The cold wind howled as the group trudged through the snow-covered terrain of northern Kyros. The rugged cliffs and icy paths seemed to stretch endlessly, the air sharp with the bite of frost. Gabriel led the group in silence, his green eyes scanning the horizon for any signs of trouble. Behind him, Ronan walked with purpose, his magenta hair ruffled by the wind, though his expression remained grim.
Alexander and Ronan kept close enough to exchange barbs, their words slicing through the silence like the wind. The tension between them was thick, as it had been since their first meeting.
Alexander finally spoke, his voice steady but edged. “You’ve been quiet. Isn’t this what you wanted? To go back?”
Ronan didn’t look back. “Don’t pretend to understand. This isn’t about what I want.”
Alexander raised an eyebrow, his tone sharpening. “Then why are you dragging us into this? If you don’t care, why should we?”
Ronan stopped, turning to face Alexander with a sneer. “I don’t expect you to understand, noble. You’ve never had to fight for a place in your own family.”
Alexander stepped closer, his blue eyes cold. “And you think being a barbarian makes you special? Swinging your fists at anyone who disagrees doesn’t make you strong.”
Before the tension could escalate further, Gabriel stepped between them, his tone clipped. “Save it. We’ve got bigger problems than your pride contest.”
Sorin, trailing at the back with Jordan, smirked. “You know, Gabriel, this might actually be entertaining if it didn’t feel like we were freezing to death.”
Gabriel didn’t dignify the comment with a response. The group pressed on, the towering peaks of the barbarian encampment coming into view.
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The encampment loomed ahead, its crude wooden barricades blending into the rocky landscape. The air was heavy with smoke from the central bonfire, and warriors milled about, their movements deliberate and predatory.
As the group entered, all eyes turned toward Ronan. Whispers rippled through the crowd, carrying words like “outcast” and “traitor.” The tension grew as the barbarians closed ranks, creating a path that led to a towering figure stepping forward.
Haskir, a scarred warrior with jagged tattoos across his arms, broke the silence with a cruel laugh. He gestured toward Ronan, his grin widening.
Haskir: “Well, look who it is. The outcast returns, dragging city rats with him.”
Ronan met his gaze without flinching. “I came for a trial, not your nonsense.”
Haskir laughed again, louder this time, as the surrounding barbarians joined in. “A trial? You think you’ve earned the right to stand before the elders? The city’s made you soft. Did they throw you out already?”
He stepped closer, his sneer twisting. “Or are you crawling back to beg forgiveness?”
The taunts struck a nerve. Ronan’s fists clenched at his sides, but he held his ground. “Say what you want, Haskir. I’ll face the elders.”
Haskir’s voice turned venomous. “You’re not here for anything. You’re not one of us anymore. You’re a coward who ran, and you don’t deserve their time.”
The barbarians around them laughed, their voices a chorus of derision. Haskir took another step forward, towering over Ronan. “Maybe I should deal with you here and save the elders the trouble.”
Ronan’s voice was steady, but the fire in his eyes burned brighter. “If you think you can, then fight me. A victory will earn my place before the elders.”
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Haskir paused, the challenge hanging in the cold air. The crowd fell silent, their eyes shifting between the two. Finally, Haskir’s grin returned, cruel and hungry. “Fine. Let’s remind everyone what happens to traitors.”
The barbarians formed a loose circle, their jeers and shouts echoing as the fight began.
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The clash was immediate and ferocious. Haskir lunged with brute force, his fists swinging in wild arcs. Ronan ducked under the first blow, countering with a calculated strike to Haskir’s ribs.
The fight was brutal, each hit landing with the weight of pent-up anger and frustration. Blood spattered the snow as Ronan dodged and struck, his movements a mix of raw strength and survival instinct. Haskir’s size and power gave him the advantage, but Ronan’s resilience kept him in the fight.
Haskir sneered through the blood on his lips. “You think this changes anything? You’ll always be a coward.”
Ronan didn’t reply. His next strike sent Haskir stumbling, and with a final surge of strength, he delivered a decisive blow that left Haskir crumpled in the snow.
The crowd murmured in approval, though their expressions betrayed mixed feelings. Ronan stood over Haskir, bloodied but victorious, his chest heaving.
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Ronan was escorted to the raised platform where the elders sat. The council of grim-faced leaders regarded him with cold eyes, their expressions unreadable.
The trial began with the elders listing Ronan’s supposed betrayals. He stood silently, letting their accusations wash over him.
Finally, one of the elders asked, “What do you have to say for yourself?”
Ronan met their gaze. “I left to survive. That’s all. I didn’t betray the clan—I did what I had to do.”
The elders deliberated in hushed tones. The tension among the gathered warriors was palpable. Finally, the leader of the council spoke.
Elder Leader: “You have proven your strength. But strength alone does not erase betrayal. You are no longer of the clan. Leave these lands and never return.”
The crowd remained silent as the words sank in. Exile. The weight of the verdict pressed on Ronan, but he kept his face stoic as he left the platform.
The group departed the encampment in silence, the icy wind howling around them. Ronan trailed a few steps behind, his shoulders slumped under the weight of exile. The terrain was unforgiving, snow and jagged rocks stretching endlessly before them, but the silence among them was heavier than the cold.
Alexander finally broke the stillness, his tone careful but firm. “You fought well. You earned their respect.”
Ronan didn’t look up. “Respect doesn’t matter when you’ve got nowhere to go.”
Gabriel, walking at the front, didn’t break stride as he glanced over his shoulder. His voice was sharp but lacked its usual edge. “So, what’s the plan? Wander around until you freeze?”
Ronan’s jaw tightened. “I’ll manage.”
Sorin chuckled, the sound a faint wisp in the frosty air. “Sure you will. And when you’re half-dead, we’ll find you back at the farm anyway.”
Gabriel sighed audibly, raking a hand through his hair. “Enough. You’re coming back with us. You can sulk there just as easily.”
Ronan’s expression darkened, but he didn’t argue. Falling into step with the group, he kept his silence, the faint crunch of snow under their boots the only sound marking his reluctant agreement.
As they neared the farm, Sorin nudged Gabriel with a grin. “Look at you, playing savior again. Who knew you had such a soft spot?”
Gabriel shot him a withering glare. “Say one more word, and I’ll leave you out here with him.”
Sorin laughed, stepping back, while Gabriel focused ahead. The farm came into view, its quiet presence a stark contrast to the chaos of the day.
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Later that night, Gabriel sat on the porch steps, his green eyes fixed on the horizon. The cold wind swept through the fields, but he didn’t move. Behind him, the farmhouse was dark, save for the faint glow of the fire within. The others were asleep, but Gabriel’s thoughts refused to settle.
Bringing Ronan back with them had been an instinctive decision, and now, in the quiet of the night, he couldn’t stop questioning it. It wasn’t like him to take on unnecessary risks, especially ones with the potential to disrupt the group’s already fragile balance.
He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “What made me say it?” he muttered to himself, the words lost in the cold air.
The memory of Ronan standing against Haskir, bloodied but unyielding, surfaced unbidden. It wasn’t pity or admiration that had made him speak. It was something else—something he had felt before. He frowned as the realization settled over him.
It was similar to what he had felt when he first met Alexander. A sense of potential, buried beneath layers of pride and uncertainty. A raw determination that couldn’t be ignored, even if it was inconvenient.
Gabriel sighed, his breath forming a faint mist in the night air. “Another headache,” he muttered, though there was no real bitterness in his tone. Rising to his feet, he cast one last glance at the horizon before heading inside. Whatever the reason, the choice was made. The why didn’t matter—not yet.
For now, all he could do was wait and see if Ronan proved to be the liability he feared—or the ally he hoped.