Chapter XXIV – The Shaman of Broken Pines
The morning broke cold and sharp.
Mist hung low over the treeline, and every breath came out white.
Auron tightened the strap on his sword belt, checking the edge of his blade one last time. Finn adjusted the bindings on his wrists, glancing at the frost-coated woods ahead. Lucian stood between them, his silver-lined cloak drawn tight, eyes faintly glowing from the runes pulsing beneath his skin.
Rodrik's voice came from behind, calm and commanding. "Three hours east. They hide in the Broken Pines. The villagers say their shaman commands storms. Expect the unexpected."
He rested a hand on Lucian's shoulder. "Remember: fight smart. Not loud. You're not here to prove you're strong; you're here to make it back."
Lucian nodded. "We'll handle it."
Rodrik gave a short nod, then turned away toward the village, already barking orders to his men. The three watched him go, and for a moment, silence filled the air; heavy but not fearful. The kind of silence that comes before the first step into something unknown.
Auron took that step.
The snow crunched under his boots, faint and deliberate. Finn followed close, crossbow at his back, short sword at his hip. Lucian brought up the rear, his mana flaring faintly to guide their way.
The forest swallowed them whole.
*******
By midday, the trees grew thick enough to choke the light. The air smelled of damp bark and smoke. Faint trails of footprints marked the snow, too many to count.
Lucian crouched near a tree, brushing frost aside. "Recent," he murmured. "Two dozen men at least. Moving fast."
Finn leaned in. "They're organized. That's bad."
"Means they think no one will stop them," Auron said. His tone was steady, quiet, different from before. The fear was still there, buried deep, but something sharper had replaced it; a purpose.
They followed the tracks until the forest opened into a ravine. Below, half-buried in fog, sat a collection of tents, crude totems, and fires. Dozens of raiders moved between them, laughing, sharpening blades, drinking from metal flasks. Their armor bore the mark of the Citadel Skulls, black bones painted over red steel.
Lucian crouched low behind a ridge. "At least thirty. Maybe more. The children are in the central pit."
Auron's jaw tightened. "Then we start there."
Finn looked between them. "You two can draw attention. I'll circle around, cut the cages loose."
Lucian nodded. "Go."
Finn slipped into the shadows, moving with the soft grace of someone who'd learned survival in alleys, not academies. Lucian closed his eyes, whispering a small spell. The runes on his arms flared faintly, bending the air around them. The smell of frost and pine masked their scent.
Auron gripped his sword, breath steady. "Ready?"
Lucian smiled faintly. "No. But let's do it anyway."
*******
They hit the camp like a storm.
Lucian's mana burst outward in a flash of pale silver, shattering the nearest totem with a shockwave that threw raiders off their feet.
Auron followed, his blade a streak of blue light, cutting through the first man before he could scream. The cold trailed behind each swing, frost blooming along steel and flesh alike.
Shouts erupted. The camp surged to life. Raiders grabbed weapons, rushing toward them in chaotic waves.
Lucian raised his hand, mana sigils spinning around him. "Stay close!"
A barrier of shimmering light flared to life, catching arrows mid-flight and sending them scattering harmlessly. Auron broke through it like a blade through glass, meeting the first rush head-on. His sword met steel, then bone.
Each strike was efficient, controlled, Rodrik's lessons made muscle and motion one.
From the shadows, Finn struck. His crossbow bolts found throats and joints, silent and precise. The children's cage creaked open behind him. Their eyes, wide and frightened, met his.
"Go," Finn whispered. "Run south. Don't stop."
The smallest girl hesitated. "The shaman—he'll kill you."
Finn's grin was faint but steady. "Not today."
*******
The shaman arrived as thunder cracked above the ravine.
He stepped from his tent, tall and thin, his body painted with runes that glowed a cold, electric blue. Feathers and bones hung from his robes, rattling softly as he moved. His eyes were white; empty and vast, like the sky before a storm.
Auron froze mid-strike. The air around them shifted. The ground trembled.
Lucian's voice was low. "Mana displacement. He's Two star at least."
The shaman raised his hand, and lightning lanced through the air, striking the snow beside Auron and melting it into steam. The next bolt came faster; Auron barely dodged, the heat searing across his arm.
"You defile sacred ground," the shaman hissed, his voice distant and cold. "You are all offerings."
Lucian drew in breath, focusing his mana. "Auron—go!"
Auron charged.
The shaman's hand swept up. Blue lightning arced toward him. Auron rolled forward, closing the distance, frost flaring from his blade as it met the crackling mana. The impact exploded in white light. The smell of ozone filled the air.
When the glow faded, Auron was on one knee, sword half-buried in the dirt, smoke rising from his shoulders. The shaman hovered above the ground, eyes glowing brighter.
"Foolish," he said. "You dare challenge beings outside your understanding."
Auron's jaw clenched. "shut the fck up."
He pushed off the ground, closing the distance with a burst of frost. His sword flashed upward, forcing the shaman to block with his staff. Sparks and ice collided. Each strike echoed like thunder in the narrow ravine.
The shaman swept his hand again, releasing a wave of lightning that sent Auron skidding back. The scent of burnt leather filled the air. Pain clawed at his nerves but beneath it, something else stirred. A pulse. The faint thrum of the wolf spirit deep within, answering the shaman's storm with its own defiance.
Lucian saw it. His eyes widened. "Auron, DO THIS YOURSELF!"
auron steadied his breath. Frost gathered around him not wild, but deliberate. The wolf's howl became a heartbeat. The air shimmered, and a faint circle of light appeared beneath his feet: a ring of ice sigils glowing with runic light.
The shaman snarled and struck again, lightning cascading downward. Auron moved through it.
For the first time, he didn't resist the pain. He shaped it. The frost at his blade's edge turned crystalline, refracting light in sharp arcs. He stepped once, twiceand vanished.
The next heartbeat, he was behind the shaman.
The strike came down clean.
A single, perfect cut.
For a moment, everything was still. Then the shaman staggered forward, staff falling from his hand. The blue light in his eyes flickered, then died. His body fell into the snow, steam rising from the wound that cleaved through his shoulder.
Auron exhaled slowly, frost curling from his lips. Around him, the camp had gone silent. The remaining raiders dropped their weapons, fleeing into the forest.
Lucian approached carefully, watching the faint blue glow fade from Auron's sword. "That technique, what was that?"
Auron looked at his hands. The frost still clung to his skin, but it no longer burned. "The first step," he said quietly. "Sword of Judgment."
Finn emerged from the shadows, wiping blood from his blade. "Well, next time, remind me not to doubt you."
Lucian smiled faintly. "I'll second that."
The children were safe. The fires burned low. The Citadel Skulls were nothing but ash and silence.
*******
By dusk, they returned to the village.
The people gathered in the square, faces lined with disbelief that turned into joy. The children ran to their parents. Cries turned to cheers. Someone brought wine. Someone else began to sing.
Rodrik stood at the edge of the square, arms crossed, watching them approach. His expression softened just slightly when he saw them—bloodied, exhausted, but alive.
Lucian stepped forward. "It's done."
Rodrik's gaze shifted to Auron. "The shaman?"
"Dead," Auron said simply.
Rodrik nodded once. "Good. Then rest. You've earned it."
He turned away, but his voice carried back to them. "You've done more for these people than the crown has in years."
As the villagers gathered around, offering food, blankets, thanks, Auron felt something he hadn't in a long time; peace. Not the empty quiet after battle, but the kind that came from doing something that mattered.
Finn laughed softly beside him. "Feels good, doesn't it?"
Auron nodded. "It does."
Lucian lifted a cup of wine, his voice calm but full of promise. "To the road ahead. To the capital."
"To strength," Finn added.
Auron smiled faintly, raising his cup. "To never running again."
They drank beneath the rising moon, the frost glinting faintly around them like stars scattered in the dirt.
And somewhere beyond the forest, the wind shifted carrying word of the three who had burned a bandit camp to the ground. Their story was only beginning.