Chapter 11

Runner was the first to spot the grove as the others trailed behind on horseback. The wind howled in his ears, but he focused only on the sight ahead. His heart pounded with urgency as they closed in on Zavet’s ancestral home, but what greeted him was far worse than he had feared.

As he approached, he saw Iscariot, bloodied and beaten, yet still holding Zavet by the throat. The little lizardman was weaving magic into Zavet, threads of sickly green energy pouring from the sky and trying to anchor themselves into the lizardman’s limp body. Zavet’s eyes were vacant, his body slack, and Runner could see that whatever spell Iscariot was casting was meant to seize hold of Zavet's soul.

Without a second thought, Runner did what he did best: he ran. Throwing all caution aside, he sprinted toward the heart of the chaos, the grove blurring around him. Every instinct screamed at him to stop, to think it through, but he couldn’t let Zavet be taken by whatever foul magic Iscariot was conjuring.

“Iscariot!” Runner shouted, his voice hoarse with rage as he leaped through the air, sword drawn. He collided with the necromancer, forcing Iscariot to drop Zavet to the ground. The impact was powerful enough to knock the breath from Runner’s chest, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was getting Zavet away from him.

Iscariot staggered, clutching his side where fresh claw marks began to tear open as if some unseen force was attacking him. He stumbled, his eyes wild with fury, but before he could retaliate, more wounds opened across his chest and face. Runner could see it happening, but it wasn’t normal. The air around Iscariot seemed to warp, like some invisible force clawing at his flesh. He was losing, and the realization struck Runner like lightning.

"He’s vulnerable!" Runner shouted to no one in particular. It spurred him on the hope that they could finally end this.

Iscariot growled, his deep voice reverberating through the grove, and flung out his hands to cast a spell, but the unseen assault grew more vicious. More gashes appeared, slicing through his robes, drawing screams of agony from him. It was as if something, or someone, was fighting alongside Runner. Iscariot, on the verge of collapse, dropped to one knee.

Before Runner could strike the final blow, the rest of the Necro Guild and Krimlond stormed into the grove. Thebe led the charge, her face set with grim determination. Talich and the others followed, their hands already crackling with magical energy. They descended on Iscariot as one, a tide of magical power overwhelming him. He fought back, but it was clear he was on the brink of death.

“This is it,” Runner muttered, his hands shaking with adrenaline.

But before they could deliver the final strike, Iscariot's body flickered, then vanished in a swirl of necromantic energy. He had teleported away, escaping the death that was so close.

Runner collapsed to his knees, panting, and the rush of battle left him exhausted. His heart sank as his eyes darted to Zavet, who lay still on the ground. He wasn’t moving, and his once vibrant black scales were dull and lifeless.

Thebe was the first to reach him. She dropped to her knees beside Zavet, her hands trembling as she placed them over his chest. Dark necromantic energy flowed from her hands into his body, but nothing happened. Zavet’s eyes flickered briefly, a faint green glow pulsing in them, fading just as quickly.

"No... no..." Runner whispered, his voice barely a breath as he staggered to his feet and stumbled toward his fallen friend. The weight of what had just happened crushed him. "Zavet..."

Thebe’s face contorted with fear and frustration as she tried again, pouring more magic into him. “Come on, Zavet. Wake up. You have to wake up,” she whispered, her voice tense.

Runner’s knees gave out, and he collapsed beside Zavet, gripping his friend’s cold hand. His mind raced, unable to process what was happening. So much had already gone wrong, he couldn’t lose Zavet, too. He wouldn’t survive that.

Hoat, standing nearby, crossed his arms and said, “Just let him rez. He’ll come back. It’s how the heroes do.”

But Thebe’s voice cut through, sharp and panicked. “His soul is not in his body,” she said, trembling. “He won’t resurrect.”

The weight of her words hit them all like a hammer. Zavet’s body was still here, but his soul... was gone.

Thebe closed her eyes, focused all her will and power, and reached the unseen realm. “Zavet,” she called softly, her voice filled with raw emotion. Come back to us. Please.”

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of the wind and the distant rustling of the leaves. The grove felt eerily silent as if the world was holding its breath.

Then, after what seemed like an eternity, Zavet’s voice echoed faintly in the void. “Thebe?”

His eyes fluttered open, dim but alive, and his chest rose with a shallow breath.

Runner, overwhelmed with relief, let out a choked sob and fell backward, staring up at the sky. “Thank the gods...” he whispered, his heart finally calming as tears filled his eyes. He was close to losing one of his best friends, but Zavet returned.

Thebe exhaled sharply, her hands shaking as she brushed a tear from her cheek. “We thought we lost you,” she whispered, her voice barely holding together.

Runner sat up, wiping his face as he chuckled weakly, looking at Zavet. “You know how to give a scare, don’t you?” He smiled through his exhaustion.

Zavet slowly sat up, his body still weak but alive, and as his gaze met Runner’s, the lizardman nodded. “I can kill him,” he said quietly, his voice filled with a newfound determination, a whisper of power behind it, the power of the well still echoing within him.

As the group departed from the grove, the weight of what had just transpired lingered in the air. Zavet, however, chose to stay behind, his mind still clouded by the events. He stood motionless, staring at where Iscariot had stood, where his family had fallen. The others mounted their horses, and with a final glance, Runner reluctantly followed them, casting one last look at his friend before riding off.

The sound of hooves thudded rhythmically against the earth as the group traveled in tense silence. The adrenaline from the fight had worn off, leaving an uneasy quiet. It wasn’t long before one of them broke it.

“He’s licking his wounds now,” someone muttered, eyes scanning the horizon, the tension still evident in their voice. “Iscariot thought he was untouchable. He just found out he’s not immortal.”

There was a murmur of agreement as the group exchanged glances. The realization that they had weakened Iscariot, even if just for a moment, was a fragile victory.

Thebe, who had been walking alongside the horses, turned to face them and began walking backward, her brows furrowed in thought. “Zavet attacked his soul,” she said, her voice laced with disbelief. “Somehow… wherever he was, he touched something deep, powerful. I had to use my magic to find and bring him back. But it was strange; what I felt from him wasn’t like any soul I’d felt before. It was soft... compassionate.”

Her eyes moved between them all, searching for confirmation of her feelings. “There’s no way he’s like us.”

Talich, riding just beside her, looked down at Thebe with a knowing smile. His dark eyes softened, and he nodded slightly as if he had known this all along. “He’s a good kid,” Talich said quietly, his voice filled with a warmth that contrasted with the hardened necromancer he usually presented. “Not yet corrupted by power.”

The others remained silent, the words hanging heavily between them. None of them could easily reconcile Zavet’s purity in the face of such dark magic. They had all been touched by the corrupting influence of necromancy, shaped by its demands and the allure of its power. Zavet, despite all he had been through, seemed to retain something they had lost long ago: a sense of goodness and compassion.

Thebe bit her lip, her mind racing back to the moment she had reached into the void to pull Zavet’s soul back. She had felt it then, like the first light of dawn, something untouched by darkness. How could someone wield necromantic power and still possess such purity?

“Iscariot won’t let this go,” Krimlond said after a moment, breaking the reflective silence. “Now that he knows Zavet Is capable of reaching his soul, he’ll be after him more than ever.”

Talich nodded in agreement. “He tasted fear. That’s new for him. But Zavet… Zavet might be the key to ending him for good.”

Runner, riding near the back of the group, kept his gaze ahead but remained quiet. He was still processing everything that had happened, replaying the moment when Zavet had nearly died in his mind. His friend had fought with a power none of them had anticipated, and yet, when Thebe had reached for his soul, she found kindness instead of vengeance.

“He’s not like us,” Runner whispered to himself, but there was something hopeful in his words, as if he was grateful that someone in their ranks still carried a light in such a dark world.

As they continued their journey, the conversation shifted to other matters, but the thought of Zavet lingered with each of them. They knew he had chosen to stay in the grove alone, along with the memories of his family. It was a heavy burden to carry, and while they wanted to protect him, they also understood this was something he needed to face on his own.

As the group finally reached the city of Ffairfon, the sense of urgency and intensity from their recent encounter began to fade. They all knew they had different paths to take now, so one by one, they parted ways. Thebe, Talich, and the others went on to fulfill their responsibilities, while Runner, with Alley close by his side, set his course for Nuri'Fon.

The journey to Nuri'Fon was quiet, but there was an air of anticipation between them. Alley clung to Runner as they traveled. She had been through much, and though they hadn't known each other long, the bond they formed was growing. When they finally approached the river just outside the city, Runner knew it was time to reach out to Red.

Runner remembered what Red had told him; there was a certain way to signal if he wanted a meeting. It wasn’t long before they reached the riverbank, where Runner performed the small ritual, leaving behind the usual subtle signs that would draw Red's attention. Then, he sat back on the grassy riverbank, Alley beside him, and waited.

As they waited, the gentle sound of the flowing river provided a brief moment of calm. Alley leaned against Runner, her head resting on his shoulder. Her quiet presence comforted him, reminding him they were not alone despite everything they had been through.

After an hour, a rustling sound came from the nearby trees. Runner’s eyes darted to the tree line, and moments later, Red emerged from the shadows with his usual casual swagger. His dark cloak blended with the evening light, giving him an almost ghostly appearance. Despite his sudden arrival, he greeted them warmly.

"Hey, Runner. Nice to see you," Red said, his smile as mischievous as ever as he extended his hand.

Runner stood up and shook Red’s hand firmly. "Nice to see you too, Red." Runner’s voice had a sense of purpose. "I'm looking for work. I need to earn some gold, enough to start building a place of my own once things settle down."

Red nodded thoughtfully, his eyes flickering with understanding. He glanced at Alley, who had stood up beside Runner. "And who’s this?" he asked, his tone curious but friendly.

Alley smiled somewhat sheepishly. "Sorry, I guess Runner didn’t introduce me. I'm Alley. I’m not anybody important. I’ve been running with Krumlond’s crew, but I’m not a member or anything like that."

Red sized her up quickly, then gave a casual nod of approval. "Well, if Runner trusts you, then I trust you too. Welcome."

Alley smiled, visibly relaxing as she felt accepted.

Turning his attention back to Runner, Red’s expression became more serious. "So, you need work? Well, I’ve got two jobs for you, both pretty important. The first one is time-sensitive. We're going to hit a merchant, rob him. He’s been running goods we need, and it’s time we collect what's owed."

Runner nodded, his expression hardening. "What about the second job?"

Red smiled again, this time with a darker edge. "The second job’s a little more... personal. After we hit him, I need you to find this merchant’s house, break in, and eliminate his house guardians. Once they’re gone, I need you to replace them and give them a simple command: kill the merchant in his sleep every night until he’s gone for good. We can’t let him come back."

Alley’s eyes widened at the brutality of the task, but she remained silent, letting Runner do the talking.

Runner took a deep breath, considering the task at hand. "What did this guy do to deserve this?"

Red’s smile twisted into something colder. "He used to be one of us. But he sold us out to the Black Creek Syndicate. He also stole a hefty chunk of product that keeps our operation running. Let’s just say we can’t afford to let that slide."

Stolen story; please report.

Runner clenched his fists, already committed to what needed to be done. "Understood. I’ll get it done."

Red’s grin returned, this time full of approval. "Good. I knew I could count on you." He glanced at Alley again, then back to Runner. " Runner, make sure this job doesn’t go south. The last thing we need is for the Black Creek Syndicate to sniff around our business."

Red turned and disappeared into the trees, leaving Runner and Alley by the riverbank. The tension between them felt palpable. Alley, who had remained silent during the exchange, finally spoke up.

"You sure about this, Runner?" she asked quietly, her voice filled with concern.

Runner looked at her, his face grave but calm. "We need this, Alley. If we want to build a life, we need the gold. And this merchant… he made his choice. He betrayed Red, and now he has to pay the price."

Alley nodded slowly, though a part of her still seemed uneasy. She trusted Runner and knew their world wasn’t kind, but she had never been involved in something so ruthless.

The two mounted horses and rode toward the merchant's location as the sun set, casting the river in an orange glow.

Runner knew the job wouldn’t be easy, so he carefully planned his next move. He wasn’t about to take on this merchant alone, especially after hearing about the merchant’s history and the Black Creek Syndicate’s potential involvement. The stakes were too high, and the enemy too formidable. So, before the heist, Runner rounded up a few trusted members of the Riverfoot Bandits, a crew known for their agility and cunning in ambushes. They were seasoned fighters and learned how to handle themselves in tight spots. Alongside him, Alley stayed close, determined to prove her worth.

They gathered at the meeting point, a secluded bend in the road where Red had instructed them to lay the trap. The terrain was perfect: the road curved just enough to hide their preparations from anyone approaching, and the dense forest surrounding the area made for easy cover. The plan was simple. They would cut down a large tree, blocking the road just as the merchant’s caravan rounded the bend, and when the caravan stopped, they'd strike.

The bandits worked swiftly and quietly, chopping away at a massive oak tree. Runner supervised the operation, keeping one eye on the road for any sign of the approaching caravan. As the final axe strikes weakened the tree, the bandits looked like simple loggers clearing a fallen obstacle. With her natural charm, Alley played the part of a local girl helping out.

Soon, the caravan came into view, a covered wagon pulled by sturdy horses with a few hired guards walking beside it. The merchant’s emblem, a gnarled tree overlaid with gold, was emblazoned on the wagon’s side. This was the target. Runner motioned to the others, and with a mighty crash, the tree they had prepared fell across the road, blocking the caravan’s path.

Runner stepped forward, raising his hand in a friendly gesture, doing his best to appear non-threatening. "Hey, sorry, the road’s closed for a bit," he said with a disarming smile. "We had a tree come down, and we’re working on clearing it up. Shouldn’t take too long."

The caravan slowed to a halt, the merchant leaning out from the back of his covered wagon, his suspicious eyes narrowing at the sight of Runner and his crew. "Closed, you say?" The gnome merchant’s voice was sharp, tinged with suspicion. He scanned the area, clearly on edge. He wasn’t about to trust a bunch of strangers, especially in this territory. Another tree crashing down behind the caravan echoed through the forest just then. The merchant's guards looked back to see the blocked path on both sides.

Realizing the trap, the merchant jumped from his seat and scrambled back into the wagon, barking orders to his guards. But before they could react, four golden golems burst from the wagon. They were hulking constructs, gleaming in the afternoon light, their bodies intricately carved from solid gold and powered by ancient magic. These golems were no ordinary opponents—they were designed for combat, immune to most magic, and impervious to poison, sleep, and necromancy. Their singular purpose was to protect the merchant at all costs, and they attacked the nearest bandit with unrelenting force.

The first bandit was struck, thrown back into the dirt by the sheer power of one golem’s punch. Another golem slammed its fist into the ground, sending a shockwave that knocked two more bandits off their feet. The air filled with the clash of steel and the shouts of Runner’s crew as they struggled to fight the golems with little effect. Arrows bounced off the golems' golden armor like pebbles, and sword strikes barely left a scratch. The constructs’ immunity to magic and immense strength made them almost invulnerable.

But Runner’s team wasn’t without their tricks. One of the bandits, a wiry man named Farron, had a talent for lightning magic. He focused his energy, summoning a bolt of electricity that cracked through the air and struck one of the golems square in the chest. The golem’s golden form crackled and sparked as the magic disrupted its internal mechanisms, slowing it down. Seeing the effect, Farron unleashed another bolt, and this time, the golem’s chestplate shattered, bringing the towering construct to its knees before it collapsed in a heap of golden debris.

With renewed hope, the bandits focused their efforts on the remaining golems. They fought smart, using a combination of teamwork and lightning magic to weaken the constructs until, one by one, the golems fell. The battle was brutal and exhausting, but the last of the golden guardians was eventually reduced to a pile of broken parts and melted gold.

Runner, breathing heavily but uninjured, wiped the sweat from his brow and turned his attention to the merchant. The gnome had tried to hide in the back of his wagon, but there was no escape. Runner yanked open the wagon door and dragged the merchant out by the collar, throwing him roughly to the ground. The gnome struggled, his tiny hands clawing at Runner's grip, but it was useless. Runner's strength was overwhelming.

"Please!" the merchant gasped, his voice filled with fear. "I-I’ll pay you! Whatever you want! Gold, gems, whatever, just let me live!"

But Runner wasn’t interested in bargaining. This was more than a simple robbery—this was revenge for the betrayal of Red and the Riverfoot Bandits. The merchant had crossed a line and would now pay the ultimate price.

"You sold us out," Runner growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You stole from us. You knew what was coming."

The merchant's eyes widened with terror as Runner pulled a small vial from his belt filled with a dark, swirling liquid. It was death gas, a lethal poison known for its horrific effects on the body. Runner had used it before and knew how devastating it could be.

The gnome tried to scramble away, but Runner was too fast. He grabbed the merchant by the throat and forced him to sit on the ground. "You should’ve known better," Runner said coldly as he uncorked the vial and held it in front of the merchant’s face.

"No! Please!" the merchant screamed, but it was too late. Runner forced the vial to the merchant’s mouth, pouring the poison down his throat.

The effects were immediate. The merchant's face contorted in agony as the poison spread through his body, rotting him from the inside out. He clutched at his chest, gasping for breath, but his lungs were already filling with blood. His eyes rolled back in his head as blood began to pour from his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. His body convulsed violently as the poison took hold, and within moments, he was dead.

Runner stood over the corpse, his face emotionless as he wiped his hands clean. The rest of the bandits gathered around, their eyes fixed on the lifeless body of the merchant. There was no joy in the kill, only the cold satisfaction of a well-done job.

"Get rid of the body," Runner ordered, his voice steady. "Make it look like a robbery gone wrong."

As the bandits moved to clean up the scene, Alley stood silently beside Runner, her face pale. She had seen death before, but this was different. This was cold, calculated, and ruthless. She glanced at Runner, but he didn’t meet her eyes. This was their chosen life, and there was no turning back now.

Runner wasted no time after the merchant's body was disposed of. He barked orders to his crew to dismantle the golden golems. “Take what’s left of them and have someone melt these down into gold,” he said, knowing the wealth they’d gain from it. Each golem would be worth at least three hundred gold apiece. The haul from this heist would be enormous, and it would fund their operations for months. He wasn’t about to let any opportunity slip by.

The group gathered the gold remains and loaded them into carts they had stashed nearby. With that task complete, they began the second part of their mission: breaking into the merchant’s house. Red had made it clear—this wasn’t just about taking the man’s life but dismantling everything he had built, piece by piece. Runner and his crew needed to destroy the merchant’s sense of security to ensure he would never return to the world of the living.

The house was about an hour's ride away, nestled in a secluded estate just outside of town. The sun started setting as they approached, casting long shadows over the winding road. The estate was a grand structure, a testament to the merchant's wealth over the years. Its tall iron gates and stone walls were meant to keep intruders out, but it was another obstacle for Runner and his crew.

They stopped at a safe distance, dismounting from their horses. Runner surveyed the house, his sharp eyes scanning for any signs of life. "Let’s check the perimeter," he ordered. Alley, always the sharp-eyed scout, moved forward and knocked lightly on the door, more as a precaution than anything. Then she circled the house, peering through the windows, checking for movement or guards. After a few tense moments, she returned to Runner.

"No one’s home," she confirmed. "The place is empty. We’re clear."

Runner let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Good,” he muttered. “If he had a wife and kids, I would’ve walked away from this mission.” There were lines even he wouldn’t cross, and killing innocents wasn’t one of them.

Farron, the group’s ritual expert, stepped forward next. His sharp mind had already begun to assess the magical defenses the merchant would likely have in place. “Wards,” he said, running his hands along the edge of the stone wall surrounding the estate. “I can feel them. Basic protection spells, nothing too fancy. He probably didn’t expect anyone to come this far.”

Runner nodded. “Break them. But quietly.”

Farron kneeled before the gate, drawing a small circle in the dirt. He began chanting in a low voice, the words barely audible to anyone nearby. He used an old ritual that disrupted the energy fields surrounding the protective wards without triggering an alarm. It was an intricate process that Farron had perfected over the years. Within minutes, the wards that protected the house shimmered briefly before dissolving into nothingness.

The moment the magical defenses were down, the crew moved in. They pushed open the gate and slipped inside the estate, their movements swift and practiced. The house was quiet, its dark windows giving off an eerie sense of abandonment. Runner felt the tension in the air as they made their way to the front door, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword just in case.

The merchant’s home was lavishly decorated, with expensive furniture and priceless artifacts. Paintings adorned the walls, and golden chandeliers hung from the ceilings. But none of it mattered to Runner. He wasn’t here for wealth. He was here to send a message.

The iron golems guarding the house were the first real threat. The towering constructs sprang to life as soon as the crew entered the main hallway, their eyes glowing a dull red as they moved to engage the intruders. These golems were not as powerful as the golden ones they had fought earlier but were still formidable opponents. Each was crafted from solid iron, and their strength was enough to crush a man with a single blow.

The fight was brutal. Runner and his team moved quickly, dodging the golems’ heavy strikes while searching for weak points in their armor. Alley darted between the golems, using her speed and agility to land precise hits where the iron plating was thinner. Farron, meanwhile, worked his magic, casting lightning spells to disrupt the golems' internal workings. It wasn’t an easy battle, but the crew had faced worse. After a tense few minutes of combat, the last golem fell to the ground with a resounding crash, its metal body crumpling under the weight of its destruction.

With the golems defeated, Farron wasted no time. He immediately began collecting the broken pieces, carefully laying them out in a ritual circle he had prepared earlier. Runner watched as Farron drew strange symbols in the air, his hands glowing with arcane energy. This was no ordinary spell, a ritual reserved for only the most expensive and rare golems and items. The fact that Farron was using it on these relatively weak iron golems spoke volumes about how seriously the crew was taking this mission.

As Farron chanted, the pieces of the broken golems began to shift and move, assembling themselves into new forms. The iron reshaped itself, becoming sleeker and more refined. These were no longer simple constructs; they were now imbued with powerful necromantic energy bound to the will of the Riverfoot Bandits.

Runner couldn’t help but be impressed. “This guy really messed up,” he muttered under his breath. The merchant had crossed the wrong people, and now, everything he had built was being torn apart piece by piece.

Once the new golems were fully formed, Farron stood back and admired his work. “These will do,” he said with a satisfied grin. “They’ll follow our commands now.”

Runner nodded, his mind already turning to the final part of the plan. “Good. Give them their orders.”

Farron whispered a series of commands to the golems, binding them to their new purpose. From this point forward, their sole mission was to ensure the merchant would never find peace again. If he returned from death, these golems would be waiting for him, ready to strike him down in his sleep. Every night until he was finally gone for good.

With the golems in place and the house secured, Runner and his crew left, returning to the river foot camp. As they returned to the camp, this would be The first time Runner would see their camp.

The Riverfoot Bandit Camp is nestled beside a winding river, creating a natural blend of rugged terrain and flowing water. The camp is makeshift but fortified, consisting of several tents and crude wooden structures arranged around a central fire pit. The river serves as both a barrier and resource, with a few small boats or rafts moored at the water's edge, likely used for quick getaways or smuggling goods.

Dense trees and thick brush surround the camp, offering cover and concealment from prying eyes. A narrow, well-worn path leads to the camp from a nearby road, though the bandits have set up lookouts in high positions to guard against intruders. The river's rushing water masks the noise of the camp, providing an eerie calm in an otherwise chaotic atmosphere.

Weapons and loot are scattered around, with some stolen goods piled in crates or barrels near the tents. A larger, more solid tent, likely belonging to the bandits' leader, stands out, with guards nearby. The camp radiates an air of lawlessness and danger, with the river as a constant, powerful presence, both soothing and ominous.

Runner and Alley spent the next few days helping with the rebuilding efforts in Nuri'fon. They undertook various tasks, from moving supplies to the city's heart to cutting down trees in the surrounding forests. The lumber would be essential for reconstructing the homes and buildings that had been damaged during the recent conflicts. Runner enjoyed the physical labor—it helped clear his mind after the intense job they had just completed. It was a chance for Alley to stay close to him and contribute in her way, even though she wasn't officially part of Krimlond.

As they worked, Runner and Alley discussed their future. Runner knew that being close to Krimlond was necessary—his allegiance to Lina was unwavering. But Alley's not being a member is complicated. The Keep of Krimlond had strict rules about who could live within its walls, and Alley was not officially one of them despite her involvement in many of their missions.

"We need a place of our own," Runner had said to Alley one evening as they sat by the river, watching the sunset. "Somewhere close to the embassy but outside the Keep, we can still be together."

Alley had agreed, and so they began planning. Over the next few days, using the lumber they had gathered and the gold from their previous job, they started building a tiny house near the Krimlond embassy. The house wasn’t grand or elaborate but perfect for them. A simple stone foundation supported the wooden structure, and they worked tirelessly, hand in hand, to make it a home. They added a sturdy roof, simple but comfortable furnishings, and even a tiny garden where Alley could grow herbs and plants for her potions and remedies.

Runner also built a room, where he hoped Zavet could stay when he needed it. After everything they had been through, Runner felt a strong responsibility toward the young lizardman. He knew Zavet had lost everything, his family and home, and Runner wanted to offer him stability. The room wasn’t large, but it was furnished with care, complete with a sturdy bed, a desk, and a window that overlooked the courtyard.

“This room’s for Zavet,” Runner said one evening as they stood in front of the house, admiring their work. “He might not stay here often, but he’ll always have a place to return to.”

Alley smiled, leaning into Runner. “You’ve got a good heart,” she said softly. “He’ll appreciate it.”

Runner shrugged, though he felt the warmth of her words. "We’ve all been through hell. It’s time we had a place to come back to."

With the house complete, they finally had a space, a sanctuary where they could rest between missions, away from the world's chaos. The proximity to Krimlond's embassy meant Runner could easily be called upon for work when Lina or the others needed him. But more importantly, it meant he and Alley could build something for themselves, a life together despite the dangers and uncertainties surrounding them.

In the quiet moments, after the work was done, Runner would sit outside, his thoughts drifting to the future. He knew more battles lay ahead, more missions for Krimlond, and more enemies to face.