The road from Timber Falls wound through a valley lined with towering pines, their branches whispering secrets to the wind. Julius Johnson Jr. cast one final glance back at the village he’d called home, its modest rooftops shrinking into the horizon. The scent of damp earth and resin filled the air, grounding him in the moment. His grip tightened on Cricket’s reins.

“Don’t look so eager, girl,” he muttered, patting the bay’s sturdy neck. “It’s not like we’re galloping off to glory.”

Truth be told, Julius wasn’t ready to leave. The weight of the farewells—half-hearted, awkward, and pitying—still clung to him. He needed one last conversation, one tether to his roots before the unknown swallowed him whole.

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The creek was just as he remembered it—its clear waters gurgling over smooth stones, framed by wildflowers and reeds. And there, perched on a rock with his trusty fishing pole, sat Old Nate. The man’s sun-kissed face and silver-streaked beard were as familiar as the worn line he cast into the stream.

“Figured you’d be here,” Julius said, crouching beside him. “Trying to snag one more fish before I go?”

Nate didn’t look up, his gnarled fingers deftly tying a hook. “Trying to avoid saying goodbye,” he replied gruffly. “Not my style, boy.”

Julius chuckled, leaning back on his heels. “Good. I’m not big on tearful farewells, either.”

The two sat in companionable silence, the babble of the creek filling the space between them. After a time, Nate spoke, his voice softer. “Your father would be proud, you know.”

Julius’s hand drifted to the hilt of the sword strapped across his back. “You think so? Doesn’t feel like it.”

Nate turned to him, his eyes sharp beneath bushy brows. “You think he was born a legend? He worked for it. Same as you’ll have to. That blade doesn’t make you your father, boy. It’s what you do with it that matters.”

Julius nodded, swallowing hard. “And what if I’m not enough?”

The old man clapped him on the shoulder, the gesture firm but reassuring. “Then you’ll keep trying. That’s all any of us can do.”

Julius smiled faintly, his throat tight. As he mounted Cricket and prepared to leave, he glanced back one last time. “You’ll still be here when I come back, right?”

Nate waved him off, gruff as ever. “Get moving, boy. The fish are already tired of listening to you.”

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The sun climbed higher as the road twisted into a dense forest, the towering pines turning the trail into a tunnel of shifting light. The air grew cooler, the shadows deeper, and Cricket’s ears flicked forward as though catching some distant sound.

Julius felt the tension before he saw the cause. Three men stood in the middle of the path, their faces obscured by wide-brimmed hats. Each carried a weapon—a rusted axe, a cudgel, and a dagger that gleamed like venom in the dim light.

“Well, well,” the tallest of them drawled, stepping forward. His grin revealed a missing tooth. “A young gentleman on a fine horse. Might be carrying something worth sharing.”

Julius sighed, his hazel eyes scanning the scene. “Let me guess—road’s closed, toll’s due, and you’re the friendly collectors?”

The leader’s grin widened. “Smart lad. Makes this easier.”

“Sure does,” Julius said, swinging down from Cricket’s saddle. “Here’s the thing, though—I’m broke.”

The bandits exchanged confused glances, the leader’s grin faltering. Julius took stock of their positions. The tall one’s balance was off, his stance wide and unsteady. The axe-wielder leaned heavily to his left, favoring an injury. The youngest, clutching the dagger, couldn’t hide the tremble in his hands.

Julius tilted his head. “So, what now? Do we skip straight to the part where I embarrass you?”

The leader snarled, raising his cudgel. “Enough talking.”

As the man lunged, Julius sidestepped easily, his hand darting to Cricket’s saddlebag. He yanked out a coil of rope and snapped it forward, tangling the leader’s legs. The man hit the ground with a yelp.

“Next?” Julius asked, spinning the rope in a lazy circle.

The axe-wielder hesitated before charging. Julius dropped low, avoiding the wild swing, and thrust the leader’s cudgel into the man’s stomach. He doubled over with a groan, collapsing in the dirt.

Julius turned to the youngest bandit, who stood frozen, the dagger shaking in his grip. “You’ve got two options,” Julius said, his tone calm but firm. “Drop the knife and go home, or try your luck and regret it.”

The boy’s wide eyes flicked to his fallen companions. After a tense moment, he dropped the dagger and bolted into the trees.

Julius exhaled, tossing the cudgel aside. He turned to Cricket, who watched the scene with what Julius swore was a look of judgment.

“Don’t start,” he muttered, climbing into the saddle. “Not every fight needs a sword.”

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The road stretched long and uncertain ahead, the shadows growing shorter as the sun climbed higher. The bandits’ groans faded into the distance, leaving Julius alone once more. He couldn’t shake the unease that lingered—not from the fight, but from the voice in his head.

His stance is too wide. Exploit with a low feint, counter to the right flank.

It was sharp, detached, and disturbingly precise. Not his own thoughts. Not entirely.

Julius shook his head, muttering under his breath. “Great. First day on the road, and I’m already losing it.”

Timber Falls was gone now, hidden behind hills and trees. All that lay ahead was the path to Leona, the weight of his father’s legacy pressing heavier with each step. Yet, despite the uncertainty, something burned within him—a flicker of determination, stubborn and unyielding.

“I’ll prove it,” Julius said aloud, his voice steady against the wind. “A Johnson isn’t just a name. It’s a legacy.”

The forest whispered no answer, only the steady rhythm of hooves on dirt as Julius rode toward whatever waited beyond the next bend.