The morning was crisp, the scent of damp earth lingering in the air as the group moved about the farm. Gabriel stood near the barn, sharpening his dagger with slow, deliberate strokes. Sorin lounged nearby, perched on the edge of the fence, while Jordan silently stacked freshly cut logs. Alexander, always purposeful, worked at repairing a section of the fencing that had been weakened during a recent storm.

The relative peace was broken when a figure emerged from the treeline, walking with measured but determined steps. Gabriel noticed him first, his green eyes narrowing.

“Is that who I think it is?” Sorin asked, tilting his head with a faint smirk.

Jordan paused his work, his hands tightening around the log he carried. “This can’t be good.”

The figure grew closer, and the group recognized him. Ronan, his magenta hair slightly disheveled, strode toward them. His expression was serious, his posture tense but not aggressive. A faint sheen of sweat glistened on his brow, evidence of a long trek.

Gabriel straightened, sliding his dagger back into its sheath. “What are you doing here?”

“I followed your trail,” Ronan replied, stopping a few paces away. “The barbarians are still watching me. If they see me here, they’ll assume you’re helping.”

Alexander stepped forward, his brow furrowed. “How did you know where to find us?”

Ronan crossed his arms, his sharp gaze shifting to Alexander. “You didn’t exactly cover your tracks in Kaelholm. People talk. Besides,” he glanced at Gabriel, “you don’t blend in as much as you think.”

“Great,” Gabriel muttered, rubbing his temples. “The last thing we need is barbarian drama following us home.”

Sorin let out a low whistle. “Well, this just got interesting.”

Gabriel shot him a sharp look. “Not helping.”

Alexander approached cautiously, his voice steady. “Why are they watching you?”

Ronan hesitated, his pride clearly warring with the necessity to explain. Finally, he spoke, his tone clipped. “Because I walked away. To them, that’s a betrayal. They think I’ve rejected everything the clans stand for.”

“Have you?” Sorin asked, his tone teasing but his expression calculating.

“No,” Ronan replied firmly. “But it doesn’t matter to them. Once they decide you’re an outcast, you’re either dead or forgotten.”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Alexander frowned. “So, what do you want from us?”

“There’s going to be a gathering,” Ronan explained. “A meeting of the clans. They’ll decide whether to brand me a traitor. If I don’t show up, it’s a death sentence. If I do, I have to prove I still have value.”

“And where do we fit into this?” Gabriel asked, folding his arms.

Ronan’s jaw tightened. “I need allies. If I show up alone, I’m dead. But if I arrive with backup, they might hesitate.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “So, you want us to stroll into a barbarian meeting and risk our necks for you? Great plan.”

The tension between Ronan and the group thickened. Gabriel’s skepticism was evident, but it was Alexander who stepped forward, his tone calm but firm.

“Why do you care so much about what they think?” Alexander asked.

“Because it’s my clan,” Ronan said sharply. “My blood, my people. I’m not going to let them erase me.”

Alexander nodded slowly. “I understand that. But dragging us into your fight isn’t fair.”

Ronan’s eyes flashed with defiance. “Life isn’t fair, noble. You should know that better than anyone.”

Alexander stiffened but held his ground. “You don’t have to like me, but if you want our help, you’ll need to lose the attitude.”

Ronan scoffed, his pride bristling. “Spare me the lecture. I’m not here to make friends.”

Gabriel stepped between them, his patience visibly thinning. “Enough. If you two want to bicker, do it somewhere else. The question is: are we dealing with this or not?”

That evening, the group gathered around the fire, the flickering flames casting long shadows across their faces. Ronan sat a few feet away, his posture rigid and his gaze fixed on the distance.

“This is a bad idea,” Jordan said, breaking the silence.

“Agreed,” Gabriel added. “Getting involved with the barbarians is asking for trouble.”

“But they’ll assume we’re with him regardless,” Sorin pointed out. “Might as well make it official.”

Alexander frowned. “He’s just trying to survive, like the rest of us. Doesn’t he deserve a chance?”

Gabriel leaned back, his expression skeptical. “Deserve has nothing to do with it. This isn’t about chances—it’s about risks.”

Jordan glanced at Gabriel. “So? What’s it going to be?”

Gabriel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’ll help him. But on our terms. No surprises, no dragging us into your personal vendettas.”

Sorin smirked. “Look at you, Gabriel. Almost sounds like you care.”

“Don’t push it,” Gabriel muttered.

The next morning, Gabriel approached Ronan, his expression as sharp as ever. “Here’s how this works. We’ll help you get to this meeting, but you follow our lead. No surprises, no heroics. Got it?”

Ronan’s lips twitched into a faint smirk. “Fine. But don’t think this means I owe you anything.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “You already owe us.”

Ronan’s smirk faded, but he nodded. “Fair enough.”

As the group prepared to leave, Sorin and Jordan stood off to the side, watching Gabriel and Ronan interact.

“Looks like Ronan’s caught Gabriel’s attention,” Sorin said, his tone light.

Jordan nodded. “Gabriel’s careful about who he lets in. If he’s letting Ronan stick around, there’s a reason.”

Sorin grinned. “Oh, this is going to be fun. Cocky barbarian meets brooding strategist. What could possibly go wrong?”

Jordan’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “A lot.”

As the group set out toward the northern outskirts of Kyros, the uneasy alliance between Gabriel and Ronan began to take shape—a fragile bond built on necessity and pride, but one that would shape their future in ways none of them could predict.