They walked the rest of the morning in silence. Just after midday, the trail narrowed, forcing them single file. Soren took point, Mira bringing up the rear. The Lady followed in the middle, her stride never flagging.
At a bend in the path, Soren saw the flash of movement: three men, not in uniform, not from the city. He drew the sword, felt the fragment burn cold under the skin, and braced.
The men stepped out, blades ready, faces smudged with dirt and intent.
The leader grinned. "Traveling heavy, aren't we?"
Soren gripped the sword, tried to find the thread again, the line, the will, the absence of fear. He pictured the Aura, the way it had felt, and for a second, thought it might answer.
He said, "You can walk away."
The man laughed, then charged.
