I walked alone.
The plain was littered with the people who had followed me this far (some crawling, some already still). Arrows stuck out of the dirt like ugly flowers. The wind smelled of blood and hot iron. My ankle throbbed with every step, but the pain felt far away, like it belonged to someone else.
Mira's litter was heavier than it had any right to be. I had the poles slung across my right shoulder, the cloak dragging behind me in the dust. My left hand kept brushing the edge of the fabric, just to make sure she was still there. Stupid. Of course she was.
The great gates stood open. Not wide, just enough for one man on horseback to pass. They'd done it on purpose. A reminder: we can close this any second.
A single rider waited in the shadow of the archway. Gold cloak, white horse, no helmet. Young, maybe nineteen. The courier from before. He looked pale, like he'd been sick since he delivered his message.
He didn't speak until I was ten feet away.
"The king will meet you on the tournament field inside the second wall," he said. His voice cracked on the word king. "You come unarmed. You bring… her. No one else."
I stopped. My breath came in short pulls. The sun was behind the walls now, throwing everything into long, bloody shadows.
"I'm already unarmed," I said, and lifted my empty hands. The right one was black with dried blood up to the elbow. "And she's not going anywhere without me."
The kid swallowed, nodded, turned his horse. I followed.
We walked through the tunnel under the wall. It was thirty paces long and smelled of piss and old fear. Torches flickered. My footsteps echoed. So did the soft scrape of the litter poles.
When we came out the other side I almost laughed.
The city was beautiful.
Wide avenues, white stone, trees in neat rows. Fountains still running. Banners snapping clean in the wind. People on the balconies watching, silent. Not cheering. Not throwing flowers. Just watching. Like they'd been told if they made a sound something terrible would notice them.
The courier led me straight down the main street. Past markets that still had fruit on the stalls. Past children who hid behind their mothers' skirts when they saw what I carried.
I kept my eyes forward.
At the end of the avenue was the second wall, and inside that the royal tournament ground. A huge oval of sand surrounded by tiered seats. Empty now. The king had cleared it.
Two men waited in the center.
One wore full plate, gold-chased, wolf crest on the breast. Tall, broad, maybe forty-five. Beard trimmed neat. Crown like a circle of fire on his head.
Vortigern.
The other was older, thinner, dressed in black robes with a silver chain. Royal wizard or advisor or whatever they called them. He held a staff that looked like it cost more than most villages.
The courier stopped at the edge of the sand, dismounted, bowed stiff, and walked away without looking back.
I kept going.
Fifty yards of sand between us. My feet sank with every step. The litter dragged furrows behind me.
I stopped ten yards out.
Close enough to see the king's eyes. Grey. Cold. Curious.
He looked at me first, then at the litter. His mouth twitched (not quite a smile).
"So," he said. His voice carried easy, like he was used to being heard in big spaces. "You're the boy who burned half my kingdom to get my attention."
I set the litter down gentle. The cloak settled. I straightened up slow; my back screamed.
"I didn't burn anything," I said. My throat felt full of rust. "Your soldiers did that. I just… followed the smoke."
Vortigern tilted his head.
"You look like shit, son."
"Yeah, well. Long walk."
He laughed once, short. Not cruel, just surprised.
"Fair." He glanced at the advisor, then back to me. "You want water? Wine? Something before we do this?"
I shook my head.
He shrugged, like it was my loss.
Silence stretched. The wind moved the banners overhead. Somewhere far off a baby cried and was quickly hushed.
Finally he spoke again, quieter.
"I know what you're carrying. I heard the stories. Little blonde girl. Twelve? Thirteen?"
My hands curled into fists without me telling them to.
"Her name was Mira," I said.
He nodded slow.
"Mira." He tasted the name. "I remember the list. Gorrid sent word he'd found something… special. I told him to bring her clean. He didn't always listen."
Something hot crawled up my spine. I took one step forward. The sand shifted under my foot.
Vortigern raised a hand, palm out. Not scared. Just stopping me.
"I'm not your monster, boy. I'm the man who keeps worse monsters on leashes. Gorrid was one. There are others. You kill me, the leash snaps. You ready for what comes after?"
I stared at him.
"You think I came all this way for a leash?"
He smiled then. Real one. Tired.
"No. You came for a throat." He tapped his own. "Fair enough. But before you try, hear the offer."
He took one step closer. The advisor tensed but didn't move.
"I give you Gorrid's head on a platter (too late, I know, but it's what I have). I give you the officers who led the sack of Calveron. I give you land, gold, a title. Lord Johnson. You keep your little army outside my walls, you go home rich, and we call it even. The girl gets a tomb with her name on it. Proper one. Marble."
I looked at him for a long time.
"You think that buys her back?"
"No," he said, soft. "Nothing buys that. But it buys tomorrow for a lot of other little girls."
I laughed. Couldn't help it. It hurt my ribs.
"You burned my tomorrow. You don't get to sell me someone else's."
He sighed through his nose.
"Then what do you want, Dean Johnson? Say it plain."
I looked down at Mira. The wind moved a strand of her hair across the cloak.
"I want you to feel it," I said. "Every second. I want you to know exactly what you paid for when you sent your wolves west. And then I want you to stop breathing."
He studied me. Really studied. Like he was seeing past the blood and the dirt and the shaking hands.
"You're not a monster," he said finally. "Not yet. You could still walk away."
"I walked away once," I said. "From the watchtower. Two days too late. Never again."
He nodded, like I'd confirmed something he already suspected.
"Then we're done talking."
He turned to the advisor. "Open the gate. Bring the guard."
The old man hesitated. "Sire—"
"Do it."
The advisor bowed and hurried off.
Vortigern looked back at me.
"You'll die here, you know. You and the girl both. My men will cut you down before you take three steps."
"Maybe," I said. "But you'll watch."
He smiled again, smaller this time.
"I always did like a good show."
Trumpets sounded. Gates inside the tournament ground started to open. I heard the clatter of armor, the stomp of boots. Hundreds. Thousands.
I knelt beside Mira, brushed the hair from her face.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I really thought I'd get farther."
The first rank of soldiers appeared (shields up, spears leveled).
I stood.
My legs felt like water.
The system pinged, weak.
[Health: 19/140]
[One blessing remaining]
I reached for it (whatever it was).
Vortigern raised a hand. The soldiers stopped.
He was staring at something behind me.
I turned.
The avenue we'd walked down was full again.
Not empty anymore.
People.
Thousands of them. Citizens. Shopkeepers, mothers, kids, old men. They'd come out of the houses, the side streets, the cellars. No weapons. Just people. They stood shoulder to shoulder, filling the street all the way back to the outer gate.
Silent.
The ash mark still on their foreheads.
They'd followed me in.
One woman near the front (maybe thirty, apron still on) took one step forward onto the sand. Then another. Then the whole crowd started moving. Slow. Determined.
Vortigern's face changed.
Not fear. Something worse. Recognition.
I looked at him.
He looked at me.
And for the first time, the king looked tired.
"You didn't bring an army," he said quietly.
"No," I said. "I brought a mirror."
The people kept coming.
I picked up Mira's litter.
My legs still shook.
But I took the next step.
And the one after that.
Because sometimes all you have is one more step.
And sometimes that's enough.