The evening air was cool as Harris and Liam made their way through the darkening woods, the distant outline of the forest thickening before them. The sky above was streaked with deep purples and blues, the last vestiges of daylight slipping away, and the forest itself seemed to grow more imposing with each step they took. The shadows stretched longer, and the air felt heavier, as if the forest itself was holding its breath. Liam, for once, was unusually quiet, his face marked with a frown. Harris knew his friend's mind was full of questions and doubts. He shared those same uncertainties, though he masked them with an air of calm determination.

"You think we’re getting close?" Liam whispered, breaking the silence, his voice barely audible above the rustling of the leaves.

Harris paused, glancing around the quiet forest. The towering trees, their branches intertwining like skeletal fingers, seemed to form a canopy that shut out what little light remained. He nodded toward a narrow game trail veering off the main path, barely visible in the fading light. "This way. Keep your voice down. The last thing we need is to be heard before we even see them."

Liam swallowed hard, nodding. He was still young, and Harris could see that youthful mix of nervousness and excitement in his eyes. It reminded Harris of himself in his younger years—before everything had gone so wrong. Before Malakar had become a name whispered in fear. He shook off the thoughts, focusing on the task at hand. He had to keep Liam safe, and that meant getting this done quickly and cleanly.

They moved carefully, each step deliberate to avoid snapping twigs or crunching leaves underfoot. The woods were filled with the ambient sounds of night—distant chirps of crickets, the occasional rustle of a nocturnal creature, the soft creaking of the trees as they swayed. Every sound seemed amplified in the stillness, each noise a potential alarm that could give away their presence. As they crept forward, the brigands’ camp came into view—a makeshift collection of tents and a dying campfire at the center. The fire cast long shadows that danced across the worn fabric of the tents, flickering in the slight breeze. Harris could make out half a dozen figures, slumped around the fire. Their voices carried faintly through the cool night air, the tone more weary than malicious.

Liam leaned closer to Harris, his breath warm on Harris's ear. "They don’t look like brigands," he murmured. "More like... farmers?"

Harris squinted at the figures, his brow furrowing. Liam was right. These weren’t hardened bandits. They were just people—tired, desperate people. He spotted a woman cradling a young child near one of the tents, her face lined with exhaustion. The child, wrapped in a tattered blanket, was asleep, its small face smudged with dirt. His stomach twisted with unease. These weren’t criminals. They were victims of circumstance, likely driven here by poverty or some other hardship.

Harris let out a quiet sigh, his eyes lingering on the woman and the child. He knew what desperation looked like—he had seen it too many times before, both in others and in the mirror. The gaunt expressions, the hollow eyes, the weary slouch of their shoulders—it was all too familiar. "Stay here," Harris said quietly to Liam, who opened his mouth to protest. Harris shot him a sharp look, and Liam reluctantly nodded, ducking down behind a bush. Harris straightened his shoulders, stepping into the clearing.

The brigands—if they could even be called that—looked up, startled. One of the men, a gaunt figure with hollow eyes, scrambled to his feet, a rusted sword in hand. The blade trembled slightly, as if the man himself lacked the strength to wield it properly. His knuckles were white as he gripped the hilt, his eyes wide with fear. "Who’s there?"

Harris held up his hands in a placating gesture. "Easy now. I’m not here to fight."

The man eyed him warily, the sword wavering slightly. Harris could see the hesitation, the uncertainty. "What do you want?"

Harris took a slow step forward, keeping his voice calm but carrying a hint of authority. "I’m here on behalf of Lord Atwood. He wants you gone from these lands."

A murmur ran through the group, fear flashing in their eyes. Harris could see the exhaustion, the hopelessness. He took a deep breath, lowering his voice. "Look, I get it. Times are hard. You’re just trying to survive. But if you stay here, it’s only going to get worse. Atwood’s men will come, and they won’t be as... reasonable as I’m trying to be."

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The man with the sword swallowed, his eyes darting to the others. Harris could see the uncertainty, the desperation etched in every line of his face. The woman with the child clutched her little one closer, her eyes wide, her lips trembling. "We got nowhere else to go," the man said, his voice cracking. "We’re not hurting anyone, just trying to get by."

Harris sighed. He could feel Liam’s eyes on him from the shadows, waiting to see what he would do. The old Harris—Malakar—would have dealt with this swiftly, decisively, without a second thought. He would have used fear, power, whatever it took to get the result he wanted. But that wasn’t who he wanted to be anymore.

"What if I could get you supplies? Enough to get you started somewhere else, away from Atwood’s reach?" Harris offered, his voice softening. He glanced at the woman with the child, her hollow eyes watching him with a mixture of hope and fear. She clutched the child closer, as if bracing for bad news. The firelight flickered across her face, casting deep shadows under her eyes. "I’m not promising miracles. But I’ll do what I can."

The man lowered his sword, his shoulders sagging. The exhaustion seemed to drain out of him all at once, leaving only weariness. The sword slipped from his hand, the tip sinking into the dirt. "You’d... do that? Why?"

Harris forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Let’s just say I’m not a fan of seeing people pushed around by nobles. You leave peacefully, and I’ll make sure you get enough to move on."

There was a long pause, the brigands exchanging glances. Harris could see the tension in their eyes, the unspoken hope that maybe, just maybe, they could get out of this without more suffering. Finally, the man nodded. "Alright. We’ll go. Just... don’t make us regret trusting you."

Harris nodded, relief washing over him. "You have my word."

He turned, gesturing for Liam to join him. Liam stepped out of the shadows, his expression a mix of confusion and admiration. His eyes flickered between Harris and the brigands, as if trying to reconcile what he had just witnessed with the stories he had heard about Malakar. As they walked away from the camp, Liam glanced at Harris, his brow furrowed. "You’re really going to help them? After everything Lord Atwood said?"

Harris sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I’ll figure something out. Maybe Atwood doesn’t need to know every detail of how this went down."

Liam stared at him for a moment, then grinned, a spark of mischief in his eyes. "You’re a good man, Harris. Even if you pretend not to be."

Harris snorted, shaking his head. "Don’t get used to it. I’m still the same grumpy gardener you met back in Greenhollow."

Liam chuckled, the tension between them easing. "Sure, sure. Whatever you say. Just don’t expect me to stop calling you out on it."

They continued walking, the camp fading into the distance behind them. Harris could feel the weight of what lay ahead—the lies he’d have to tell, the risks he was taking. But for now, he had done what he could. One step at a time.

The forest opened up, and they found a small clearing where they could set up camp. The clearing was quiet, save for the distant rustling of leaves and the occasional hoot of an owl. The air was cool, and the sky above was a canvas of stars, each one a distant pinprick of light in the vast darkness. As they worked in silence, gathering firewood and setting up their small tent, Liam finally spoke again, his voice quiet. "Do you think it’ll be enough? Helping them like that?"

Harris looked up at the sky, the stars just beginning to peek through the canopy of leaves, their light soft and distant. "I don’t know, Liam. But it’s better than doing nothing. And it’s better than becoming what I used to be."

Liam nodded, his gaze thoughtful, his eyes reflecting the faint starlight. "One step at a time, right?"

Harris smiled faintly, the words echoing in his mind. "Right. One step at a time."

The fire crackled to life between them, casting flickering shadows that danced across the clearing. The warmth was comforting, and for a brief moment, Harris allowed himself to relax, to let go of the tension that had been gripping him since they entered the forest. He glanced at Liam, who was staring into the flames, his expression pensive.

"You did good back there," Liam said suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I mean it. You’re not like the stories, you know. The ones about Malakar. You’re... better."

Harris looked away, the words hitting him harder than he expected. He didn’t know if he believed Liam, but maybe, just maybe, he could try to be that person. For Liam’s sake, if not for his own.

"Get some rest," Harris said, his voice gruff. "We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

Liam nodded, stifling a yawn. "Yeah. Alright." He stretched out on his bedroll, his eyes drifting shut almost immediately.

Harris watched him for a moment before turning his gaze back to the fire, the flames reflecting in his eyes. One step at a time. That was all he could do. For now, it would have to be enough.