Arin didn't look back to see if Elias followed.
He set a steady pace across the slope, spear resting against his shoulder, moving with the practiced care of someone who had walked dangerous ground too many times. His eyes flicked over the landscape automatically, scanning for movement in the grass, glints of metal, anything out of place.
Elias watched his posture for a few seconds, measuring.
The boy's steps were light, balanced. He didn't drag his feet or stomp. His weight shifted slightly to the balls of his feet on uneven patches, ready to move in any direction. When he reached a small rise in the hill, he adjusted his path to keep the high ground for himself without even thinking about it.
Not a simple traveler.
Not a farmer's son.
Someone who had learned to walk like prey that refused to die.
Useful.
Elias followed.
The air felt thinner this far from Duskwood, as if the forest had been pressing gently on his lungs the whole time and only now was letting them expand fully. Sunlight warmed his neck and shoulders, chasing out the chill that had woven itself into his bones during the night.
He didn't like it.
Darkness hid things, but it also made them easier to predict. Light exposed everything at once. Too much information, not enough focus. He ignored the discomfort and matched Arin's pace.
After a few minutes of walking, Arin glanced over his shoulder.
"You always stare this much?" he asked, not unkindly.
"I observe," Elias replied. "It keeps me alive."
Arin snorted. "Fair. Just don't stare at me like I'm dinner."
"If I were hunting you," Elias said, "you wouldn't see me staring."
Arin paused for half a step, then huffed a short laugh.
"All right," he said. "I'll… keep that in mind."
They continued in silence for a while. The ground sloped downward into a shallow valley where scrubby bushes and scattered rocks broke the monotony of the grass. In the distance, Elias could make out the faint suggestion of a dirt path cutting across the landscape.
A road.
Small. Poorly maintained.
But a road nonetheless.
"Where are we going?" Elias asked.
"There's a camp," Arin said. "Half a day from here, if we don't slow down. Hunters, traders, some mercenaries when coin is good. Nothing big. But they won't stab you for breathing, and you can trade."
"Trade what?" Elias asked.
"Depends what you have," Arin said. "Right now? Maybe your story."
Elias kept his expression still.
"I don't trade stories," he said.
"Good," Arin replied. "Most people lie about them anyway."
He said it casually, but the edge underneath was clear.
They reached the valley floor. The air grew warmer, the wind less sharp. Grass brushed against Elias's boots, damp with lingering dew. The weight in his chest pulsed with each step—a reminder, not of weakness, but of change.
Duskwood's presence receded further behind them, until it was nothing more than a prickle at the base of his skull.
He didn't like how… empty that felt.
Arin broke the silence again.
"How long were you in there?"
Elias considered the question.
"Long enough," he said.
"That's not an answer."
"It's the one you're getting."
Arin mumbled something under his breath that sounded like, "Great, another stubborn one," then added, louder, "You don't have to tell me everything. I'm not your keeper. But I need to know if you're gonna collapse halfway there."
"I'm not," Elias said.
Arin glanced at him. "Your face says 'I haven't slept right in weeks,' and your eyes say 'I've seen dead people I can't forget.'"
"That's a lot from a glance," Elias said.
Arin shrugged. "You watch the forest. I watch people."
Elias filed that away.
Skill sets, strengths, weaknesses.
They walked until the hill rose again and the forest was a dark line at their backs. The sky above was clearer here, streaked with thin clouds. A pair of distant birds wheeled high overhead, tiny specks moving on invisible currents.
It was… quiet.
Too quiet.
Elias stopped.
Arin walked three more steps before noticing. He turned, brows drawing together.
"What?"
Elias scanned the horizon.
No movement in the tall grass. No shimmer of heat that didn't match the wind. No unnatural stillness like in Duskwood.
But the quiet pressed differently here.
Not watchful.
Waiting.
"Nothing," Elias said after a moment. "Just listening."
Arin studied him for a heartbeat longer, then nodded, accepting that without argument.
That, more than anything, confirmed Elias's first impression.
Arin wasn't stupid.
"Tell me something," Elias said. "How many people have you seen go into that forest?"
"Duskwood?" Arin asked. "Enough."
"How many came back?"
He expected an answer like none, or you're the first. Dramatic. Satisfying.
Instead, Arin frowned.
"Most don't come back at all," he said. "Some do, but they're… not right in the head. Not for long. They walk like they're still listening to something only they can hear. Talk to shadows. Either die on their own or get put down when they snap."
He tilted his head slightly.
"You're not like them. Not yet."
"Because I'm quiet?" Elias asked.
"Because your eyes are clear," Arin said. "Whatever happened in there didn't break you. Yet."
Yet.
The word settled somewhere unpleasant.
"Do rumors say anything else?" Elias asked.
Arin shifted the spear in his hand. "They say the forest is old. Older than the kingdoms around it. That it was part of some mage's experiment during that Great War five thousand years ago. Some say it's cursed. Others say there's treasure at its heart."
He glanced at Elias.
"You find treasure in there?"
Elias considered the broken rune etched under the roots. The pressure of an ancient will pressing into his core. The shadow that now moved like something half-awake.
"Yes," he said. "But nothing I can sell."
"Shame," Arin said. "You still look like someone who could use a full meal."
"You talk a lot for someone carrying a weapon," Elias said.
"And you don't talk enough for someone who just walked out of the worst place in a hundred miles," Arin shot back. "Everyone has their faults."
The corner of Elias's mouth almost twitched.
Almost.
They crested the next rise just as the sun lifted higher, warming the back of Elias's neck. From the hilltop, the land opened ahead of them. He could see a narrow dirt road winding through the fields, eventually bending toward what looked like a cluster of tents and wooden structures in the distance.
"That's the camp," Arin said. "We should reach it before dusk if nothing goes wrong."
"If something does?" Elias asked.
"Then we deal with it," Arin replied simply.
That was the first answer Elias liked without reservation.
They started down the slope.
After a few minutes, Arin asked, "You have any weapon at all?"
"Not currently," Elias said.
"Lost it in there?"
Elias didn't reply.
"That's a yes," Arin decided. He slowed his pace just long enough to unbuckle a small knife from his belt—simple, worn, but sharp. He held it out hilt-first.
"Take it."
Elias looked from the knife to Arin's face.
"What do you want in return?" he asked.
Arin blinked. "I want you not to die from the first wild dog or deserter that decides you look easy. Consider it an investment. You pay me back later."
"In what?" Elias pressed.
Arin smirked faintly. "We'll see."
Elias weighed the risk. A weapon meant better survival odds. Accepting it meant a thread of obligation. Threads became nets if you let them.
But a man who offered steel instead of chains was rare.
He took the knife.
It fit well in his hand, balanced, heavier than his previous dagger but workable.
"Thank you," he said.
"Don't thank me yet," Arin replied. "If you turn out crazy, I'm going to regret arming you."
"Then don't turn your back on me," Elias said.
"I'm not that stupid."
They walked in companionable, wary silence as the day wore on. The sun climbed, then began its slow descent. Heat rose from the dirt in soft waves. They passed a pair of old wagon ruts carved deep into the road, broken cart wheels abandoned at the side, splintered and half-buried.
The world outside the forest was no kinder.
Just less obvious about it.
By the time they drew closer to the camp, Elias could make out details. The place was built around a shallow depression in the land, with wooden palisades half-enclosing it like a hurried attempt at security. Smoke drifted from a few chimneys. Canvas tents leaned against permanent structures. A handful of figures moved along the perimeter—some with bows, others with spears, one with a staff that hummed faintly with residual mana.
Not an army.
Not a village.
A crossroad nest.
Arin slowed as they approached the edge.
"This place isn't home," he warned. "There are rules here. Unspoken ones. Don't boast, don't start fights you can't finish, don't stare too long at hired blades, and don't owe anyone more than you can pay."
"I don't intend to owe anyone anything," Elias said.
"Intentions are cheap," Arin replied. "Coin isn't. Power isn't."
He glanced at Elias.
"Listen. I'm not vouching for you. I barely know your name. But I brought you here, so if you cause trouble, it'll splash on me."
"Then don't claim me as yours," Elias said.
"I'm not claiming you," Arin said. "I'm just making sure we don't both end up dead because you don't know how people work out here."
Elias considered that, then nodded once.
"Fair."
They reached the rough entrance—a gap in the palisade where two posts stood, each carved with crude warding symbols. Not real runes, but primitive imitators. A man sat on a stool beside them, armor patched, helmet dented, eyes sharp despite his bored slouch.
Arin lifted a hand in greeting.
"Back again?" the guard asked. "Didn't expect to see you so soon, Valdor."
"Work dried up," Arin said. "You know how it is."
The guard's gaze slid past Arin and lingered on Elias.
"And this?"
"Found him walking out of Duskwood," Arin said.
The guard's brows rose.
"Out?" He shifted upright, interest sharpening. "Alone?"
"Unless the forest learned to walk and hold his hand, yeah. Alone."
The guard studied Elias more closely now, gaze tracking the way he stood, the dirt, the thinness, the knife at his belt.
"You lose any parts in there, boy?" he asked. "Soul? Mind?"
Elias met his eyes calmly. "If I did, they weren't parts I needed."
The guard barked a short laugh.
"I like him," he said to Arin. "He talks like the old folks in the worst taverns. Fine. No trouble, no problem. You know the rules."
Arin nodded.
The guard didn't move aside—he had never really been blocking the way—but the slight shift in his posture was as much permission as anyone would get.
They stepped through.
The camp smelled of smoke, sweat, dried blood, and cheap ale. Voices overlapped—shouts, bargaining, curses, low conversations that dropped to whispers when Elias and Arin passed. Eyes followed them, weighing, measuring, dismissing, or marking them as potential interest.
Elias felt the weight of those gazes.
They were different from the forest's.
The forest watched like a predator evaluating meat.
These people watched like merchants evaluating coin.
He wasn't sure which he preferred.
Arin led him between a pair of tents toward a slightly raised platform where a broad-shouldered woman sat behind a rough wooden table, a ledger open in front of her. A scar cut across her jaw, disappearing into her collar. Her eyes were tired, calculating, and bored in a way that said she'd seen enough deaths to dull the edge.
"Ressa," Arin called.
She glanced up.
"Back so soon?" she asked. "I thought you headed east."
"Plans changed," Arin said. He tilted his head toward Elias. "Found him near Duskwood."
Ressa's gaze snapped to Elias, sharp now, all boredom gone. She stood without meaning to, hands braced on the table.
"You what?"
"He walked out," Arin said. "On his own."
Ressa stared at Elias.
"How old are you?" she asked.
Elias met her eyes. "Old enough."
She didn't like that answer, but she understood it. Her gaze narrowed, then swept over him the way a butcher looked at a cut of meat—searching for flaws, for quality, for danger.
"You a mage?" she asked.
"Not yet," Elias said.
"You touched any corrupted formations?"
"Yes."
She waited.
He didn't elaborate.
Her lips pressed together.
"I don't have time for riddles. Are you going to cause me problems?"
"No," Elias said. "Unless someone forces me to."
Ressa studied him for a heartbeat more, then exhaled.
"You're not the strangest thing that's passed through here," she muttered. "Fine. You came with Valdor, that buys you a little space. No free food, no free shelter, no free favors. You work, you eat. You fight, you get paid. You break anything, you pay double."
She leaned forward slightly.
"And if you go mad because something from Duskwood followed you out?" she asked. "You run. Don't do it in the middle of my camp."
"If I lose control," Elias said quietly, "no one will have time to run."
The camp noise dipped.
Arin's eyes flicked toward him, then away, as if memorizing that sentence for later.
Ressa held his gaze for a long moment, then laughed once, humorless.
"Good," she said. "Then don't lose control."
She sat back down.
"Valdor, show him where he can sleep," she said. "If he doesn't die in the night, we'll see if he can work."
Arin nodded.
Elias said nothing.
He followed Arin away from the table, through a row of tents that smelled of leather and steel, toward a quieter corner of the camp where the noise dulled and the shadows grew thicker.
"You handled that well," Arin said.
"I told the truth," Elias replied.
"Most people lie the first time Ressa looks at them," Arin said. "You didn't. That's either brave or stupid."
"It's efficient," Elias said. "Lies take work to maintain. Truths carry their own momentum."
Arin shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"I really hope you don't go crazy," he said. "It'd be a waste of a good line."
Elias didn't answer.
He was listening.
Duskwood's presence was far now, a faint echo on the edge of his awareness, but something else had taken its place—a low, constant hum, like background noise in a room full of armed strangers.
Danger, diffuse and unspecific.
He'd lived with that hum before, in alleyways and smoky rooms, in a different life with different weapons.
It felt almost like coming home.
Arin stopped beside an empty stretch of packed earth near a leaning wooden post.
"You can sleep here," he said. "It's not much, but no one will bother you if they know I brought you in."
Elias glanced at him.
"You're staking your reputation on me," he said.
Arin shrugged. "You walked out of Duskwood. Either you're strong, lucky, cursed, or all three. I've worked with worse."
"Why?" Elias asked.
Arin looked at him for a long breath, then said simply,
"Because I'm tired of surviving alone."
The words settled between them, heavier than any threat.
Elias didn't know what to do with them.
So he nodded once, slow.
"Then don't die," he said. "I'd rather not start over with someone else."
Arin laughed—that rare, genuine laugh that sounded surprised to exist.
"I'll do my best," he said.
He turned to leave, then paused.
"Oh. One more thing," he added, tone more serious.
"What?"
"There were mercenaries asking about Duskwood recently. Not the usual kind. Organized. Focused." He looked Elias in the eye. "If they find out you walked out of there, they'll want to know how. And they won't ask nicely."
Elias's hand tightened around the knife at his belt.
"Let them ask," he said.
Arin shook his head slowly.
"I knew you were going to say that," he muttered. "Try not to get us both killed, yeah?"
He walked away.
Elias sat down with his back to the post, the earth firm beneath him, the camp's noise a low murmur in the distance. His chest pulsed in slow, steady ache. The shadow inside him curled quietly, no longer thrashing, no longer pushing toward the forest, but not asleep either.
Waiting.
He exhaled.
Duskwood had let him go.
The world had taken him in.
Neither had done it out of kindness.
He tilted his head back against the wood, watching the sky grow darker by slow degrees.
"Fine," he whispered to no one. "Let's see who tries to claim me first."
The shadow inside him stirred once, amused.
Or hungry.
He couldn't tell which.