The night feels thin, like the sky’s skin might tear. No moon, just cold stars hiding behind ragged cloud. Our fire is down to a red glow. It throws long, slow light across the clearing. Kael sits cross-legged near the edge, sword on his knees, ears open to the dark.

  A twig pops.

  He freezes. That wasn’t the fire.

  Orin shifts by the log, voice low.

  “You hear it?”

  Kael nods. “South… past the stream. Two trees.”

  “Stay low. Let the dark talk first.”

  The noise again—boots on wet soil, slow and careful. Kael’s hand slides to the hilt. Breath comes quick, then slower when he forces it.

  Out there a shadow moves, tall, cloak torn at the hem. Even at distance Kael knows the shape. Bent left shoulder. Scar on the cheek.

  The Warden.

  The same man who hunted him through Fangwood. Fear crawls his spine. He tastes it.

  Orin’s whisper brushes his ear. “Breathe. Fear is wind. Let it pass.”

  Another step. Another figure behind the first. Then two more. Four shadows total.

  Lila stirs by the coals, whispering, “What is it?”

  Kael swallows. “Him. The one I told you about.”

  Her hand goes to her dagger. “We should wake the camp.”

  “No,” Orin mutters. “Quiet. Watch.”

  The lead Warden stops just short of the clearing. Hood back, scar shining pale in the starlight. His voice is rough smoke.

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  “Kael. You keep running, boy. Thought Fangwood would hide you. It didn’t.”

  Kael’s fingers tighten. “Go away,” he says, though his voice cracks.

  The Warden laughs. “Still shaking. I can hear it. You got folk now. More screams if I take you.”

  Orin rises slow, staff in hand. “This ground is ours. Leave.”

  The Warden tilts his head. “Old man, you’re still breathing by mistake.”

  Lila steps to Kael’s side, eyes sharp. “Stay behind me if—”

  “No,” Kael whispers. “I can’t hide forever.”

  She glances at him. “I’m not letting you stand alone.”

  The Warden paces closer, boots sinking into damp leaves. “Hand yourself over. Wardens don’t quit. Better for them”—he nods at the sleeping refugees—“if you walk out.”

  Kael steadies his breath. “Why? Why me?”

  “You carry fire you don’t own,” the man says. “My orders are clear. Bring you in, dead or walking.”

  Kael’s good eye hardens. “Not going.”

  The Warden smirks. “Thought so.”

  Another Warden leans in, muttering, “Let’s rush.”

  “Wait,” Scar says. “I want the boy’s answer loud.”

  Kael’s voice grows rough. “You’ll have to take me.”

  Lila elbows him hard. “Are you mad? Don’t taunt him.”

  He glances at her. “I can’t keep running, Li. Not forever.”

  She whispers, “I don’t want to bury you.”

  He almost smiles. “Not yet.”

  Orin steps between them, staff across his chest. “Enough words. Leave, or meet steel.”

  The scarred Warden laughs, low. “A stick?”

  “Not a stick,” Orin says. He twists the haft—metal flashes where a blade hides in the wood. “Patience given shape.”

  Scar spits to the side. “Old tricks. One swing and you’re dust.”

  Lila calls, louder now, “Why chase him? You hunt a boy and scare children. That honor?”

  Scar’s gaze slides to her. “Girl, step aside. This is bigger than you.”

  “I won’t,” she says, dagger steady.

  Scar grins. “Brave. Useless, but brave.”

  Kael shifts forward. “Leave her out.”

  Scar leans on his sword hilt. “You still talk big. Step here, we end this.”

  Orin’s voice cuts like stone. “He isn’t yours.”

  “You shield him,” Scar sneers, “because you know he can’t stand.”

  Kael blurts, “I can stand!” His knuckles whiten.

  Scar’s grin sharpens. “Prove it. Come.”

  Lila hisses, “Kael, don’t.”

  He meets her eyes. “If I don’t face him, he’ll keep coming.”

  She grips his wrist. “Then let’s all stand. Together.”

  Behind her, Tarin’s bow rises, string tight. Joran hefts his hammer, ribs still sore. Rhea ghosts into shadow, blade ready.

  Scar notices, lips curling. “So you hide behind a wall of lost souls. Fine.”

  Tarin releases—an arrow skims Scar’s hood, burying in a tree. Scar doesn’t blink. “Bad aim.”

  Another arrow whistles closer, forcing the second Warden to duck.

  Scar straightens. “Enough play. We end this.”

  He signals. Four Wardens spread along the line, steel whispering free. Orin plants the staff, voice deep.

  “Back. He’s not yours.”

  “Nor yours,” Scar snaps.

  “Until he learns, I speak,” Orin answers.

  Scar’s smile fades. “Next time then.” He slides his blade home, motioning his crew. “Sleep light, boy. Fangwood was the start.”

  They melt into trees, swallowed by night.

  The camp exhales. Kael lowers his sword, legs shaking. “They’ll be back.”

  “Yes,” Orin says, calm as river stone. “And next time, you’ll meet them.”

  Lila turns to Kael, hand still trembling. “Promise me you won’t rush at him alone.”

  “I’ll try,” he says, half a smile.

  “No. Promise.”

  He swallows. “Promise.”

  Tarin mutters, “We move at dawn.”

  “No,” Orin says. “Running feeds the hunt. We stay. We build.”

  Joran cracks his knuckles. “Then let’s sharpen stakes.”

  Rhea’s voice from the dark: “I’ll rig snares. Let the Wardens limp next time.”

  Kael stares at the tree line where Scar vanished. The fear is still there, but thinner. Beneath it, something steady. Not the boy who fled Fangwood anymore.

  Orin rests a hand on his shoulder. “Stee

  l in the day, patience at night. That is the road.”

  Kael nods, eye fixed on the quiet woods. The Wardens breathe somewhere out there. He will be ready.