Kael's arm throbbed in time with his heartbeat.
Even after Rothmar bound it, the pain remained—deep and insistent, like something alive beneath the skin. Every time Kael flexed his fingers, a hot pulse flared through his forearm and into his elbow. He tried not to show it. He wasn't sure when he'd started caring about that, but the thought of looking weak in front of Rothmar now felt pointless, like lying to a storm.
They moved through the hills for hours after the encounter.
Rothmar did not allow a proper stop. Only brief pauses: to drink, to rewrap the bandage, to check the line of travel. Kael's legs wobbled by midday, and his mouth tasted like copper from breathing too hard through cold air.
When they finally paused beside a stand of pines, Kael sank down against the trunk of the nearest tree and shut his eyes.
For a moment, he heard footsteps again—measured, purposeful. His body tightened instantly, knife hand twitching.
Rothmar's voice cut through it. "Stop."
Kael opened his eyes.
Rothmar stood a few steps away, watching him.
"That was the wind," Rothmar said. "You jumped anyway."
Kael swallowed, embarrassed. "I thought—"
"I know what you thought," Rothmar said. "And that is the problem."
Kael frowned. "What's wrong with being careful?"
"There is nothing wrong with caution," Rothmar replied. "There is something wrong with panic dressed up as caution."
Kael looked down at his injured arm. The bandage had darkened with fresh blood.
"I can't switch it off," Kael said quietly. "Every sound feels like it might be—"
"Yes," Rothmar said. "That is what it feels like when you become prey."
Kael's stomach tightened at the word.
Rothmar stepped closer and crouched in front of him, gaze steady. "Fear will keep you alive," he said. "But uncontrolled fear will get you killed."
Kael's jaw tightened. "So what do I do?"
Rothmar's eyes narrowed slightly, as if he were pleased Kael had asked the correct question. "You learn to use it."
Kael let out a slow breath, forcing his shoulders to loosen.
Rothmar reached into his cloak and produced a small bundle wrapped in cloth. He unwrapped it with care, revealing dried meat and hard bread.
Kael stared at it as if it might be a trick. "Food?"
Rothmar tossed him a portion. "Eat."
Kael caught it awkwardly with his good hand. The smell made his stomach ache.
He ate slowly at first, chewing the dry bread until it softened, then swallowing. The meat was salty and tough, but it was food, and his body clung to it greedily.
As Kael ate, Rothmar sat opposite him, back against another tree.
"You fought well," Rothmar said without warning.
Kael almost choked. He swallowed quickly. "I nearly died."
"And you didn't," Rothmar said. "That matters more."
Kael stared at the crumbs in his palm. "I froze at the end."
"You hesitated," Rothmar corrected. "For a heartbeat. Then you reacted. That is improvement."
Kael didn't feel improved. He felt tired, sore, and shaken in a way he couldn't explain. He hadn't cried since the town, but something inside him kept pressing against his ribs like it wanted out.
"Why are they after me?" Kael asked.
Rothmar's gaze sharpened. "Because you were meant to be dead."
Kael frowned. "That's not an answer."
"It is," Rothmar said. "You simply don't like it."
Kael clenched his jaw. "You said it wasn't random. That it was ordered."
"Yes."
"By who?"
Rothmar's eyes didn't move. "Not yet."
Kael's anger flickered, brief and helpless. "Why won't you tell me?"
Rothmar's voice stayed calm. "Because knowing will not help you right now. Knowing will make you reckless. Reckless boys die."
Kael looked away, breathing hard through his nose. He hated how sensible it sounded.
Rothmar stood. "Finish eating."
Kael did, forcing down the last bite of bread even though it felt like stone in his stomach.
Rothmar gestured. "Come."
They travelled again.
The land changed slowly over the next days. The hills flattened into broader plains. The forests became rarer, replaced by stretches of scrub and open ground where hiding was harder and visibility stretched too far.
Kael's nerves grew tighter with every hour spent in open terrain.
Rothmar noticed.
On the third day after the hunters, Rothmar stopped in the middle of an open field dotted with low rocks.
Kael halted beside him, instinctively scanning the horizon.
"What are we doing?" Kael asked.
Rothmar looked at him. "Breathing."
Kael blinked. "What?"
Rothmar pointed to the ground. "Sit."
Kael hesitated, then sat on a flat stone. He felt exposed, like he'd just laid his throat bare.
Rothmar stood over him. "Close your eyes."
Kael stared. "No."
Rothmar's gaze turned colder. "Do it."
Kael's fingers curled around his knife handle. "Here?"
"Yes," Rothmar said simply.
Kael's throat tightened. Slowly, reluctantly, he shut his eyes.
The world disappeared.
His body tensed immediately. He could feel the wind on his skin. Hear it whispering through dry grass. Each sound became sharp, magnified. His mind began to fill in gaps—footsteps, breath, movement that wasn't there.
Kael's heart started to race.
"Breathe," Rothmar said.
Kael forced air in.
It didn't help. The fear rose anyway, crawling up his spine.
"Again," Rothmar ordered.
Kael inhaled. Exhaled. Inhaled.
His thoughts screamed at him to open his eyes.
Rothmar's voice cut in, calm and relentless. "If you cannot sit with your fear, you will never command it."
Kael clenched his teeth and kept breathing.
Minutes passed.
Slowly, the imagined footsteps faded. The wind became just wind again. The field remained what it was—empty, cold, quiet.
Kael opened his eyes.
His hands were shaking, but his breathing was steady.
Rothmar nodded once. "Better."
Kael swallowed. "Is that the lesson?"
"No," Rothmar said. "That was the foundation."
Rothmar turned his head slightly, as if listening.
Kael's stomach tightened.
Rothmar spoke without looking at him. "Now we see if you can hold that foundation when the world tests it."
Kael followed Rothmar's gaze.
On the far horizon, a line of riders moved like dark dots across the plain.
Kael's blood went cold.
"How many?" Kael asked.
Rothmar's eyes narrowed. "Five."
Kael stood instantly. "Hunters again?"
"Not the same," Rothmar said. "Different discipline."
Kael's pulse spiked. "What do we do?"
Rothmar looked at him. "What do you think?"
Kael's mind raced. Open field. No forest cover. Rocks scattered but not enough to hide from mounted riders. Running would be useless.
Kael forced himself to breathe, to think rather than panic.
"We can't outrun them," Kael said. "So we need to break their formation."
Rothmar's expression didn't change, but something in his eyes sharpened. "Continue."
Kael pointed towards a stretch of uneven ground where the plain dipped into a shallow gully. "There. If we reach that, we can force them off the horses or funnel them."
Rothmar nodded slightly. "Good."
Kael looked at him, realising. "You knew they were there."
"Yes," Rothmar said.
Kael's anger flared. "You let them come."
Rothmar's voice was flat. "Yes."
Kael stared, incredulous. "Why?"
"Because you need this," Rothmar said. "And because I will not always be able to choose when danger arrives. Better you learn under controlled pressure than die during uncontrolled panic."
Kael's hands shook, but he didn't argue again. He understood. He hated it, but he understood.
Rothmar stepped forward, leading the way towards the gully.
"Remember your breathing," Rothmar said.
Kael swallowed hard. "And if I fail?"
Rothmar didn't look back. "Then I will not let you die."
That wasn't reassurance.
It was a limit.
They moved quickly, keeping low as they crossed the plain. The riders drew closer, their silhouettes sharpening: cloaks snapping in the wind, helmets catching pale light. Not blank armour this time. These wore crested helms—symbols Kael didn't recognise.
A horn sounded.
Kael's chest clenched.
They'd been spotted.
The riders surged forward, hooves pounding the earth, closing the distance with terrifying speed.
Kael reached the gully first, dropping into it hard and scrambling along its narrow path. The sides rose steeply on either side, forcing anyone following to funnel down.
Rothmar dropped in behind him, calm as ever.
"Positions," Rothmar said.
Kael took cover behind a jagged rock within the gully, knife ready, breathing shallow but controlled. He could hear the riders now—hooves, armour clinking, shouted commands.
The first horse reached the gully's edge and reared, refusing to leap down.
Its rider cursed.
A second rider forced his mount forward anyway, and the horse slid down awkwardly into the gully, hooves scrambling on loose dirt.
Kael moved.
He surged out, slashing at the horse's hamstring—not to kill, but to make it collapse.
The horse screamed and fell, throwing the rider hard into the rocks.
Kael was on him before he could rise.
He drove his knife into the man's shoulder, pinning him in place, then ripped it free and retreated behind cover before the others could strike.
Rothmar spoke softly from behind him. "Good. Keep moving."
Kael's heart hammered.
The riders dismounted now, abandoning horses that couldn't navigate the gully. They entered on foot, blades drawn, moving with the confidence of trained fighters.
This was not a simple chase.
This was an extraction.
And Kael was the prize.
Kael tightened his grip on the knife, breathing hard, eyes locked on the approaching figures.
He had survived bandits.
He had survived hunters.
Now he faced men wearing crests—men with authority.
Kael felt fear rise again.
Then he forced it down into his chest like a weight.
And waited.