The fire had nearly burned down by the time Kresos stood. He wiped the last of the grease from his fingers and slung his bag over one shoulder.
"I should go."
Jax looked up from where he sat cross-legged, chewing on a strip of dried root. "Go where?"
Kresos hesitated. "South, maybe."
Jax raised an eyebrow. "Not much out that way. A few small villages. The sea. And bandits—plenty of those."
The boy shrugged.
Jax didn't press. "Suit yourself."
He reached into his pack and tossed something across the fire. Kresos caught it—a cloth bundle tied with twine.
"Dried roots and some salted nuts," Jax said. "Not much, but better than starving."
"Thanks," Kresos muttered.
Jax nodded once, then pulled a small curved blade from his belt. The edge caught the dying firelight.
"You'll need more than sharp words where you're headed."
Kresos accepted the knife without a word. It was light, but balanced. Worn, but clean.
"Why are you helping me?"
Jax studied him for a moment. Not smiling. Not kind. Just watching.
"Because someone once helped me when I had nothing. He's not around anymore, but I guess that's my way of getting rid of that debt"
Kresos looked away.
"I see. I'll go now. Maybe we'll see each other again some day"
He didn't wait for a reply. He turned, stepped into the trees, and didn't look back.
*****
The forest pressed in around him. Branches clawed at his cloak. The narrow road beneath his boots wound south through thickets and shadow. Moonlight filtered through the leaves—sharp, pale, thin.
He walked until the fire in his legs dulled into numbness.
Eventually, he veered off the path, cutting into the trees until he found a small hollow lined with moss and thick brush. Hidden. Quiet. He dropped there without ceremony, stretched out beneath the open sky.
The stars were faint tonight.
But the quiet was full.
No dreams came.
Just sleep.
And for the first time in days, it stayed.
*****
Morning broke grey and slow. The trees shook with the early wind. Birds trilled somewhere above, too distant to feel real.
Kresos stood, stretched his aching shoulders, and resumed walking.
By midday, the road had widened, curling along a shallow ridge where stone met sun-bleached grass. A wooden cart approached—drawn by a pair of tired mules and driven by an old man with a wide hat and a toothless smile.
Kresos flagged him down.
They spoke only a few words. The man sold him a hard loaf of bread and a strip of cheese in exchange for a silver piece and no questions.
Kresos ate half of it before the sun began to dip again.
He walked the rest of the day without stopping.
When the light faded, he veered off the road once more, this time choosing a rise that overlooked the path below. The trees here were sparser, the sky clear.
Above, the full moon shone a white pearl floating high above — watching.
Its light bathed the clearing in silver.
Kresos ate the last of his bread, stretched out on a flat patch of earth, and listened to the wind slide through the branches.
Sleep came slower this time.
But it came.
*****
The first sound was soft.
Too soft to notice at first. A shift. A scrape.
Then a footfall.
Another.
Kresos didn't open his eyes—but his hand slid silently toward his hip, fingers wrapping around the blade Jax had given him.
He didn't breathe.
Didn't blink.
The wind died.
A twig snapped.
He moved.
Rolled hard, dirt scattering, blade flashing in the moonlight.
Six shapes stood at the tree line. Shadows cloaked in patchwork leather and rusted metal. Gaunt faces. Dirty hands. Weapons dulled but deadly.
Their eyes gleamed in the moonlight.
Hungry.
Kresos rose into a crouch, knife in hand.
"Who are you?" he asked quietly.
The man in front stepped forward. Thin. Grinning. A long scar dragged across his jaw. He leaned on a short spear like it was just something to pass the time.
"Merchants," he said smoothly. "Just simple merchants."
Kresos didn't answer. His eyes scanned the group—no packs, no carts, no tools. Just weapons. Just posture.
"Merchants don't sneak through trees."
A few of them chuckled.
Another stepped closer. Younger. Cracked knuckles and missing teeth.
"Smart mouth. Won't help you out here."
Kresos straightened.
"Walk away."
More laughter.
The leader clapped once, slow. "What're you gonna do, boy? Bleed on us?"
A third man stepped forward—broad shoulders, wild beard, sword in hand.
"Let's just take him. He's alone. Not even worth the time."
Kresos raised the knife.
"Last chance."
The man grinned—and charged.
Kresos moved.
Fast.
He stepped into the man's momentum, ducked under the wild swing, and drove the blade upward with everything he had. Steel slid through flesh. The man gasped, stumbled, and hit the ground hard while his sword bounced a couple of meters away. Blood sprayed across the grass. Kresos blinked, breathing hard. The knife was still buried halfway into the man's ribs, next to the boy.
Dead.
Everything stopped.
Even the trees seemed to freeze.
Kresos stood, blood on his hands, chest rising slow. His eyes locked on the others.
None of them spoke.
Then the leader snarled.
"You little bastard—"
They rushed.
All at once.
Kresos stood his ground. His feet screamed to run.
But he didn't. Not yet.