Sloco adjusted the weight of the iron report under his arm as he and Percil made their way down the rocky path from the mine. The sun hung lower now, stretching the trees into long shadows. The air smelled of earth and metal.

“I still don’t see why this couldn’t wait,” he muttered.

“Because Gor’il said it couldn’t.” Percil’s tone was practical, but not unsympathetic.

Sloco exhaled sharply through his nose. “Right. Of course. When the great leader speaks, we all jump.”

Percil glanced at him. “You know, if you stopped criticizing him for five minutes, people might—”

“I want to leave Camp Barkat.”

His words stopped Percil mid-step. She blinked at him. “What?”

Sloco kept walking, eyes forward. “I want to go on an expedition. Like my parents did.”

Silence stretched between them. He knew what she was thinking—like his parents, who never came back.

“Sloco…”

“I know.” He cut her off before she could say it. “I know what happened to them. But I don’t want to sit here and just—just exist. I want to see what’s out there. Maybe even find them.”

“Or find their graves.” Percil’s voice was quiet.

Sloco swallowed. He wouldn’t say it out loud, but he’d already accepted that possibility. Maybe he needed to see it with his own eyes.

“Either way,” he said, “I want to see if there’s a place out there where people come first. Where war isn’t the only thing that matters.”

Percil exhaled through her nose, shaking her head. “And here I thought you wanted a normal life.”

Sloco smirked. “Wouldn’t suit me, would it?”

They walked in silence for a while, the weight of the conversation settling over them like the cool evening air.

As they neared the treeline, voices broke through the quiet. The woodcutters were gathered near the edge of the forest, their axes resting against tree stumps. When they saw Sloco, a few of them crossed their arms.

“Well, well, look who’s back.” Garan, the broad-shouldered man from earlier, leaned against a freshly cut log. “Hope you enjoyed your little jog, Sloco.”

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Yeah,” another woodcutter grumbled. “We sure enjoyed cutting your trees for you.”

Laughter rippled through the group, but it wasn’t mean-spirited. Sloco rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah. Right. Thanks for that.”

Garan huffed. “Not doing it again, you hear me?” Then, after a pause, he smirked. “Unless, of course, you start paying us for it.”

More chuckles. Sloco shook his head with a grin.

“You’d be lucky to get a single coin from me.”

“Ha! Kid doesn’t even have a single coin.”

Sloco rolled his eyes, but his chest felt lighter. He might frustrate them, but he knew they’d never truly leave him behind.

The warmth, however, faded when they stepped into Camp Barkat.

It was subtle, but it was there—the shift in posture, the averted gazes, the way people talked just a little quieter when he passed.

Sloco wasn’t hated, not exactly. But he was that person. The one who always questioned, always argued, always challenged Gor’il’s decisions. And in a camp where survival depended on unity, that made him an outsider.

And then, as if summoned by thought alone, Gor’il appeared.

He stood near the central fire pit, speaking with a few council members. When he saw Sloco and Percil, he dismissed them with a nod and approached.

Sloco straightened his shoulders. He had expected tension, maybe an argument. Instead, Gor’il simply said:

“I assume you have the report.”

Sloco hesitated, then handed it over. “Yeah. All there.”

Gor’il flipped through the pages, his eyes scanning the numbers. “Good.” A pause. “Thank you.”

Sloco blinked. “What?”

Gor’il raised an eyebrow. “I said thank you.”

Sloco narrowed his eyes. “Since when do you thank me for anything?”

“Since you did something useful instead of complaining.”

Sloco’s fists clenched, but Gor’il’s tone wasn’t mocking. Just… practical. Direct.

“You have potential, Sloco,” Gor’il said. “But you waste it fighting battles that don’t need to be fought.”

Sloco’s jaw tightened. “Not wanting people to suffer isn’t a waste.”

Gor’il nodded, as if he expected that answer. “Maybe. But I don’t have the luxury of thinking like you do. We lost our home once. We won’t lose another.”

He turned to leave, then paused. “Try to sleep tonight, Sloco. You might need the energy.”

And just like that, he was gone.

Sloco let out a slow breath. That was… not what he expected.

Percil nudged him. “You okay?”

Sloco shrugged. “I don’t know.”

They walked home in the dimming light, passing the wooden houses that made up the camp. Their own was small but sturdy, nestled near the trees. It wasn’t much, but it was home.

As they stepped inside, Percil stretched her arms. “Long day.”

Sloco nodded.

Then, after a pause, Percil said, “If you go… should I go with you?”

Sloco looked at her. She wasn’t joking.

For a long moment, he didn’t answer.

Because he didn’t know.