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Chapter 34 - Weight Between Worlds

Morning crept over the camp with the kind of silence that didn't feel like peace — more like the pause before someone decides whether to speak or stay angry forever.

The smell of smoke still hung in the air. The patch of dirt where the medallion had cracked looked darker than it should, like the earth itself hadn't quite forgotten what happened.

I stood over it, boots planted firm, arms crossed, watching the last of the mist curl over the treetops. My stomach was tight, not from hunger but from the kind of guilt that sits low and steady.

Lorian shuffled up beside me, his hair sticking up like he hadn't slept a wink. "Did you… feel anything?"

"About what?"

He pointed at the ground. "That… thing. After it broke."

I thought for a moment. "No. Just… cold."

He nodded, fidgeting with his sleeves. "I dreamed last night. Fire. Screaming. The trees were moving."

"You've been dreaming that since the first cult raid," I said.

"Yeah," he muttered, rubbing his neck. "But this time, they were whispering your name."

That one hit like a stone dropped in water — silent, but spreading fast.

Before I could answer, Borgu appeared, yawning loud enough to wake the mountains. His axe hung lazily over his shoulder. "Morning, meat people. Camp still here. Good."

He sniffed the air and frowned. "Still smell cursed thing."

I grunted. "You just smell your own armor."

"Orc armor smell like glory," Borgu said proudly. "Not death."

"Tell that to the flies," I muttered.

He blinked, then burst into booming laughter, the sound too big for the quiet morning. Even I couldn't help a small grin — until I noticed Sylvara across the camp, watching us.

She wasn't laughing.

Her bow lay across her lap as she sat by the fence post, head down, expression unreadable. The distance between us wasn't just space anymore — it was something heavier.

By midmorning, everyone had gathered near the fire pit. Even Gareth, who'd kept mostly to himself, joined reluctantly, standing apart with arms folded.

I didn't call the meeting. Sylvara did.

"Since our fearless chief enjoys keeping secrets," she began, "we might as well talk about them together."

The words stung, but I didn't argue. She had every right.

She continued, voice sharp but controlled. "We've built something here. Something alive. And I won't see it fall apart because someone decided to play commander again."

Lorian looked between us nervously. "Maybe we could… not fight?"

"Not fighting is what gets people killed," Sylvara snapped. "Trust is all we have out here. And he—" she pointed at Gareth "—brought corruption into our walls."

Gareth met her gaze, calm as ice. "I didn't summon it. I contained it. If not for me, you'd still be walking blind to what's in this forest."

"Containment isn't trust," she said.

"No," he agreed. "But it's survival."

The air tightened. Borgu cracked his knuckles loudly. "Orc say both right. Human smart but stupid. Elf right but angry. Good mix."

Sylvara shot him a glare. "Borgu, not now."

He grinned, unbothered. "Now perfect. Orc say we move on. Make new rule. No more shiny cursed things in camp."

That got a few half-hearted nods — even from Lorian, who muttered, "That seems… fair."

Sylvara exhaled, rubbing her temples. "Fine. But one more secret, and I'm done. No more decisions in the dark, Kael."

"I understand," I said quietly.

Her gaze softened — barely. Then she stood and walked off toward the tree line again, vanishing into the forest like she always did when she needed space.

Gareth broke the silence with a sigh. "You've got a real loyal group."

"They're still here," I said. "That's loyalty enough."

He gave a bitter smile. "You're used to soldiers. Not people."

"Maybe."

He shrugged, adjusting his cloak. "I'll take the northern watch tonight. Might as well be useful."

I nodded, watching him leave. His back was straight, steps measured — the walk of a man who's used to being hated and surviving anyway.

By noon, the mood had lightened just a fraction. Borgu and Lorian were repairing the outer fence, bickering about who bent the stakes wrong. Sylvara hadn't returned yet, but that wasn't unusual.

I worked on the storage hut, hammering in new supports to keep the roof from sagging. Each strike felt like penance.

After a while, Borgu wandered over, chewing on something suspiciously charred.

"Orc have question," he said.

"Go on."

He tilted his head. "Why you keep trusting new people? Human forget last war?"

I paused mid-swing. "I haven't forgotten anything."

"Then why keep trying?" he pressed. "Why not just stay with orc and elf and small man? That enough."

I smiled faintly. "Because if I stop trying, then I'm not building anymore. I'm just hiding."

Borgu chewed thoughtfully. "Orc like that. Still think you crazy, though."

"That's fair," I said.

He nodded approvingly and walked off, humming something that sounded suspiciously like a marching song.

When Sylvara returned later, she looked calmer. Her hands were dirty, her hair wind-tangled, but her eyes were clearer. She didn't speak at first — just helped me set down another beam for the storage wall.

After a while, she said, "You always try to fix things with work."

"It's the only thing I'm good at."

"Liar," she said softly. "You're good at making people follow you, even when they don't want to."

I gave a small, tired smile. "You're still here."

"For now." She paused, gaze distant. "Just don't make me regret it."

"I won't."

She studied me for a moment, then nodded once. "Good."

For the first time in days, the silence between us wasn't heavy. It was… real.

By nightfall, the camp felt alive again.Gareth returned from his watch without incident. Borgu managed to cook something that didn't resemble charcoal. Lorian was laughing again, even if it was nervous laughter.

As for me, I sat by the fire, blade resting across my knees, letting the warmth chase the cold from my bones.

The others joined slowly — Sylvara across from me, Borgu to my right, Lorian fussing with the pot, and Gareth sitting a little apart but still within the circle of light.

It wasn't peace. Not yet. But it was something.

Sylvara broke the quiet. "So… what now?"

I stared into the fire. "We rebuild. We prepare. We watch the forest."

"Think they'll come back?" Lorian asked.

"They always do," I said. "Evil doesn't like being ignored."

Borgu grunted. "Then orc not ignore. Orc smash first."

That got a few chuckles — even Sylvara's lips twitched.

The laughter didn't last long, but it didn't need to. Sometimes all you needed was a reminder that it was still possible.

I leaned back, closing my eyes briefly. The fire crackled, the air smelled of pine and smoke, and for one fragile moment, everything felt normal again.

Whatever came next — the forest, the cult, the unknown — we'd face it together.

And that, I thought, was enough.

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