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Chapter 4 - CHAPTER 4: A PROMISE WRITTEN IN ASH

The Script's threat clung to Elias like a cloud of smoke.

"The Reader encounters his first friend at dawn. The friend will not survive the day."

He did not sleep. Every creak of the wooden walls, every scream from an outside night watchman sent him round and round in his head concerning the same question—If I know this is going to happen, can I stop it?

Morning came in shards of pale light through the shutters.

Elias was already dressed, sword belt tightened around his waist, when the Warden summoned him to the courtyard. The cold air seeped through his hoodie, carrying the smell of woodsmoke and damp stone.

The Warden was there, and the woman of the past few days—the one who'd initially spoken to him in the city.

She stood next to a third figure: a man in battered armor, sitting stiffly on a bench, one arm in a sling.

The armor was dented and stained; the man's face was pale but sharp-eyed beneath unkempt brown hair.

"Elias," the Warden said, "this is Sir Calven. You'll be accompanying him on a patrol to the east road."

Calven gave a faint nod. "So you're the outlander they've been whispering about."

"And you're… injured," Elias said, glancing at the sling.

"I've been worse." Calven's smile came quickly, practiced. "They want me off the wall for one day, so I get the pleasure of babysitting you."

Elias got out a struggling laugh. Ally. The Script hadn't lied so far.

They left soon afterwards, walking through the reopened gate.

A small escort of two warriors joined them, spears glinting in the sun.

The east road curled through grass touched by frost, the mist less thick than it had been days before.

Calven walked easily, the sort that came with years of practice. He chatted a great deal, keeping the silence at bay with snippets of the city's history.

"You close to the carrion, then?" Calven asked.

"Twice," Elias said.

"Then you've been more fortunate than most." Calven played with the strap on his chest plate in his good hand. "They are drawn to death, you see. Old battlefields are nasty—there's something about the decay there that draws them."

Elias nodded slowly. "And the factions? I'm hearing all about banners and allegiances everywhere."

Calven's expression hardened. "Too many to enumerate. Our city's under the Crown's banner, but the Crown's weak now. The Guilds run their own laws. The Church answers to no one. Then there's the Wild Orders—mages who think rules don't apply to them."

"And you?"

"I serve the city, not the politics." Calven's gaze was steady. "If you're smart, you'll pick the same side."

Elias glanced away. What side is that for a Reader?

They reached the ruins Elias had passed through on his first day. The fires had died, but the air still smelled of the faint taste of blood and burned wood.

The soldiers spread out, searching the fallen walls.

Calven knelt beside a dirtied spot of churned mud, shoving frost aside with his gauntlet. "Tracks. Not carrion. Two-legged."

"Raiders?" Elias asked.

"Maybe." Calven stood slowly. "Or worse."

The Script scorched before Elias could wonder what worse was.

"The ambush begins when the crow flies."

His head snapped up.

A black crow scratched at the crown of the wall, oblivious to them.

He scanned the ruins, searching for movement.

"Calven—"

The crow flew away.

Shouts emerged from the mist.

Men spilled out from behind broken walls, scarred with patchwork armor and battling curved blades. Raiders.

The two escort guards formed into a shield line at once.

Calven drew his sword in a smooth, practiced motion despite the fact that he had a slinged arm.

"Close in!" Calven growled.

The first raider swung their shields like a hammer, baring his teeth. Elias sidestepped to the side, wildly swinging his sword awkwardly at an attacker.

The blade scudded armor but didn't bite. He merely parried by wording to avoid a cut that would have slit his throat.

Calven battled like a tempest, one-armed yet deadly, his blows efficient and targeted. He eliminated two raiders in two breaths, the wall being cover for his injured side.

Elias parried another stroke on the flat of his blade, his arms complaining from the punch. He shoved back, adrenaline burning through fear.

The raider stumbled, and Elias pushed the blade on, striking him in the stomach. The man fell onto the ground, shrieking.

But they were in the minority.

The Script reoccurred, in combat.

"The ally falls to the unseen blade."

Elias's breath was stolen. He turned, watching the battle.

Calven fought two raiders at once, parrying with his good arm. None were in to—

A glint of steel amidst the wreckage overhead.

"Calven!" Elias roared.

The knight whirled as the raider behind the wall attacked from nowhere, dagger poised for the strike at his throat.

Calven whirled, the blade slicing through his ribcage rather than his throat. He grunted, stumbled.

Elias charged forward, ramming into his attacker with his shoulder. They crashed to the mud, the dagger scraping away.

Elias didn't waver—he struck lower with his sword, again and again, until the man was motionless.

As he looked up, Calven was also still—barely.

His side was streaked with blood.

The soldiers had driven back the last of the raiders into the fog, but at a cost that was written across the knight's labored breathing.

They rested in the shadow of a half-collapsed wall.

One soldier bound Calven's injury with makeshift bandages. The knight waved aside mention of returning immediately.

"We finish the patrol," Calven groaned. "If we turn back now, they'll think they've chased us away."

Elias sat beside him, watching the bandages. "You shouldn't even be standing."

Calven smiled faintly. "You sound like my sister."

"I am serious. The Script—" Elias caught himself. "Never mind."

Calven observed him for a moment. "You see things, don't you?"

Elias went rigid. "What?"

"I've been in enough fights to know when someone's going ahead when he shouldn't. Back there—you called out my name before I saw him."

Calven narrowed his eyes, not accusing but curious. "That wasn't luck."

Elias swung away from him. "Let's just say I've got good instincts."

The sky darkened before they faced back toward the city.

The wind was carrion-scented—thick, overpowering. The soldiers tightened their grip on their spears.

Elias walked beside Calven, ready to catch him if he stumbled.

The Script's prediction rang through his mind. Not survive the day.

There was still time to prove it wrong.

Then the mist ahead of them altered.

Three carrion beasts came into view, eyes glowing in the dusk.

The soldiers formed rank in an instant.

Calven moved forward, sword raised in spite of his injury. "Stay back."

"No," said Elias, moving forward at his side. "Not this time."

The beasts came on slowly, moving hesitantly, probing.

Elias's heart was pounding. His fingers wrapped around the sword tighter.

When they attacked, he ran at the first one head-on, driving his blade into its chest.

The jolt shook his arms, but the creature stumbled back, ichor pouring.

Calven cut the second down with a bellow, but the effort left him winded and sent him almost to his knees.

The third creature crashed into him before he could rise.

The two crashed into the mud.

Elias didn't hesitate—he dove, hitting the creature's side.

It snapped around at once, jaws closing.

He drove his sword into its jaw, striking the nauseating crunch as it went limp.

He whirled—

Calven was down in the mud, motionless, blood spreading across the ground beneath him.

They carried him back through the gates under torchlight.

The Warden met them in silence, jaw set in a hard line.

Calven was taken away to the healers, but in an hour came the message.

Sir Calven was dead.

That night, Elias sat by himself in his small room, looking at the wall.

The Script had been right again.

Knowing even… he couldn't change it.

Then what is the purpose of seeing ahead if I can't save anyone?

No answer. Only the cold glow of the next message.

"The Reader will discover the first magic truth at dawn."

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