Alec sat astride his knackered old mare, a sway-backed thing with a coat the colour of old ash, as she clopped quietly behind the wagon—her gait as weary as his own mood. The sun had barely crested the treetops, casting long shadows over the muddy path ahead. Up front, Albos and Siv were deep in another one of their trademark debates—this time about what they’d do next, once Albos had finally managed to shift the last of his cursed, moth-eaten rugs.

  Alec listened with half an ear, the words floating in and out like birdsong on the breeze. He was as tired as his horse, maybe more. The night before had offered little in the way of rest—his dreams had clawed their way back, as they always did when he got too close to the border. After waking with a gasp, the thought of lying back down, of slipping under and dredging it all up again, had soured his stomach.

  So, instead, he’d wandered the camp. Sat by the low-burning fire. Tended to the horses. That was always something that helped—brushing them down, checking their hooves, murmuring soft words into the stillness of night. He often spoke to them, those beasts. Told them truths he couldn’t say out loud to anyone else—like how sometimes, in the stillness between nightmares, he wished he hadn’t come back at all. The horses never asked questions. Never gave him that look people gave when you told them too much.

  Albos and Siv knew about the nightmares—he'd woken them both once or twice with his cries—but they didn’t know the full story. Not about the girl in the burning village, or the thing he saw crawling from the flames. And Alec meant to keep it that way. Because if they ever heard the truth… he wasn’t sure they’d look at him the same.

  The horses though? They just blinked at him in the dark, calm and unjudging. And for now, that was enough.

  Alec was shaken from his melancholic thoughts by Siv’s voice.

  “Oi! Big man—come up here!”

  He blinked, realising for the first time that the wagon had stopped. Up ahead, Albos and Siv stood at the head of the trail, both staring down the lane toward a small farmhouse.

  Alec urged his mare forward, riding up beside them. “What’s wrong, lads?”

  “Look,” Siv said, pointing.

  Alec followed his gaze but saw nothing out of the ordinary—just a modest homestead nestled at the edge of the woods, its chimney cold and lifeless. He frowned. “Looks like any other farm to me.”

  Siv tutted, rummaging through his road-stained satchel before pulling free one of his odd little contraptions—a battered-looking spyglass. He gave it a tug and it extended with a faint click. He peered through it for a moment, then inhaled sharply.

  “Here,” he said, handing it over.

  Alec brought the glass to his eye and scanned the front of the house. At first, nothing stood out—until he caught sight of the door.

  It had been hacked to pieces. Alec felt a chill spider down his spine. His grip tightened around the reins as bile rose in his throat—a familiar, unwelcome taste that reminded him too much of old battlefields.

  Splintered wood hung from twisted hinges, the frame caved inward like something had tried to break in—or tear its way out. Alec’s chest tightened. He swallowed hard, suddenly aware of the weight of the silence pressing down on him, of the hitch in his breath and the tremor in his fingers as they hovered near the grip of his weapon. The air was thick with a coppery tang, and an unnatural hush pressed in around them, as if the house itself were holding its breath. He adjusted the lens, panning slowly across the front yard.

  “Front garden,” Siv said quietly.

  Alec lowered the glass.

  That’s when he saw it.

  Blood.

  Smears of it across the path. Drag marks. And near the fence, a shape—still and twisted. The faint buzz of flies thickened the air, mingling with the sour stench of blood and rot. At first he thought it was a pile of discarded clothes, until he saw the unmistakable glint of bone. A head. A mound of torn viscera.

  His stomach turned.

  “Shit,” Alec muttered, voice low.

  “Should we check on them?” Albos asked, his voice unsure.

  “No,” Siv replied flatly. “We ain’t from around here. Someone sees us near a butchered neighbour’s garden, they’ll think we did it. No question.”

  “You always assume the worst in people,” Albos said, voice tight with frustration, his eyes darting uneasily toward the blood-streaked yard.

  “It’s not an assumption, lad. I’ve lived it,” Siv grunted. “You talls are bloody stupid sometimes. We’d be strung up quicker than you can take a shit.”

  Alec let them bicker—Siv dissecting human nature with cold logic, Albos clinging to the last scraps of decency like a man gripping a fraying rope. It all blurred together, background noise against the thrum building in Alec’s chest. But Alec had already tuned them out—his focus shifting, breath shortening, decision made.

  He was going to look for survivors.

  “Oi! Big man—what’re you doing?” Siv called out.

  Alec didn’t answer.

  His heart thundered in his chest as he approached the house. The closer he got, the clearer the carnage became—blood streaked across the earth, the shattered remains of the door, the ruin of a body barely recognisable as human.

  It was too familiar.

  No. No, no no...

  We beat them, he thought, panic clawing at the edges of his mind. He saw flashes—ash swirling in the air like snow, screams torn off by the wind, limbs bending the wrong way in the firelight. They’d burned so many, buried the rest in stone. It should have been the end. They were wiped out. Gone.

  Sweat prickled along Alec’s brow, chilling in the morning air. He hadn’t seen a scene like this in over twenty years—not since the war.

  “Oh my god…” Albos whispered.

  Alec didn’t turn. He’d already heard their footsteps crunching behind him, but it was Albos’s gagging and the wet sound of him retching that made him sigh.

  “Fuck me, boy,” Siv muttered. “Ain’t you seen a body before?”

  Albos raised a shaky finger, silently asking for a moment as he bent over and emptied the contents of his stomach onto the grass. When he was done, he fumbled a frilly handkerchief from his coat and delicately dabbed at his mouth and eyes, trying to salvage some shred of dignity.

  “Yes, I have,” he said defensively, voice hoarse. “But they’re usually intact. Not—whatever this is. The poor sod looks like he was butchered.”

  Alec knelt beside the ruin of what had once been a man. What was left barely resembled anything human.

  “He was,” Alec said quietly. “They take the meat. To eat.”

  Albos gagged again, doubling over, hand pressed tight to his stomach.

  Siv’s voice dropped low. “Big man… you know who did this?”

  Alec shook his head slowly. “Not who,” he said, his voice a gravelled edge. “It’s a what.”

  “A what?” Albos asked, dabbing his mouth again with that ridiculous hanky.

  “Hurok,” Alec said, rising to his feet.

  He stepped over a wood axe half-buried in the mud, its handle slick with rain and speckled with drying blood. The ground squelched beneath his boots, churned by the chaos of whatever had happened here, and a low mist clung to the grass, swallowing the edges of the path as he approached the house. Just off to the side, the remains of a chicken coop lay in splinters, its wire torn open like paper. Bloodied feathers clung to the grass. The corpses of chickens—what little was left of them—were scattered across the yard.

  “They take whatever meat they can get,” Alec said grimly. “They’re not picky.”

  He reached the broken door, pushed it open, and stepped inside.

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  The air was thick with the coppery stench of blood. Alec’s stomach turned, but he forced himself to breathe through it, steeling his mind. He’d seen worse—had to—but something about this felt different, wrong in a way that dug under his skin and stayed there. In the middle of the small kitchen, the woman lay sprawled across the dining table—her body torn open, butchered like the man outside. The room was quiet, but the violence still echoed in the walls.

  Alec’s eyes drifted to the table—four bowls, still half-full with what must’ve been the evening meal. Root vegetables. A pheasant wing. Now cold, untouched.

  Then he saw it.

  A wooden horse sat near the hearth. Perched on its back was a hand-carved toy soldier, a great shield strapped across its shoulders. Alec allowed himself the faintest smile.

  Just beside it, lying in a dark pool of blood, was a small rag doll—its edges stained red.

  Siv stepped in behind him, the weight of the scene dropping over them both like a thick fog. Furniture lay overturned, and deep scratches marred the wooden floor. A smashed ceramic bowl glinted under a chair, and the fire in the hearth had long since died out, leaving only cold ashes behind.

  He’d seen the toys too.

  “Where’re the children?” Siv asked, voice low.

  Alec didn’t turn. His face was stone.

  “They take ‘em,” he said.

  Siv froze. “Wait... what was that?” he said, eyes narrowing.

  Alec straightened instantly. “What?”

  He didn’t hear anything at first—just the thunder of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

  “Shh,” Siv hissed. “Listen.”

  Footsteps behind them—Albos came through the doorway, saw the scene and gasped, “Oh my god—”

  “Shut it,” Siv snapped. “Listen.”

  And then Alec heard it too.

  A faint sound—quiet, broken.

  A whimper.

  Siv moved toward one of the cupboards, his hand drifting to the small axe looped on his belt. Alec squared his stance, tense. He had no weapon in hand, though every part of him wished he did.

  Albos hovered in the doorway, frozen—unsure whether to move or stay rooted where he was.

  Siv crouched low and slowly pulled open the cupboard.

  A sudden burst of motion—something messy and furry shot out and slammed into him, knocking him flat onto his back. His axe came up in a blur, instinct exploding through his muscles as he prepared to strike—but Albos lunged forward with a shout, grabbing his wrist in a sudden, desperate grip.

  “Stop!” Albos shouted. “It’s a dog!”

  Siv blinked. His focus sharpened—and he realised he wasn’t under attack.

  The creature squirmed over him, tail wagging wildly, tongue flailing with joyous abandon. Siv let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh as the tension shattered in an instant. He was being licked to death.

  “Get off me!” he spluttered, as the dog wagged its tail furiously, tongue working overtime across his face.

  “Come here—come on, there’s a good boy. That’s it,” Albos coaxed, crouching low and whistling softly.

  The dog, recognising the kindness in his voice, bounded over to him, its muddy paws thudding softly against the earth. Its coat was matted but soft beneath the grime, and as it leapt toward Albos, a low, eager whine escaped its throat. Albos fussed it immediately, whispering soft, comforting things as he scratched behind its ears.

  Alec reached out and hauled Siv back to his feet, brushing him off with a faint smirk.

  “Let’s get you out of this terrible place,” Albos murmured to the dog, scooping it gently into his arms. “That’s a good boy, eh?”

  As he turned to step outside, Alec followed, his gaze scanning the tree line.

  “It’s a girl,” Alec said.

  Albos paused, looked down at the dog, and smiled sheepishly.

  “Oh,” he said, in a voice barely above a whisper. “Sorry, girl.”

  Albos gently set the dog down, and she scampered across the yard—sniffing, circling, her tail twitching with nervous energy.

  She bounded over to the body of the man in the garden and nudged at it, whining softly.

  “Come here, girl,” Albos called gently.

  She turned toward him... then suddenly darted around the back of the house, ears perked and body tense as if she’d caught a sound or scent none of them had noticed.

  “Oi—no, no, no—come back!” Albos shouted, taking off after her.

  “Leave it,” Siv grunted, not even turning.

  “No, I will not,” Albos huffed, his voice puffed up with indignant purpose as he ran.

  “That boy’ll get us killed,” Siv muttered, shaking his head. Alec gave a faint, humourless smile, eyes still locked on the trees. He wasn’t sure if he agreed—or if Albos was the only one with the courage to move.

  Alec didn’t reply. His mind was still swimming—images of the burnt-out village in the Eastern Reach flashing behind his eyes, the scent of smoke and charred flesh crawling back into his nostrils, memories, dread rising in his gut like bile. The farmhouse. The blood. The way it felt too much like then.

  Siv glanced at him. “You alright, big man?”

  Alec turned slowly, his face unreadable.

  “You look like someone just walked over your grave,” Siv added, tone softer now. “What do you know?”

  Alec opened his mouth to speak, but a ragged shout cut through the still air from beyond the house, sharp and urgent—full of panic.

  “Lads! Help me!” Albos cried from behind the house.

  Both men ran.

  They found Albos crouched beside a small wooden shed, wrestling with the latch.

  “There’s a child in there,” he said, breathless. “Help me get it open!”

  Alec didn’t hesitate. He threw his weight into the door, bracing and wrenching until the old wood groaned—and gave.

  The door burst open.

  Inside, curled on the dirt floor, was a small boy. Mud-streaked face. Clothes tattered. Cheeks stained with dry tears. He wasn’t moving.

  Alec stepped forward, gently lifting the boy and laying him out in the grass. The child's limbs were limp, his skin clammy and pale beneath the grime. His lips were tinged with blue, and his brow furrowed faintly, as if caught in the grip of a nightmare.

  He pressed an ear to the child’s chest.

  For a breathless moment—nothing.

  Then—thud. Faint. But steady.

  “Is he alive?” Albos asked.

  Alec nodded. “His heart’s still beating.”

  Siv let out a long breath. “This is getting too complicated,” he muttered.

  “Have a heart, little man,” Albos said, kneeling beside the boy. “He needs food. Water. Warmth.”

  “He’s cold to the bone,” Alec agreed, already shrugging off his cloak. As he draped it over the boy, a memory tugged at the edge of his thoughts—another winter, another child they hadn’t reached in time. This one would not share that fate. Not while he still drew breath.

  “Fucksake,” Siv growled, rubbing a hand down his face. “Right. Get him in the wagon. I’ll tend to him.” A flicker of reluctance passed through his eyes—like a man trying to keep a wall up even as it cracked.

  Albos blinked. “You know anything about healing?”

  Siv gave him a flat look. “I wasn’t always a merchant, boy.”

  The boy startled awake with a ragged gasp.

  “Trina… Trina… They took her—they took her!” he cried, his voice raw with panic. He thrashed weakly in Alec’s arms, hands clawing at the air as if trying to reach someone. His eyes darted about, unfocused, tears welling up as he clung to the nearest hand that offered comfort.

  “Hush now, lad,” Siv said—his usual gruffness softened to something gentle. Almost fatherly. It was a tone Alec hadn’t heard from him before.

  Siv crouched beside the boy, rummaging through his satchel. His fingers brushed something wrapped in old cloth, worn soft with age. For a moment, he paused—just long enough for the faint scent of rosemary to rise from the bundle. His jaw clenched. It reminded him of home, of simpler days long gone, and the tiny hands he’d once tended with the same care. He pulled out a small blue-wrapped package and a flask.

  “Alright, let’s see here…” he muttered, unwrapping the parcel to reveal a white block that gave off a strong, minty scent.

  “What’s your name, lad?” Siv asked, voice calm.

  “John,” the boy croaked.

  “Alright, Johnny-lad. Drink some of this, yeah?” Siv said, gently bringing the flask to his lips.

  John drank slowly, his hands trembling. The warmth of the liquid slid down his throat, but did little to chase away the chill buried deep in his bones. His breath caught in his chest, heart hammering as the faces of his parents flickered through his mind—gone, all gone.

  “Easy now,” Siv said, steadying him. “Sip, don’t drown in it.”

  John coughed and sputtered. “Breathe, lad. Breathe,” Siv said again, more firmly this time.

  “Here,” he added, breaking off small pieces of the white block. “Try eating some of this.”

  John devoured the pieces with ravenous hunger.

  “Not so fast now,” Siv chuckled, giving a rare, kind smile. Normally all gruff orders and sharp looks, he let the hardness slip for a moment, just enough to show the man he used to be—or maybe still was, buried deep down. “It’s not running away.”

  He dug through his bag again and pulled out a small brown bottle that rattled softly. From it, he shook out a single dull-grey pill.

  “Alright. This next part’s important,” Siv said, offering it to him. “Pop this in your mouth, and take it down with another sip.”

  John obeyed without question, swallowing the pill down with the help of another tilt from the flask.

  “Good lad,” Siv said softly, brushing the boy’s hair from his eyes.

  “I need to go,” John mumbled, trying to push himself upright. His limbs trembled under the effort, fingers weakly grasping at Siv’s sleeve. “Need to find my sister… Trina. The nightmare men took her. They killed my dad… they killed my mum…”

  Tears welled in his eyes again, his voice breaking.

  Siv placed a hand on his chest. “Hush now, Johnny. The nightmare men ain’t here anymore. You’re safe for now. Close your eyes, lad. Let it pass.”

  John kept talking, the words tumbling out softer and softer, until they were just faint murmurs lost in the breeze. "Trina... the red door... don't let them in..."

  Then, silence.

  He was asleep.

  Alec glanced down at the boy, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest. His brows knit, unease stirring in his gut. “What did you give him?” he asked quietly.

  Siv leaned back on his heels. “A few of me tinctures—calming draughts and painkillers mostly. He’ll be out for a few hours—long enough for us to get a mile or two away and set up camp proper. Then I’ll take a real look at him.”

  Alec nodded.

  Alec swept up the boy, cradling him as gently as he could, and carried him over to the wagon where the horses waited, snorting softly in the cool morning air. He nestled the lad among the pile of rugs, tucking his own cloak around him for warmth. The dog leapt up beside them, curling close to the boy with a soft whine, nuzzling her nose beneath his chin.

  “We should bury them,” Albos said quietly, his voice tight with something raw. He stared back at the ruined farmhouse, jaw clenched, eyes shadowed by a weight that hadn’t been there before. “We can’t just leave that boy’s parents out here to be fed on by... gods know what.”

  “I’ll do it,” Alec said.

  Siv’s gaze flicked to the shadows creeping between the trees. He locked eyes with Alec. “Not alone, you’re not,” he said. “We don’t know if whatever the fuck butchered ‘em ain’t still lurking nearby. You two need to get that lad out of here.”

  “I’ll do it alone,” Alec said firmly. Part of him needed the silence. The last time he’d buried someone, it had been his brother—and he hadn’t had the strength to do it properly. This time, he would. “Besides... I need to think of the best way to explain what happened here.” He knew Albos and Siv would ask him eventually. Everyone would.

  But he didn’t voice that. Instead, he said, “Siv, you heal the boy. And you—” he pointed to Albos “—watch his back while he does.”

  “Hold on,” Albos said, raising a hand with a crooked smirk tugging at his lips. “Aren’t I the boss here?”

  Alec arched a brow. “Alright then, boss. What’s your plan?”

  Albos paused. “Well... come to think of it... it’s exactly the same as what you just said.”

  Siv groaned and shook his head. “Pair of bloody children.”

  “I’ll meet you in a few hours,” Alec said, turning toward the farmhouse once more.

  “See you in a bit, big man,” Siv replied. Then, quieter, “But when you’re back... I’ll be wantin’ a bit of an explanation.”

  There it was. Alec nodded faintly.

  He knew it would be coming.