The night air hit hard.
Cold, gritty, too quiet. The kind of quiet that didn't last long in places like this. Rathan, Merlin, stumbled forward, dragging the chain still loosely shackled to one wrist.
The village ahead looked asleep. Lanterns dimmed, windows shuttered, no signs of soldiers or warnings.
Just normal people.
Too normal.
Merlin's pulse ticked fast behind his teeth. His breath burned like he hadn't used it in years. He blinked, once, then again.
'They don't know what's coming.'
His feet kept moving, boots scraping uneven stone. His head still rang from the shackles, from the years, from the sound of Cas and Arlen screaming while they died.
He reached the first house.
A boy stood outside it. Small. Shirt too big. Dirt on his cheek, hands behind his back, just… standing there. Watching.
"Who're you?" the boy asked.
Merlin froze.
'Don't answer. Don't—'
Rathan answered.
"Move."
The boy blinked. "You okay?"
"I said move."
