A month into Raphael’s brutal training, Deermarch felt smaller.

  My body had hardened. Bruises faded faster now. My movements were quieter, more deliberate. I was hauling grain near the edge of town when voices carried in from the road.

  Azazel’s laugh cut through first.

  I looked up.

  He was walking in from the border, cloak dusted with travel, talking with another man built nearly as broad as he was. The stranger moved with an easy confidence, hands loose at his sides, head tilted as if he were constantly sizing the world up.

  The man’s eyes found me.

  He smirked.

  “So this is the boy,” he said, raising his brows as he looked me up and down. “Little shorter than Azazel made him out to be.”

  Azazel chuckled. “Yah, but di boy got heart. Dat’s what di Fatha say.”

  The man hummed thoughtfully, still studying me like a blade he hadn’t decided whether to use yet.

  Raphael stepped forward and folded his arms.

  “You finally show your face again,” he said flatly. “After all these years.”

  The man grinned wider.

  “Oh, don’t act like you hate me, Uncle.”

  Raphael’s jaw tightened.

  “I’m part of the way too, you know,” the man went on casually.

  Raphael’s eyes narrowed. “Since when, Lucius?”

  Lucius’s smile faded just enough to show there was something underneath it.

  “Since I came to make amends,” he said. “For my family.”

  “And for the Father’s plans.”

  He reached up and adjusted the red bandanna tied around his head, fingers lingering there a moment longer than necessary.

  I felt it then—the shift in the air.

  Azazel glanced between the two of them, amused but watchful.

  Lucius’s gaze flicked back to me, sharp now.

  “Well?” he said. “Is this the one?”

  Azazel nodded once.

  Lucius’s smile returned—but it wasn’t warm.

  He was eager.

  And for the first time since I’d crossed the border, I had the distinct feeling that whatever peace I’d found in Deermarch…

  …was about to be tested by fire.

  Lucius tilted his head, eyes never leaving me.

  “Let me test him,” he said. “Just once.”

  Raphael didn’t hesitate. “No.”

  Lucius laughed softly. “Come on, Uncle. It’d be fun.” He glanced at me again. “And it’d be a perfect test of your student.”

  Raphael’s jaw set. “This isn’t a game.”

  Lucius spread his hands. “I just want to see if your dance works better than raw strength.”

  “Nonsense,” Raphael snapped. “You’ve got more years under your belt than Thomas does.”

  Lucius shrugged, unconcerned. “Everyone’s got more years than someone.”

  Before Raphael could stop him, Lucius stepped closer and clasped a hand on my shoulder. His grip was firm—not cruel, but heavy enough to remind me who was stronger.

  He leaned down slightly, grinning.

  “What do you say, boy?” he asked. “Just one fight.”

  I felt Raphael’s presence immediately—solid, protective—like a wall behind me.

  “No,” Raphael said again, sharper now.

  But Lucius wasn’t looking at him.

  He was looking at me.

  Not challenging.

  Inviting.

  I swallowed.

  In the months I’d been here, no one had asked me to prove myself like that. Not with fists. Not with blood.

  But Lucius wasn’t asking to teach.

  He was asking to measure.

  I glanced back at Raphael. He met my eyes, and in them I saw something rare—concern edged with trust.

  “This isn’t about winning Thomas,” Raphael said quietly. “It’s about what you choose to become.”

  Lucius chuckled. “Always the poet.”

  His hand tightened slightly on my shoulder.

  “So?” he pressed. “One round.”

  The square had gone quiet now. People had stopped working. Stopped talking.

  Waiting.

  And I realized this wasn’t just a test of strength.

  It was a test of which voice I would answer.

  The one that promised power.

  Or the one that had taught me how not to lose myself.

  I took a breath.

  And answered.

  I felt the weight of the square pressing in on me.

  I took a breath. Slower than Lucius expected.

  “I’ll fight,” I said. “But only with conditions.”

  Lucius’s grin widened immediately. “Oh?” He stepped back, clearly amused. “I like conditions.”

  I met his eyes. “No killing. No crippling. And if I yield, it ends.”

  Raphael’s gaze flicked to me—sharp, assessing—but he didn’t interrupt.

  Lucius considered it, then laughed. “Fair enough.”

  He reached up and tugged the red bandanna from his head, holding it out between two fingers.

  “If you win,” he said, “you get my lucky bandanna.”

  I blinked. “That’s it?”

  Lucius scoffed. “That bandanna’s kept me alive longer than most men get to live.”

  He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice.

  “And if I win,” he continued, “you join my crew for six months. As a mercenary.”

  The word hit harder than any punch.

  “That doesn’t seem like a fair deal,” I said carefully.

  Lucius shrugged. “Trust me—it’s lucky, Thomas.” He smiled like he already knew the outcome.

  I felt Raphael step closer behind me.

  His eyes had hardened now, not with anger—but calculation.

  Lucius noticed it too.

  “What?” Lucius asked lightly. “You don’t trust me with your student?”

  Raphael’s voice was calm. Too calm.

  “I don’t trust what you make people become,” he said.

  Lucius chuckled and tied the bandanna around his wrist instead.

  “Then let’s see what he already is.”

  He rolled his shoulders once, loose and eager.

  “Well?” Lucius asked, eyes on me again. “Deal?”

  I looked at the bandanna.

  At Raphael.

  At Azazel, watching quietly from the edge of the square.

  Six months.

  Six months on the road.

  Six months closer to the world I’d run from.

  I nodded.

  “Deal,” I said.

  Lucius clapped his hands once, delighted.

  “Good,” he said. “Let’s see if dancing can stop a storm.”

  The circle widened.

  And somewhere deep in my chest, I felt it again—that familiar tightening.

  Not fear.

  Anticipation.

  Because this time, I wasn’t fighting to prove I was strong.

  I was fighting to decide what kind of strength I was willing to carry forward.

  Azazel raised his hand.

  “Three… two… one.”

  “Go.”

  Lucius exploded forward.

  Not a charge—a blur. His sword snapped out ahead of him, point driving straight for my throat. I barely registered the motion before my body reacted on instinct, blade twisting just enough to deflect his strike past my shoulder.

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  Steel rang.

  Before I could breathe, his boot slammed into my chest.

  The impact knocked me backward, air tearing from my lungs as I skidded across the dirt. I barely caught myself before hitting the ground.

  Lucius laughed, already moving again.

  “Wow,” he said, genuinely impressed. “Most people wouldn’t have deflected that.”

  He rolled his neck once, loose and eager. “This is going to be interesting.”

  He rushed me again.

  I met his blade, turning it aside—once, twice—but the strikes didn’t stop. They came in relentless bursts, angled to force my guard wider, lower, off-balance. Every impact rattled my arms, the hilt of my sword shaking violently in my hands.

  My wrists began to ache.

  Then burn.

  I tried to slow my breathing, to remember Raphael’s lessons—flow, yield, redirect—but Lucius didn’t give me space. He pressed constantly, forcing me to react instead of move.

  Steel rang again and again, each blow heavier than the last.

  My footing slipped. My arms screamed. My guard faltered.

  Lucius grinned through it all, eyes bright.

  “Come on,” he said, breath barely touched. “I know you’ve got more than this.”

  I swallowed hard, sweat stinging my eyes.

  This was a storm.

  Our blades met again in a hard, ringing clash.

  I twisted with the impact and drove my boot into Lucius’s midsection. It didn’t send him far—but it bought me space. Just enough.

  I stepped in and cut.

  The blade bit into his arm, shallow but clean. Blood welled bright against his skin.

  For a heartbeat, the square went still.

  Lucius glanced down at the wound, then back up at me.

  “Boring,” he said.

  He surged forward before I could reset. Steel flashed and pain flared across my cheek as his blade kissed my face, hot and sharp. Blood ran warm down my jaw.

  I gritted my teeth and parried, again and again, giving ground inch by inch as he pressed harder. My arms felt numb now, every impact sending a jolt up through my shoulders.

  I was barely holding him back.

  Then it happened.

  A sharp crack split the air.

  My sword gave way in my hands.

  The blade snapped clean near the hilt, the broken length spinning end over end before hitting the dirt with a loud clang.

  Silence crashed down around us.

  I stared at the ruined weapon, my grip closing on empty air where steel should have been.

  Lucius stopped.

  Slowly, deliberately, he lowered his sword.

  “Well,” he said, breathing a little harder now, eyes gleaming. “That’s unfortunate.”

  My chest heaved. My hands shook.

  I stood there, unarmed, blood on my face, heart pounding so hard it drowned out everything else.

  And in that moment—exposed, cornered, and watched by the whole of Deermarch—

  I understood exactly what Lucius wanted to see next.

  Not whether I could win.

  But whether I would reach for the SIN.

  And whether I was willing to forget someone to do it.

  I looked to Raphael.

  Then to Azazel.

  Shock mirrored on both their faces as I gritted my teeth and reached for the pouch at my belt.

  The SIN slid into my hand.

  Heavy. Familiar.

  Lucius’s grin spread wide. “Come on, Thomas,” he said eagerly. “Now’s the time to use it.”

  My finger hovered.

  For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to that single motion—to the pull that would end everything cleanly and take something from me forever.

  Names flashed unbidden.

  Faces.

  Laughter by a lake.

  A necklace warm in my palm.

  The cost.

  I glanced at Raphael—his jaw tight, eyes steady.

  At Azazel—no grin now, only watching.

  I exhaled sharply.

  And threw the SIN.

  It clattered across the dirt at Lucius’s feet.

  His smile faltered. “What—?”

  I was already moving.

  I rushed him, closing the distance before he could reset, before he could understand. The broken half of my sword was still in my hand. I slammed into him, driving him back, forcing him off-balance.

  The cracked blade pressed against his throat.

  Steel kissed skin.

  “I win,” I said.

  The square went silent.

  Lucius froze, eyes flicking down to the ruined weapon at his neck, then back up to me. Slowly, a different kind of smile crept across his face—one edged with surprise.

  “Well,” he said softly. “I’ll be damned.”

  Raphael released a breath he’d been holding.

  Azazel laughed once, sharp and proud. “Dat’s my boy.”

  Lucius stepped back carefully, raising both hands. He glanced at the SIN on the ground, then back at me.

  “You could’ve ended it,” he said. “One pull.”

  “I know,” I replied.

  He studied me for a long moment, then reached up and untied the red bandanna from his wrist. He tossed it to me.

  “Lucky,” he said. “Guess it works.”

  As the crowd slowly began to breathe again, I realized something had shifted.

  Not just in the fight.

  In me.

  For the first time since Old Tumbledown burned, I had chosen not to forget.

  And that choice—more than any weapon—

  was the strongest thing I’d carried yet.

  Lucius clapped a heavy hand against my back, nearly knocking the breath out of me.

  “Had I found you first, boy,” he said with a grin, “things would’ve been different, Uncle.”

  Raphael didn’t miss a beat.

  “Different isn’t always better,” he replied flatly.

  Lucius laughed and shrugged, unbothered. “Fair.” He looked back at me. “I’ll get you a new sword, kid. Proper steel this time.”

  I opened my mouth to answer, but he was already continuing.

  “And when I see you again,” he added, tapping two fingers against his chest, “join me. I’ve got work for you—if you want it.”

  Before I could respond, Raphael stepped forward and pushed Lucius aside with a firm hand to the shoulder.

  “That’s enough,” Raphael said. “Eat something. Then leave.”

  Lucius blinked, then burst out laughing. “Still telling me what to do. Some things never change.”

  Azazel snorted from where he’d been watching the whole exchange. “Family,” he said, shaking his head. “Am I right?”

  Lucius glanced between them, then back at me, his expression sharpening just a touch.

  “You did good today,” he said, more seriously now. “Not many men would’ve made that choice.”

  He nodded once—approval given, not asked for—then turned away, already scanning the tables for food like the fight had been nothing more than a warm-up.

  Raphael exhaled slowly beside me.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  I nodded, still feeling the echo of the moment in my bones.

  “Yes,” I said. “I think so.”

  Raphael studied me for a second longer, then allowed himself the faintest smile.

  “Good,” he said. “Because this—” he gestured toward the square, the people, the noise returning to life, “—this is what you protected today.”

  I looked around Deermarch.

  At the faces.

  At the laughter returning.

  At the peace that had nearly been shattered.

  And I knew Lucius was right about one thing.

  If he’d found me first…

  I would not be standing here now.

  ***

  Lucius and Azazel sat by the fire, laughter rolling easily between them as they traded stories. Children climbed over them like they were trees—one perched on Azazel’s shoulders, another tugging at Lucius’s bandanna as if it were a prize to be won.

  Neither of them minded.

  The townsfolk ate as they always did—passing bowls, tearing bread, voices overlapping in the familiar rhythm of shared life. Nothing felt staged. Nothing felt forced.

  Raphael and I sat a little apart, plates balanced on our knees, watching the firelight dance across faces both young and old.

  Raphael spoke quietly.

  “Lucius isn’t a bad man,” he said. “Just born to the wrong father.”

  I glanced at him. “You really believe that?”

  “He always was hot-tempered,” Raphael continued. “Fiery. Restless.” A pause. “But deep down, he’s a good man.”

  I hesitated. “So why do you hate him?”

  Raphael’s jaw tightened—not with anger, but with something older.

  “I don’t hate him,” he said. “I mourn what he became.”

  He stared into the fire.

  “He abandoned our village long ago,” Raphael said. “Left on a quest to see the world. To prove something—to himself, mostly.”

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “A warlord came,” Raphael said simply. “Burned our village to the ground.”

  My chest tightened.

  “Azazel and I defended what we could,” he went on. “When it was over, we gathered the remnants—the wounded, the widowed, the children—and we settled here. Deermarch was born from ash.”

  I swallowed. “And Lucius?”

  Raphael exhaled slowly.

  “He returned too late,” he said. “Found nothing but ruins.”

  The fire popped.

  “He went on a rampage,” Raphael continued. “Took command of a mercenary band. Hunted the warlord clans across three regions.”

  I looked back toward Lucius, laughing now as a child tugged at his sleeve.

  “He came back to us once,” Raphael said. “Laid the heads of the clan leaders at our feet.”

  My stomach turned.

  “And then?” I asked.

  “And then he left again,” Raphael said quietly. “The revenge was taken. But it didn’t give him what he thought it would.”

  He shook his head faintly.

  “Revenge rarely does.”

  We sat in silence after that, watching the fire burn low, the children eventually drifting off to sleep where they lay.

  I understood then why Raphael had been so firm.

  Why he’d kept me close.

  He wasn’t afraid I’d become strong.

  He was afraid I’d become Lucius.

  And as the night deepened over Deermarch, I realized how thin the line truly was—between justice and ruin, between protection and obsession.

  Between staying…

  …and walking away with fire in your hands.

  ***

  At first, it sounded like thunder.

  Low. Distant. A dull vibration in the ground that didn’t match the clear sky above us. I felt it through my boots before I fully heard it—an approaching weight that made the earth uneasy.

  Raphael turned south.

  Lucius stopped laughing.

  Azazel’s expression shifted, his usual ease gone in an instant.

  They all knew.

  Raphael raised a hand—two sharp motions—and Gramps and Old Nan were already moving. No panic. No shouting. Just practiced urgency.

  “Mountain,” Old Nan barked. “Now.”

  The town responded like a body that had rehearsed this pain before. Mothers gathered children. Men slung packs over shoulders. Fires were stamped out. What couldn’t be carried was abandoned without hesitation.

  I saw the banner next.

  White and gold, rising above the road like a wound opening in the distance.

  The Church.

  A host of riders crested the southern rise—nearly three hundred of them—armor gleaming, lances upright, hooves pounding in grim unison. Their banner fluttered behind them, heavy with authority and blood.

  Sophie’s hand found mine.

  Her fingers were cold.

  I looked down at her. Fear widened her eyes, but she didn’t look away. I squeezed her hand once, hard.

  “It’ll be all right,” I said—whether for her or myself, I didn’t know.

  Gramps took her gently by the shoulder. “Come on, girl.”

  She hesitated, then nodded, letting him pull her toward the others as they moved up the path toward the mountain.

  She looked back once.

  So did I.

  Then I let go.

  I reached up and settled the leather hat on my head, pulling the brim low. My jaw tightened. My chest felt steady in a way it never had before—not calm, but ready.

  Lucius rolled his shoulders and stretched his arms, grinning like this was the moment he’d been waiting for all his life.

  “About time,” he muttered.

  Azazel cracked his neck once, eyes locked on the approaching riders. “Dat’s a lotta noise for people who ain’t welcome.”

  Raphael stepped forward, calm and immovable, staff planted into the dirt like a line drawn across the world.

  The four of us walked toward the road together.

  Behind us, Deermarch emptied into the mountain.

  Ahead of us, the Church came thundering in steel and certainty.

  And as the distance closed, I felt it—clear and undeniable.

  This wasn’t just a battle.

  It was a reckoning.

  And whatever happened next would decide whether Deermarch remained a refuge…

  —or became another name carved into ash.