Chapter 12: Through Broken Stone, Bound by Steel.

The air was heavy with the scent of stone and earth.

Soren slumped against a cracked wall, his back pressing into the jagged surface. His katana slipped from his fingers and clattered to the ground beside him, the sound echoing faintly in the cavernous ruins. Dust floated lazily in the faint beams of light that filtered through the broken ceiling above. His breaths were shallow, his chest rising and falling as if each inhale was a struggle. The ache in his muscles reminded him just how close the fight with the beast had come to ending in disaster.

He tilted his head back, eyes staring blankly at the fractured stone above. His mind drifted, replaying the battle in vivid, merciless detail.

The Beast.

It had been faster than anything he’d fought before—relentless and impossibly strong. Every strike felt like a gamble, the creature’s crystalline hide deflecting most of his efforts. The memory of his katana biting into the beast’s shoulder, only to slide off without leaving more than a scratch, burned in his mind. He had been forced to fight closer than he preferred, every step forward putting him in greater danger.

His grip tightened involuntarily as he thought of the final moments of the battle: the frantic rush to dodge, the roar that had echoed through the ruins, the crushing weight of knowing that one mistake would have cost him everything.

The katana had always been reliable—sharp,precise, and deadly in close quarters. But against something like that beast. It might as well have been a dull blade. His mind replayed the battle, the sheer size and ferocity of the beast forcing him to rely on speed and precision. Yet even then, he’d struggled to keep the monster at bay. The chain he carried had given him some distance, its versatility saving him in a pinch, but it was still too short to truly keep danger at arm’s length. A desperate move, not a decisive one.

The escrimas? Useless. They were meant for quick, fluid strikes up close, their steel edges incapable of delivering the bone-crushing force he needed against something so massive. And while the katana gave him a little more reach, it was nowhere near enough to match the power or size of his enemy. Every strike had been calculated, and still, it felt like he was barely keeping up.

What he needed was something different. Something with range. Something heavy enough to stagger or stop a beast in its tracks—a weapon that could break through even the toughest defenses. His mind churned through possibilities, the seeds of an idea taking root.

But then his thoughts shifted, darker and sharper than the edge of his blade.

His jaw clenched as the memory of his companions retreating flickered in his mind. They had left—abandoned him and Ayola to fend for themselves. Soren wanted to be logical, to chalk it up to fear or desperation, but the sting of betrayal gnawed at him. Did they truly think so little of him? Of her? His chest tightened, anger flaring briefly before subsiding into a cold, quiet determination.

The thought of her brought a strange mix of emotions. Her calm in the chaos, the sharpness of her eyes as she calculated her next move—it had been infuriatingly impressive. Soren couldn’t decide if she was reckless or brilliant, but he had to admit she’d proven herself capable. He wondered if she felt the same betrayal he did or if she’d already made her peace with it.

The ache in his muscles was a dull roar as he sat there, lost in thought. A faint crunch of debris underfoot dragged him back to the present.

“You look like shit.”

The voice startled him, and his hand shot to his katana, pulling it halfway from its sheath as his eyes snapped to the source.

Standing in the broken archway was Ayola, dust clinging to her clothes and streaking her face. Her arms were crossed, and she regarded him with a smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Relax, samurai,” she said, raising her hands in mock surrender. “Unless you’re planning to finish me off too?”

Soren exhaled sharply, sliding the katana back into its sheath. “I could’ve killed you.”

“Could’ve, but you didn’t.” Ayola smirked, stepping fully into the room, her posture unshaken despite the dust clinging to her clothes. “Didn’t expect to find you sitting down on the job. Don’t tell me you’re worn out from that?”

Soren gave her a flat look, though the corner of his mouth twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile. “You’ve got impeccable timing, as always.”

Ayola walked closer, her sharp eyes scanning him briefly. “Looks like you survived, though you don’t exactly look like a winner.” Her gaze flicked to the katana at his side. “Taking a break already?”

Soren picked up the weapon, resting it across his knees as he straightened against the wall. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous habit,” she teased, but her tone was gentler now. She crouched down, pulling a small notebook from her pouch and flipping it open. “Well, while you were over here brooding, I’ve been busy. Found some interesting things back there, but I’ll save the details for when we’re not sitting in a pile of rubble.”

Soren arched a brow, curiosity flickering across his features. “Like what?”

Ayola snapped the notebook shut, tucking it back into her pouch with a grin. “Later. First, let’s make sure the ceiling doesn’t fall on us.”

Soren pushed himself to his feet, wincing as the motion sent a sharp pain through his side. He gripped his katana tightly, his expression hardening as he shook off the lingering thoughts of betrayal.

“Lead the way,” he said, his voice steady.

Ayola gave him a mock salute before turning toward the nearest exit. “Try to keep up.”

As they moved, the ruins seemed to close in around them, the echoes of the past battle still lingering in the air. But for now, they had a clear goal: find a way out and regroup.

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The ruins stretched out like the skeleton of a forgotten world, crumbling walls and moss-covered arches hinting at a civilization long past. The air hung thick and still, heavy with the weight of secrets buried in stone. Faint beams of light broke through cracks in the vaulted ceiling, their golden glow catching on the dust motes that swirled lazily in the gloom.

Soren leaned against the jagged edge of a broken pillar, exhaling slowly as he adjusted the grip on his katana. His body ached from the earlier fight, but he forced himself to stay sharp. His gaze swept the chamber, scanning for any signs of movement. The silence was unsettling, though it was preferable to the chaos they’d left behind.

Ayola, on the other hand, appeared unbothered. She stood a few paces away, her fingers tracing the intricate carvings etched into the base of a massive stone column. Her head tilted slightly as she studied the runes, a faint frown pulling at her lips.

“Not exactly the outcome I was expecting,” Soren muttered, breaking the silence.

Without looking up, Ayola replied, her tone dry. “You mean the part where our so-called allies bolted and left us for dead? Or the part where you tried to take on that oversized pigeon solo?”

Soren’s lips twitched into a smirk despite himself. “Oversized pigeon? That’s what you’re calling it?”

“Better than whatever nightmare fuel it actually was,” she shot back, finally turning to face him. Her eyes gleamed with amusement, though her posture remained guarded.

The faint hint of levity didn’t last. As her gaze shifted back to the pillar, her expression grew thoughtful. “These runes…” she began, almost to herself. “They’re older than anything I’ve seen before.”

Soren stepped closer, his katana resting lightly at his side. He followed her gaze, though the carvings meant little to him. “And that matters why?”

Ayola’s finger traced a series of overlapping symbols, her brow furrowing. “Because this isn’t just decoration. Look here—this pattern repeats, almost like a map. If I’m right, this could lead to…”

“More trouble,” Soren finished, cutting her off. “We’ve had enough of that for one day.”

She gave him a sidelong glance, unimpressed by his lack of curiosity. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re a walking encyclopedia,” he retorted, though there was no bite in his tone.

Ayola paused, reaching into her pouch to retrieve the object that had captured her attention during the chaos earlier. As she pulled it out, a faint orange glow illuminated her face, the dim light casting intricate patterns on the walls around them. The object was a smooth, hand-sized orb, its surface textured like polished stone yet seeming almost alive. It gave off an otherworldly warmth, like a pulse of energy waiting to be unlocked.

Soren leaned closer, his katana still in hand, his expression unreadable. “That’s what was holding that thing back? ” he asked, the edge of his tone sharp.

Ayola turned the orb over in her hands, her gaze locked on the intricate design etched into its surface. Encircling the magatama-shaped crystals were fine, interwoven patterns that spiraled outward in delicate, concentric rings.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, her finger tracing the delicate patterns. The symbols, though faint, were unmistakably purposeful—lines meeting at sharp angles, curling into spirals, and weaving together as if forming some ancient script.

Soren tilted his head, studying it with a skeptical frown. “Looks more like someone got carried away with a carving knife.”

“It’s more than that. This material—it’s not metal, stone, or anything natural. It’s like…” She hesitated, searching for the right words.

“Mystical.”

Soren raised an eyebrow. “Mystical? You’ve been reading too many folktales.”

She shot him a sharp glance. “I’m serious. This isn’t just some rock.”

Soren gestured at the orb, now dim and inert, its once-glowing surface dull and lifeless. “Now it’s just a rock,” Soren muttered gesturing to the orb’s lifeless surface. “Whatever magic it? Dead the moment you pulled it.”

Ayola tightened her grip on the orb, running her fingers over the intricate inscriptions. The weight of it felt heavier than its size should allow.

“The glow doesn’t matter. The energy that was in this thing—it’s still here, just… locked away. I can feel it.”

He raised an eyebrow, his skepticism clear. “Feel it? Ayola, the ruins went dark the second you touched it. If anything, it feels like this thing broke something.”

She didn’t flinch at his words, though her jaw tightened. “If it did, it means whatever was holding this place together wasn’t meant to last. But think about it—why would it stop glowing only after we took it? Whatever this is, it’s not just decoration.”

Soren crossed his arms, his gaze flicking between Ayola and the orb. “Alright, let’s say I humor you for a second. Let’s say it is important. It didn’t exactly save us from that beast, did it? I had to get close just to keep it off us.”

“It left, though,” Ayola countered, her tone steady but pointed. “Maybe not because of this, but you can’t deny it happened after I grabbed it. What if it worked without us even realizing it?”

Soren frowned, the memory of the beast retreating flashing in his mind. It didn’t sit right with him, but it was hard to ignore the timing. “Fine. Let’s say I kind of believe you. What are we supposed to do with it now? It’s not glowing, it’s missing a piece, and unless it starts doing tricks, it’s just a fancy paperweight.”

“For now,” Ayola said firmly, slipping the orb back into her pouch, “we don’t leave it behind. Whatever it is, it’s connected to all of this—the ruins, the beast, maybe even the energy that powered this place. We need answers.”

Soren sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Great. Add ‘mysterious inert orb’ to the list of things I have to lose sleep over.”

Ayola didn’t respond immediately, her focus still on the orb as they resumed walking. The silence stretched between them, filled only by the faint scuff of their boots against the crumbling stone. Soren’s mind replayed the events of the past few hours—the beast, the betrayal, and now this strange artifact Ayola was so adamant about keeping. He wanted to dismiss it, but the gnawing uncertainty wouldn’t let him.

“You’re really convinced it’s worth the trouble, aren’t you?” he asked finally, his tone quieter than before.

Ayola glanced at him, her expression steady. “I don’t know if it’s worth the trouble,” she admitted. “But I think it’s worth figuring out before someone else does.”

Soren grunted in response, his skepticism still lingering as they left the darkened ruins behind. For all the danger and mystery the orb seemed to represent, he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were carrying something far more complicated than they understood.

Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter than before. “About earlier… thanks for not leaving.”

Ayola glanced back at him, one eyebrow arched. “Oh? So you do know how to show gratitude?”

“Don’t push it,” he muttered, his usual stoicism faltering as he rubbed the back of his neck.

A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Noted.”

“But I mean it,” he added, his tone more sincere now. “You could’ve bolted like the rest of them, and… I appreciate it.”

She hesitated, her expression softening. Then she shrugged, her voice lighter. “I don’t make a habit of leaving people behind. Besides,

someone has to make sure you don’t get yourself killed.”

Soren smirked faintly. “You’re welcome,” she added after a beat, her tone quiet but genuine.

The chamber they entered next opened into a vast space, its grandeur stealing their breath. Towering columns stretched toward a ceiling lost in shadows, while vines and moss crept along cracked stone.

Soren stopped at the edge of the chamber, his eyes scanning the surroundings. “We could head back to the guild… if they haven’t already written us off as dead.”

Ayola frowned, her fingers brushing the edge of her pouch. “You think they’d even bother? They left us for dead. Why go back?”

His jaw tightened, his tone cold. “To remind them we’re not so easy to get rid of.”

Her expression softened, but her voice remained firm. “Soren, it’s not just that. Even if we wanted to go back, it’d take time—time we don’t

have if we’re lost out here. They’d be weaker too. They’ve got injured members, and they’ll be down in watch rotation. That makes them vulnerable. We’re not exactly in fighting shape either.”

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

Soren cut her off with a raised hand, his tone clipped but weary. “Okay, okay. I get it. We’ll figure it out. But right now? Let’s just keep moving. I’m tired.”

Ayola smirked faintly at his sudden shift in tone. “You’re not the only one.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of their situation pressing down like the ruins themselves. Soren took a deep breath, his grip tightening on his katana. “The sooner we’re out of here, the better.”

Ayola nodded, slipping her pouch securely beneath her cloak. “Agreed. And Soren?”

He glanced at her, one brow raised.

“Do me a favor—drop the brooding act”

Despite himself, Soren smirked. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

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The crumbled ruins disappeared into the growing shadows behind them. The air shifted—damn and cool, heavy with the scent of moss and earth. The forest ahead felt alive, a stark contrast to the deathly stillness they had left.

Soren adjusted the strap of his katana, his gaze sweeping the unfamiliar terrain. They moved cautiously, the undergrowth thick and uneven beneath their feet. Time stretched in silence, the oppressive quiet between them broken only by the steady rhythm of their footsteps. Every now and then, Ayola would pause to glance at the relic tucked away in her pouch, the faint glow that once illuminated its surface now dim and lifeless.

“That thing’s not going to suddenly light up and save us, is it?” Soren asked, breaking the silence. His tone was a mix of sarcasm and lingering curiosity.

“Not unless it decides to break its sulking spell,” Ayola replied, her voice dry. “Right now, it’s as useful as a paperweight.”

Soren snorted, shaking his head. “Figures.”

The path ahead was marked by twisted roots and towering trees, their canopy so thick it filtered out most of the waning light. The forest seemed endless, the silence heavier now than it had been in the ruins. Soren’s muscles ached from the strain of earlier battles, but he pressed on without complaint, his grip tightening on the hilt of his weapon.

A sudden noise shattered the stillness—a muffled voice carried on the wind, rough and laced with laughter. Soren froze mid-step, his arm instinctively shooting out to stop Ayola.

“You hear that?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Ayola tilted her head, listening. The faint sound of gruff voices echoed again, followed by a muted thud. She exchanged a glance with Soren, her expression sharp.

“Looks like we’re not as alone as we thought,” she murmured.

Soren’s jaw tightened as he nodded. “Stay close,” he said, his voice low. Together, they moved toward the source of the sound, their steps deliberate and silent against the damp earth.

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They crept forward, careful to keep themselves concealed behind the thick undergrowth. The night’s shadows pressed heavily around them, broken only by faint slivers of moonlight that filtered through the dense canopy above. Through the gaps in the brush, Soren and Ayola caught sight of the commotion ahead.

Two men loomed over a small figure on the ground. The first man was bulky and broad-shouldered, his patchy beard catching the faint light. He had an unkempt look, with mismatched armor that clinked faintly whenever he moved. His companion, taller and wiry, stood a little farther back, lazily spinning a crude dagger in his hand. Both carried an air of smug confidence, the kind that came from knowing their victim couldn’t fight back.

The figure beneath them was small and huddled, curled into a protective ball. It was hard to tell much in the low light, but the boy—Soren guessed he was no older than twelve or thirteen—was motionless save for the shallow rise and fall of his back. His arms were wrapped tightly around his head, and his silence was unnerving.

“Not even gonna scream, huh?” the bulky man sneered, his voice grating and filled with disdain. He kicked at the boy’s side, his boot connecting with a dull, sickening thud. “You’re either brave or just plain stupid.”

The wiry man chuckled, twirling his dagger faster. “Doesn’t matter what he is. Boss said he wants him back, and we’re getting paid either way.” He stopped spinning the blade and let it rest in his hand, glancing at his companion. “Just don’t break him too much. Bruises are fine, but Boss’ll dock us if he’s too messed up to work.”

The bulkier man barked a laugh, looking down at the boy with disdain. “These tribal brats are tough. Probably been crawling through the woods since he could walk. He’ll bounce back.”

The wiry man scratched the back of his neck, his gaze shifting uneasily to the trees. “Speaking of crawling through the woods… I gotta take a piss.”

“Go on, then,” the bulkier man grunted, cracking his knuckles. “I’ll keep an eye on our little runner here. Not like he’s going anywhere.”

The wiry man chuckled and disappeared into the trees, his footsteps crunching softly on the forest floor. The remaining man sighed heavily, kicking at the dirt and muttering under his breath as he leaned lazily against a tree. “Stupid job,” he grumbled. “Why do I always get stuck with the brats?”

From their cover, Soren’s knuckles tightened on his katana hilt. “I’ve had enough of this,” he muttered, shifting his weight forward.

Ayola caught his arm, stopping him. “Wait,” she whispered sharply. “Let the other one come back first. It’s easier when they’re together.”

Soren’s frustration was evident, but he exhaled quietly and nodded. “Fine,” he said. “But make it quick.”

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The wiry man chuckled as he stepped toward the treeline, undoing his belt with one hand while still spinning his dagger with the other. “Don’t get too cozy,” he called back over his shoulder. “If I catch you slacking off when I’m gone, you’re buying the first round tonight.”

The bulkier man grunted, his posture slackening slightly against the tree. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, kicking at the dirt with disinterest. “Like I don’t already carry your sorry ass enough.”

The wiry man snorted in response, disappearing behind a thick tree. For a few moments, the clearing was quiet save for the faint sound of water hitting leaves. From their cover, Soren tensed, his fingers curling tighter around his katana’s hilt.

“Let’s move” Ayola murmured, but Soren shook his head, pointing to the wiry man still half-visible through the foliage. “Not yet,” he whispered. “Wait until he’s distracted.”

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As the wiry man finished his business, he adjusted his belt and began walking back. “So anyway,” he called out lazily, “I was thinking—after this gig, we hit that tavern in Grayblade’s Reach. They’ve got those fried dumplings you like. You know the ones—crispy edges, soft middles”

He trailed off, frowning as he approached his companion, who hadn’t moved from his position against the tree. ‘Oi,’ he barked, louder this time. “You asleep on your feet, or what?”

When the bulkier man didn’t respond, the wiry mercenary’s steps faltered. “Hey,” he tried again, a nervous edge creeping into his voice. He crept closer, his dagger now drawn and held tightly in his fist. “Quit screwing around.”

The wiry man reached out hesitantly, touching his partner’s shoulder. His companion slumped forward with an unsettling weight, revealing the crude charcoal markings scrawled across his face. His wrists and ankles were bound, and his head lolled to the side, completely unconscious.

The wiry man stumbled back with a curse, eyes darting wildly around the clearing. “What the”— was all he managed before a sharp sound broke through the quiet—a whisper of movement followed by the solid thud of Soren’s fist connecting with his jaw.

The wiry mercenary crumpled to the ground, his dagger clattering uselessly beside him. Ayola emerged from the shadows moments later, shaking her head. “Still alive,” she muttered, crouching to check his pulse. “That makes things easier.”

Soren knelt to secure the wiry man’s wrists and ankles with a length of rope, glancing at Ayola. “You take care of the kid.” he said quietly, nodding toward the huddled figure nearby.

She nodded, her attention shifting to the huddled figure on the ground. Now that they were closer, the boy’s features became clearer. His skin was a deep bronze, and his hair was cropped short. He wore a simple tunic, though it was torn and dirtied. Dark, wiry hair clung to his forehead, dam with sweat, and his face, though streaked ewith grim, bore sharp, angular features. Despite his silence during the beating, his dark eyes burned with a quiet defiance as he peeked cautiously from beneath his arms.

“Can’t have them waking up and trying something stupid,” he muttered as he yanked the knot tight.

A few feet away, Ayola knelt in front of the boy, her expression torn between cautious curiousity and awkwardness. The boy remained still, his posture guarded, his liberated yourself you have dark eyes watching her every move with an unnerving calm.

“Hey,” Ayola began, her tone uncharacteristically soft, thought it wavered as she spoke. “You’re safe now. We’re not going to hurt you.” She gestured toward herself and then toward Soren, her movements exaggerated as though speaking to someone who might not understand her.

“Friends. Got it? Friends.”

The boy didn’t react, his expression unchanging.

Soren smirked as he moved to secure the second mercenary. “You’re terrible with kids, you know that?”

Ayola shot him a glare. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know we were grading social skills today.”

Ayola tried again, her tone growing more frustrated as she waved a hand toward the boy. “Look, we need to know if he’s hurt or if he knows anything about those guys.” She pointed at the tied-up mercenaries for emphasis.

“What if he doesn’t even speak our language?”

Soren, leaning casually against a tree now that his work was done, folded his arms. “Maybe if you didn’t treat him like a toddler, we’d get somewhere.”

Ayola scoffed, spinning to face him. “Oh, and you’d do better? Go ahead, Mr. Expert.”

Soren raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying her frustration. “Fine.” he crouched down in front of the boy, resting his forearms on his knees.

“Hey, kid. You alright?”

The boy blinked at him. Nothing.

“Great job, Soren,” Ayola deadpanned, folding her arms.

“Relax. I’m warming up” He cleared his throat, trying again. “Do you understand us? Understand?”

Still no response.

“Brilliant performance,” Ayola quipped.

“Like you were doing any better,” Soren snapped back.

The boy’s eyes flicked between them as they continued to bicker, his expression as flat as ever.

Before either of them could say more, a faint groan cut through the tension. One of the mercenaries stirred, his head rolling slightly as his eyes blinked groggily. Ayola tensed immediately, her hand darting to the dagger at her side. Soren, alert in an instant, his katana sliding from it’s sheathed with a quiet, menacing hiss.

The mercenary's gaze darted between the boy and his captors, he began to shift against his restraints. His fingers fumbled toward the concealed knife in his boot, but Ayola’s hand moved faster. Her dagger flashed through the air, slicing a thin line across the man’s neck—not deep enough to kill, but sharp enough to draw blood and a choking gasp from him.

“Try anything, and the next one’s not a warning,” she said, her voice as cold as the blade she held steady.

The mercenary stiffen, his breathing shallow as Ayola blade pressed against his neck. Sore and stepped closer, katana, resting lightly at his side, his expression unreadable.

“You’re going to tell us everything,” Soren said, his tone low and dangerous. “And I’m not in the mood to play games.”

The mercenary blinked up at him, his expression shifting between fear and defiance. “You think I’m scared of ya?” he spat, though the quiver in his voice betrayed him. “Go ahead. Kill me if you wanna, but I ain’t talkin’

Soren stared at him for a long beat, his grip tightening slightly on the hold of his katana. His jaw clenched, the weariness of the day pulling at his patience like a weight on his shoulders. He didn’t have time for this—not after everything he’s been through. His body ached, his muscles screamed, and all he wanted to was to stop dealing with one problem after another.

Ayola shot him a quick glance, her brows knitting together. “Soren—”

“Save it.” He muttered, cutting her off. His hand shifted, and before the mercenary could react, the hold of his katana slammed into the side of his temple with a sickened thud. The man crumpled instantly, his body slipping forward in a heap.

“What the hell,Soren?!” Ayola hissed, stepping back as she sheathed her dagger. “We could’ve gotten something out of him”

“And I could've wasted the next ten minutes listening to him play tough guy,”Soren shot back, his tone clipped and laced with irritation. He exhaled sharply. “I’m done playing games, Ayola. We’ve been running and fighting all damn day, and I'm not about to let this idiot make it worse.”

Ayola folded her arms, regarding him with a mixture of exasperation and concern “You could’ve atleast—”

“No,” Soren interrupted, his voice softer now but no less resolute. “I’m done.”

Ayola threw up her hands. “And now we can’t make him talk.”

Soren smirked faintly, leaning casually on his weapon. “Guess we’ll have to figure it out the old-fashioned way.”

Before the boy could speak, Soren crouched beside one of the unconscious mercenaries. He patted down the man’s pockets with practiced efficiency, pulling out a small pouch with a faint jingle. His fingers deftly loosened the drawstring to reveal several coins—simple, circular pieces with holes in the center. He held them up to the faint moonlight, inspecting their colors.

“Doba,” he muttered, counting the small stack. “A few coppers, a couple tens… not much, but enough to get by.” He slipped the coins into his own pouch without hesitation.

Ayola, now standing near the boy, crossed her arms and frowned. “Really? Looting unconscious guys? That’s your move?”

Soren glanced up at her, his expression unreadable. “They were beating on a kid, Ayola. And you’re worried about highway robbery?”

The boy, still seated on the ground, watched them with quiet interest, his eyes flicking between Soren’s hands and Ayola’s disapproving glare.

“It’s not about being worried,” Ayola shot back. “It’s about having standards.”

“Standards,” Soren repeated, raising an eyebrow as he reached into the mercenary’s vest and pulled out a thin, metal tag attached to a frayed cord. The engraved plate bore the mercenary’s identification: name, rank, and the insignia of a guild.

He held the tag up for Ayola to see. “Looks like they’re from the Grayblade Mercenary Guild.”

Ayola leaned closer, her sharp eyes scanning the engraved plate. She snatched the tag from Soren’s hand,holding it up to the faint light. “Grayblade,” she said, her tone cutting.

“They’re not small-time. This isn’t some random gang of slavers.”

As Ayola spoke, Soren crouched beside the second mercenary, rifling through his belongings.

“You’re telling me hired muscles are now babysitting slavers?

The white hair tactician pursed her lips. She tossed the tag back to Soren. “More like they’re desperate. Or hiding something. Grayblade doesn’t dirty their hands unless there's a serious coin—or someone pulling strings. Either way, this isn’t their style.”

Soren pocketed the tag alongside the coins. “Guess we’re dealing with a different kind of professional.”

“Or amateurs trying to act professional.” Ayola countered. Her tone sharpened as her gaze flicked towards the tied up mercenaries.

“If this is Grayblade’s doing, its either off the books or they’re running scared. Either way, it stinks.”

“These guys really need a raise.” The swordsman muttered, pocketing the coppers.

The boy remained silent, seated several feet away. His posture was still, but his sharp gaze flitted between Soren and Ayola, watching every movement with precision.

Makori’s fingers curled lightly over his knees, his grip tense. His dark eyes lingered on the tags Soren pocketed, then darted toward Ayola as she adjusted the strap of her weapon. Ayola noticed his gaze lingering on the tag Soren had pocketed. She crouched slightly, turning to face the boy.

“Like what you see?” She asked, her voice low but pointed.

The boy didn’t flinch, his sharp eyes meeting hers.

“I don't think he trusts us,” Ayola stated.“Smart kid. Probably trying to decide if we’re any better than them.”

Soren looked up briefly, his tone dismissive. “We are.”

Her lips curled into a smirk but her gaze didn’t waver from the boy. “Are we? Looting unconscious mercenaries doesn’t scream good guys.”

The boy’s lip twitched, but he remained silent. Ayola tilted her head, her voice softening. “You've been watching us. Judging. That’s smart. Careful.” She rose to her full height, arms crossed.

“So have you decided? Are we worth talking to?”

The boy tilted his head slightly, his calm expression unchanging. Finally, he spoke, his voice quiet but steady. “Are you done?”

Soren froze mid-motion, his hand still halfway into the mercenary’s pocket. His head snapped toward the boy, and Ayola’s expression shifted from irritation to disbelief.

“You could’ve just asked me,” the boy continued, standing and brushing dirt off his tunic. Though his voice was soft, his words carried an edge of dry humor. “I understand you just fine.”

Soren blinked, his fingers still gripping the small bag of coins. “Hold up—you can talk?”

The boy gave him a flat look. “You didn’t ask.”

Ayola groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable.”

The boy stood slowly, brushing dirt off his tunic. “I dont trust you.”

“Kid,” Soren said, slipping the last coin into his pouch and standing with a shrug, “you’ll learn that the world doesn’t run on morals. It runs on Doba. And these guys don’t need it anymore.”

The boy’s lips twitched in what might have been the start of a smile, though his face quickly returned to its guarded neutrality. “Fair enough.”

Ayola sighed. “Great. Now that we’ve established Soren’s a moral black hole, can we get back to the part where you explain what the hell is going on?”

“You’re good at this, Makori said, his voice cutting through the quiet. Ayola’s sharp gaze fixed on him, but there was no malice in his tone.

“Efficient.”

Soren straightened, dusting off his hands. “We try.

Ayola’s expression softened, though her voice stayed firm. “What’s your deal, kid? You’ve been silent this whole time—now you’ve got something to say?

“You didn’t hurt me, and you didn’t kill them. That’s more than they would’ve done for you.”

Soren’s eyebrow twitched and Ayola shot him a look. “Smart and observant. Keep that up—it might keep you alive.”

The boy hesitated, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Soren. For a moment, it seemed like he wouldn’t answer. Then, his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, and he spoke.

“They’re part of a group… a camp nearby. They’ve been taking people from my village. For labor, I think. They tried to take me too, but I got away.” His tone was measured, as though recounting a story that wasn’t entirely his own.

Ayola exchanged a glance with Soren, her brow furrowing. “How far is this camp?”

The boy pointed to the east, deeper into the forest. “Not far. A few hours, maybe. But it’s dangerous. They have more people—lots of them.”

Soren exhaled through his nose, muttering under his breath, “Perfect.” He could already feel the fatigue creeping into his muscles from the day’s events.

Ayola, ever the pragmatist, crossed her arms and studied the boy carefully. “Why didn’t you just run back to your village?”

The boy’s expression darkened, a shadow of frustration flickering across his face. “Because I didn’t want them to follow me there. It’s safer to lead them somewhere else.”

Soren’s brow lifted slightly, and he nodded, impressed. “Smart”

The boy didn’t respond, his gaze flickering between them with a wariness that hadn’t yet eased.

Ayola crouched to his level, her tone lighter but still firm. “Look, we’re not going to hurt you. You’ve probably figured that out by now. My name’s Ayola.” She gestured toward Soren with a faint smirk. “And this is my charming companion, Soren. He might look grumpy, but he’s alright. Most of the time.”

Soren snorted faintly but didn’t interrupt. “And you?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “Got a name, or should we just call you ‘kid’?”

The boy hesitated again, then finally relented. “Makori.”

“Alright, Makori,” Soren said, standing back up and stretching his legs. “You hungry? Thirsty?”

Makori blinked, the guarded look in his eyes softening for the first time. “A little.”

“Figures,” Soren muttered, reaching for his pack and pulling out a small piece of dried meat. He handed it to Makori, who took it cautiously but didn’t eat right away.

Ayola’s amber eyes softened as she watched Makori nibble on the food, his small frame still tense but beginning to relax. She glanced at

Soren, who gave a faint shrug as if to say, Your turn.

“So,” Ayola began again, keeping her voice steady, “What’s the situation with your village? You said these guys were taking people for labor. How long has this been going on?”

Makori nibbled cautiously on the strip of dried meat, his small hands trembling ever so slightly as he held the food. Up close, the boy’s appearance was even more striking. His skin, marked by faint scratches and bruises, bore the story of his time in the wilderness. His eyes, deep and watchful, darted between Soren and Ayola, their sharpness tempered only by the faintest flicker of relief. A small, jagged scar trailed down the side of his neck, disappearing beneath the torn collar of his tunic. Despite his apparent hunger, Makori ate methodically, each movement careful and measured, as though he feared wasting even a crumb.

“It started a few months ago. First, one or two people went missing during hunts. Then more. At first, we thought it was the forest—predators, accidents. But then we started finding signs. Tracks. Camps.” He paused, his hand tightening slightly around the piece of meat. “They take anyone they can. Men, women… even kids.”

Ayola’s jaw tightened, and her gaze flicked to Soren, whose expression had darkened.

“How many people are left in your village?” Soren asked, his voice quieter now.

Makori hesitated. “We’ve got just enough to keep watch… but not fight.”

Ayola leaned back on her heels, her arms crossed. “If this camp is only a few hours away, we could scout it out. Maybe figure out how many of them there are, what kind of operation they’re running.”

Soren groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “You mean after we’ve been running and fighting all day? Sure, why not? Sounds like a great time.”

Ayola rolled her eyes. “I didn’t say right this second. But we can’t just let this go, Soren. You heard him.”

Soren sighed, glancing at Makori. The boy met his gaze steadily, his expression unreadable but no longer as hostile.

“Fine,” Soren said at last. “But first, we’re going to need some rest. And I mean real rest, not just sitting around until another group of idiots

shows up.”

Makori nodded, finishing the last of the food Soren had given him. “There’s a place nearby. Safe, I think. I can take you there.”

Ayola arched an eyebrow. “Safe, huh? Considering how we found you, forgive me if I’m a little skeptical.”

Makori shrugged. “It’s hidden. They don’t know about it.”

“Good enough for me,” Soren said, slinging his pack over his shoulder. He glanced at Ayola. “Let’s move. The sooner we’re out of this area,

the better.”

Makori nodded, finishing the last of the food Soren had given him. “There’s a place nearby. Safe, I think. I can take you there.”

Ayola arched an eyebrow. “Safe, huh? Considering how we found you, forgive me if I’m a little skeptical.”

Makori shrugged, his expression faintly amused. “It’s hidden. They don’t know about it.”

“Good enough for me,” Soren said, slinging his pack over his shoulder. He glanced at Ayola. “Let’s move. The sooner we’re out of this area, the better.”

Ayola let out a deep sigh, gesturing toward the boy with an exaggerated flourish. “All right, genius. What now? You’re calling the shots, apparently.”

Makori’s lips twitched into a faint smile—almost a smirk—as he pointed toward the east. “I’ll take you to my village. It’s safer there. But we need to move before more of them show up.”

Makori led the way, his steps careful but steady. Ayola fell in behind him, her sharp gaze flicking between the boy and the shadows of the forest.

Soren glanced at Ayola, who shrugged. “You think he’s leading us to safety?”

Ayola smirked faintly, her voice low. “Guess we’ll find out.”

The woods stretched ahead, dark, and alive as the trio disappeared into the growing shadow.