered.
He chuckled. “You’ll get there.”
The road stretched on, and the Empire slowly gave way to wilder lands—forests thicker and darker than any I’d seen, hills that rolled into mountains, and the air growing colder with every mile. Sid kept his promise, stopping often to teach me more about swordplay, tracking, and survival.
Along the way, I learned about the larger world. Sid told me stories of the Con—how their kingdom thrived in the harsh north, their people hardened by the cold and fiercely independent. He told me about the other races, the other lands, the guilds that operated far beyond the Empire’s borders.
The days blended together, each one bringing new challenges and new lessons. My grip on the sword grew steadier, my strikes more precise. I learned to read tracks in the dirt, to tell the difference between a wolf’s pawprint and something more dangerous.
And slowly, I started to feel like I belonged. Not fully—not yet. But I was getting there.
The Con capital was still far away, but the journey was already shaping me into someone I barely recognized. Someone stronger. Smarter.
Someone ready for whatever came next.
The cold northern wind whipped across the path as the caravan trudged through the thickening forest. The towering pine trees cast long shadows over us, and the once-distant snow-capped mountains were now close enough to feel the chill they radiated. We were deep in the borderlands between the Empire and the Con now, and the tension in the air was palpable.
Sid had been quieter than usual that morning, his sharp eyes darting from shadow to shadow as though he could feel something coming. I didn’t press him—when Sid got like this, it was better to stay alert.
The representative, riding his horse a short distance ahead of us, muttered something about the "barbarity" of the north. The hired guards ignored him, their hands resting uneasily on their weapons. I tightened my grip on the hilt of my bronze sword, my nerves prickling.
“Something’s wrong,” Sid muttered beside me.
“What is it?” I asked, my voice low.
He didn’t answer, his gaze fixed on the treeline. And then I heard it—the faint rustle of movement. Too deliberate to be the wind. Too many footsteps to be a stray animal.
Sid’s head snapped toward the trees just as the first arrow flew.
"AMBUSH!" he shouted, drawing his sword.
The arrow struck one of the guards in the shoulder, knocking him off his horse with a cry of pain. Chaos erupted as figures emerged from the forest—half a dozen of them, maybe more. Bandits. But these weren’t the same ragged, undisciplined fools I’d fought before. These men were better armed, better coordinated.
Sid darted forward without hesitation, his sword flashing as he intercepted the first attacker. The bandit’s axe swung down, but Sid parried it with ease, twisting to deliver a precise slash that sent the man crumpling to the ground.
"Stay with the caravan!" Sid barked at me, his voice sharp and commanding.
The guards formed a loose circle around the wagons, trying to protect the representative and the supplies, but they were outnumbered and overwhelmed. Another arrow thudded into the side of the wagon near my head, and I ducked instinctively, my heart pounding.
"Sigvard!" Sid yelled. "Get the diplomat out of here! Take the second wagon and GO!"
I hesitated, my grip on my sword tightening. Sid was already fighting off two bandits at once, his movements precise and deadly, but he couldn’t be everywhere at once. The guards were falling fast, and the representative was screaming something about not wanting to die in "this frozen wasteland."
“GO!” Sid shouted again, his voice cutting through the chaos.
I turned and scrambled toward the second wagon, grabbing the reins of the frightened horses. The representative was already climbing aboard, pale-faced and shaking, and the remaining guards looked to me for direction.
But as I looked back, I saw Sid. He was holding his ground, but just barely. Three bandits surrounded him now, their blades flashing in the dim light. He was outnumbered, and for all his skill, even Sid couldn’t fight forever.
I could leave. I could get the wagon moving, save the representative, and be halfway down the road before the bandits even knew we were gone. That’s what Sid wanted me to do. That’s what he’d told me to do.
But something inside me wouldn’t let me.
I couldn’t leave him. Not like this.
"Hold the wagon!" I shouted to the guards.
One of them grabbed the reins as I turned and sprinted back toward Sid, my bronze sword clutched tightly in my hand.
By the time I reached him, Sid was bleeding from a shallow cut on his side, his movements slower than usual. The bandits pressed him hard, their attacks relentless. I didn’t think—I just acted.
I grabbed a fist-sized rock from the ground and hurled it at the nearest bandit’s head. It struck him square in the temple, and he staggered, turning just enough for Sid to exploit the opening. Sid’s blade flashed, cutting the man down in a single, fluid motion.
"Are you insane?" Sid barked, glancing at me as he parried another attack.
"Probably!" I shouted back, stepping up beside him.
I wasn’t much help in the fight—I knew that. My swings were clumsy, my footing unsteady, and the bandits seemed to know I was the weak link. One of them lunged at me, and I barely managed to deflect the blow, the impact rattling up my arm.
But I wasn’t here to fight. I was here to give Sid a chance.
"Behind you!" I yelled, pointing just in time for Sid to whirl around and block a strike from the third bandit.
He moved like a whirlwind, his sword a blur as he deflected one attack after another. Even injured, Sid was faster and stronger than all of them. But it was clear he was reaching his limit.
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I spotted a bandit circling behind Sid, his blade raised for a killing blow. Without thinking, I charged, slamming into the man with all the force I could muster. We both went down in a heap, his sword skittering out of reach.
Sid used the opening. His blade cut through the remaining bandits with ruthless efficiency, leaving them sprawled on the ground. The last one—the one I’d tackled—scrambled to his feet and bolted into the forest, disappearing into the shadows.
Sid stood there, breathing hard, blood dripping from his side. He turned to me, his expression unreadable.
"You’re an idiot," he said finally, sheathing his sword.
"You’re welcome," I replied, trying not to collapse from the adrenaline crash.
For a long moment, he just stared at me. Then, to my surprise, he let out a low chuckle.
"You could’ve run," he said, his voice softer now. "You could’ve left me to die and saved yourself."
I shrugged, wiping the sweat from my brow. "You would’ve done the same for me."
Sid’s expression softened, just slightly. "Maybe," he said.
We made our way back to the caravan, the remaining guards scrambling to regroup. The representative was still alive, though he looked ready to faint, and the wagons were intact.
As the caravan got moving again, Sid walked beside me, his usual smirk replaced by something quieter.
"That was reckless," he said after a while. "But… you saved my life. Don’t think I’ll forget it."
I glanced at him, surprised. Sid wasn’t exactly the sentimental type, but there was something in his tone—something real.
"Don’t mention it," I said, grinning faintly.
He shook his head. "No, I mean it. You’ve got guts, kid. And more importantly, you’ve got loyalty. That’s worth something."
From that day on, something shifted between us. Sid was still hard on me, still quick to point out my mistakes, but there was an unspoken bond now. A friendship forged in blood and danger.
And I knew, deep down, that Sid was someone I could count on—just as he could count on me.
We lost a lot of guild members that day. The ambush had been quick, brutal, and efficient, leaving devastation in its wake. When the dust settled, and the last of the bandits had either fled or fallen, the scale of the loss became painfully clear.
Three of the guards were dead, their bodies sprawled across the dirt path, their weapons still clutched in lifeless hands. The driver of the first wagon had been struck by an arrow and lay slumped over the reins, his blood soaking the wood. And there were others—people I had barely spoken to during the journey but had shared meals with, nodded to in passing. Now, they were gone.
The survivors worked in grim silence, their faces pale and their movements slow. No one spoke unless it was absolutely necessary. The air was heavy with grief and exhaustion, the stillness broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the creak of the wagons.
The representative, however, had plenty to say.
"What were you thinking?" he snapped, pacing back and forth near the second wagon, his face flushed with anger. His fine clothes were smeared with dirt, and his carefully styled hair was disheveled, but his indignation remained intact. "You left my side! You abandoned your post!"
I stood near the first wagon, helping one of the remaining guards lift a body onto the back. My arms ached, my wounds burned, and my head throbbed, but I didn’t even look at him.
"You’re ignoring me now?" the representative demanded, his voice rising. "Do you have any idea how important my safety is to this mission? To the Empire? Your job—"
"My job," I said, cutting him off, "is to protect all of us. Not just you."
The representative sputtered, his indignation momentarily silenced, and I turned to face him, my voice cold and sharp.
"If I hadn’t gone back for Sid, none of us would be here right now. Not you, not your precious treaty, no one. So, with all due respect, I don’t care what you think of my decisions. I did what I had to do."
He glared at me, his jaw working as if he wanted to argue, but for once, he stayed quiet. With a huff, he climbed into the second wagon and sat stiffly, staring off into the distance.
Good. Let him stew.
The rest of the night was long and quiet. We worked by the faint light of the moon, retrieving the bodies of our fallen comrades. It wasn’t just a matter of respect—it was something more. A promise that even in death, they wouldn’t be left behind.
Sid moved with the same determination as the rest of us, despite the cut on his side and the exhaustion that weighed on all of us. He didn’t say much—just nodded when I passed by, as if to silently thank me again.
The smell of blood lingered in the air, mingling with the crisp scent of pine. My hands were slick with dirt and sweat as we loaded the last of the bodies onto the first wagon, covering them with a tarp to shield them from the night’s chill.
When the work was done, we made camp a short distance from the road. No one had the energy to talk, and even the representative remained silent, sitting by himself near one of the wagons. The fire burned low, its flickering light casting long shadows across the trees.
I sat apart from the others, staring into the flames, my sword resting across my knees. The weight of the day pressed down on me like a physical thing, heavier than any burden I’d carried before.
"We’ll bury them properly when we reach safer ground," Sid said, breaking the silence as he approached. He lowered himself to the ground beside me, wincing slightly as he adjusted the bandage around his side.
I nodded, my gaze still fixed on the fire. "It feels… wrong," I said after a moment. "Leaving them like this. They deserve better."
"They’ll get better," Sid said firmly. "We’ll make sure of it."
We sat there in silence for a while, the fire crackling softly between us. Finally, Sid spoke again, his voice low and steady.
"You did the right thing today," he said. "Even if that pompous ass doesn’t see it."
I looked at him, surprised.
"You could’ve run," Sid continued, his eyes reflecting the firelight. "Most people would’ve. And I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had. But you didn’t. You came back. You saved me. And because of that, we’re all still here."
I shrugged, my grip tightening on the hilt of my sword. "I couldn’t just leave you."
Sid smiled faintly, shaking his head. "You’re a better man than you think, Sigvard."
For a moment, I didn’t know what to say. Sid wasn’t the kind of guy who handed out compliments lightly, and hearing those words from him meant more than I could put into words.
"Thanks," I said quietly.
He nodded, leaning back against a log and closing his eyes. "Get some rest," he said. "We’ve got a long road ahead."
I stayed by the fire for a while longer, the events of the day replaying in my mind. The ambush, the fight, the losses—we’d survived, but not without cost.
As I stared into the dying embers, I made a silent promise to myself. I’d learn from this. I’d get stronger, smarter, better. I owed it to the people we’d lost—and to the ones still standing.
Tomorrow, the journey would continue. But tonight, I let myself grieve.
The fire crackled softly as I sat there, staring into the flickering flames. The quiet of the night felt heavier than it should have, pressing down on my chest like the weight of everything I had seen today. The bodies. The blood. The loss. I had seen death before—on the news, in stories, even in real life—but it had never felt like this. This was different.
I’d lost people before. Distant family members whose funerals I’d attended more out of obligation than grief. A friend of a friend who’d been caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, a victim of gang violence. It had all felt… distant. Like it was happening in a world just slightly removed from mine.
And when those moments came, I did what I always did: kept moving. Nothing changed for me. I went to work, went home, played video games, ate dinner, and lived my life like nothing had happened. I didn’t know if I was avoiding the feelings or if they just weren’t there to begin with.
But this? This hit me in a way I hadn’t expected. I felt it, sharp and raw.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the men who had died. I didn’t even know their names, didn’t know where they were from, who they loved, or what they hoped for in life. But I had fought beside them. I had seen them fall. Their blood was on the same ground I had walked on.
It wasn’t just sad—it was personal.
I didn’t want them to be forgotten. Not here, on some dirt road in the middle of nowhere. I would find out their names. I would find out who they were. And I would make sure their lives were remembered, even if no one else cared.
For a moment, I thought about my old life again. About the people I thought I’d loved.
There had been Jen. I thought I loved her in the way you’re supposed to love someone, but then I met Sarah. That’s when I realized what I felt for Jen wasn’t love at all—it had been infatuation, something shallow. But Sarah… Sarah was different.
Then came Alicia.
Loving Alicia was different from anything I had ever felt before. Sarah had been love, but Alicia was something else entirely. She had felt like my other half, like every part of me that was missing had been filled just by knowing her. She had been my soul mate. My true love. Nothing had ever meant more to me than her.
But now, sitting here, I realized that grief had a similar kind of depth. I’d been sad before when people died, just like I’d loved Jen and Sarah. But this? This grief was like Alicia. It was real. It was different.
I turned to Sid, who was sitting quietly by the fire, staring into the embers with an expression I couldn’t quite read. "The other outlanders," I said suddenly. My voice felt heavy, like it carried the weight of the question. "You said they didn’t survive. How many? How did they die?"
He didn’t answer right away. He stayed still, his eyes fixed on the fire, before finally letting out a slow breath.
"I don’t know how many," he said. "I’ve never met one. But people from another world… that kind of story travels. Everyone hears about them. And it always ends the same way."
"Why?" I asked, leaning closer.
Sid turned to look at me, his sharp eyes meeting mine. "Because we were born here," he said simply. "We know the rules. The ‘system,’ the world, the dangers—we grew up in it. But your kind… you don’t. You don’t have the instincts for it. You don’t know what to expect, what the limits are. And most of you don’t last long enough to figure it out."
I frowned. "What happens to them?"
He hesitated, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "Some push too hard," he said finally. "They think this world works like the stories they know, the games they’ve played, and they get themselves killed chasing glory or riches or revenge. Others…" He paused, his gaze drifting back to the fire. "Some of them just can’t live in a world like this. A do-or-die world. It breaks them."
The words hung in the air, heavy and unshakable.
"But," he added, turning back to me, "I’ve heard of a few—very few—that make it. The ones who survive? They’re great. Legends, even. They don’t just survive—they take off in a full sprint and never look back."
"Why?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Because you don’t see the limitations the rest of us see," Sid said. "You’re not bound by the same rules—not in your head, at least. You try things we wouldn’t. You take risks we’d never think to take. It’s rare, but when one of your kind survives, they go on to do things no one here can."
I stared at him, the weight of his words settling over me. "Is that why you gave me a chance?"
He nodded slowly. "Yeah. Honestly? By normal standards, you would’ve failed your test. You’re not strong enough yet, not skilled enough. But I gave you a chance because I wanted to see if you were different. And you proved me right."
"How?"
Sid’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles. "You saved me," he said simply. "When you could’ve saved yourself, you turned back. You saw the bigger picture, and because of that, you kept us all alive. That’s not something most people would do."
I didn’t know what to say to that. The idea of being "different" felt strange—like a weight I hadn’t asked for. But at the same time, it felt… right.
Sid leaned back against the log, his expression softening slightly. "You’ve got a long way to go, kid. But you’ve got what it takes. Keep pushing, and you might just prove those stories right."
I nodded, staring into the fire again. The grief in my chest hadn’t lessened, but Sid’s words gave me something to hold onto.
Maybe I wasn’t ready for this world yet. But I would be. One way or another, I would be.