The sky over the barracks was thick with smoke. Not from fire—at least not yet—but from the furnaces in the yard, belching black clouds that clung to the roofs and made the stars above look faint and distant.
I stood outside my bunkhouse with nothing but the clothes on my back, my sword strapped tight across my shoulders, and the medallion hidden beneath my shirt. The black headband was knotted firmly around my forehead now, a quiet oath to myself that there was no turning back.
Arya emerged from the shadows like she belonged there. She carried a small satchel slung across her chest, her cap pulled low and her expression even lower.
"You're late," she said.
I smirked faintly despite myself. "You sound like him."
She didn't return the smile. Instead, her eyes darted toward the flickering light of the guardhouse on the far side of the yard.
"They've doubled the watch," she said. "We can't go out through the gate. Not without a fight."
I followed her gaze. Three guards were already posted at the iron gates, crossbows in hand, their sharp eyes sweeping the yard like wolves waiting for prey.
"Then we don't use the gate," I said.
Arya raised an eyebrow. "You have another idea?"
I glanced toward the western wall, where the shadows were deepest and the rock face beyond steep but not impossible.
"I've been climbing rocks longer than I've been swinging a sword," I said. "That way."
She studied the wall for a moment, then gave me a quiet nod.
We moved quickly but carefully, keeping to the shadows and ducking behind stacks of ore and crates. The guards were alert, but they weren't looking for two shadows that knew how to disappear between the cracks.
When we finally reached the base of the wall, I dropped to one knee and laced my fingers together.
"Go," I whispered.
Arya didn't hesitate. She set her boot into my hands, and I hoisted her up. She scrambled for the top of the wall like a thief born to the trade, pulling herself up and over before peering down at me.
"Your turn," she murmured.
I followed, my fingers finding the cracks I'd memorized long ago, my boots slipping once but never enough to fall. When I pulled myself up beside her, the yard already looked smaller, the guards nothing more than specks of light moving in the dark.
We dropped down into the rocky slope beyond the wall, landing in a crouch among the scrub and shale.
For a long moment, we didn't move. Just breathing. Listening.
Then Arya straightened, brushing dust from her cap.
"We're not safe yet," she said.
I nodded.
"Then let's keep moving."
---
The path north was rough and narrow, little more than a trail used by goats and hunters. The moon cast just enough light for us to see the cliffs falling away to our right, the black valley yawning open below like the maw of some ancient beast.
We didn't speak much as we walked. The silence between us wasn't awkward—it was heavy. Like stones we carried in our chests.
It wasn't until the faint glow of dawn began to touch the edges of the horizon that Arya finally spoke.
"So," she said softly, "what's your plan now?"
I glanced at her from the corner of my eye.
"You already know."
She smirked faintly, though there was no humor in it.
"The guild," she said.
I reached under my shirt and pulled out the medallion, letting it glint faintly in the new light.
"The guild," I confirmed. "He said they'd know who sent me."
She nodded, but her lips pressed into a thin line.
"You really trust him?" she asked.
I thought of the stranger's scarred face. His quiet, relentless instruction. The way his blade had stopped just short of cutting me in half the first day we met.
"I don't have to trust him," I said. "I just have to keep moving."
Her gaze lingered on me for a moment longer before she looked away, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders.
"Fair enough," she murmured.
We kept walking.
---
By midmorning, we'd left the cliffs behind us. The land opened into a series of rolling hills, dotted with pines and patches of mist that clung to the ground. A faint road appeared beneath our feet—rutted and worn, but unmistakably man-made.
We followed it until the sun was high, and just as fatigue was beginning to creep into my bones, we saw it.
A signpost by the side of the road, half-rotted and leaning.
Highridge – 12 miles
I stopped, staring at the name.
Highridge.
The stranger's words came back to me: Take it north. There's a guildhall in Highridge. Show them that, and they'll know who sent you.
I closed my hand around the medallion, feeling its weight.
Twelve miles.
Twelve miles between me and whatever future waited at that guildhall.
"Let's go," Arya said quietly.
We kept walking.
---
By the time the sun began to set again, the road curved sharply and we came upon the outskirts of a town.
If you could call it a town.
A scattering of stone cottages huddled at the base of a ridge, their chimneys belching smoke into the twilight. Beyond them, a larger building stood on higher ground—a long hall of timber and stone, its windows aglow and its roof crowned with a carved sigil of crossed blades.
The guildhall.
I stopped at the edge of the road, staring up at it.
It felt like something had shifted in the air itself.
Arya followed my gaze, then crossed her arms.
"Well," she murmured. "We're here."
I nodded slowly.
She glanced at me, her expression unreadable.
"You ready?"
I looked down at the medallion one last time, then slipped it back under my shirt.
"I've been ready," I said.
Together, we started up the path toward the hall.
Whatever waited for me inside—new skills, new blades, new battles—I would face it.
Because this was no longer just about proving something to myself.
This was war.
And I intended to win.