The campfire hung low just as the sunset did. Its rays broken by the branches and leaves of the trees — but sharply lighting up where it touched with its almost orange hue.
Nikolai stood slightly further out by a tree, blade resting on his shoulder.
The taller woman stood in front of the campfire with her arms crossed, watching it. Face emotionless, almost lost in thought.
Maya sat on a fallen log. Eyes closed and her hands on her laps, regulating her breathing.
Her mind replaying the moment she lost control during their encounter with the Magick-warped creature.
Desperately pushing the thoughts away as her hands curled around the fabric of her torn dress.
No one had eaten properly. No one had slept properly. But still, the world kept turning — not slowing for their exhaustion.
The forest up ahead carried tones of metallic residue.
Amia knelt as she readjusted the binding of her strap — she slid her sheathed katana by her side as she stood.
The taller woman shifted where she stood when Amia did.
Amia noticed.
“I’m scouting some more up ahead before it’s fully dark,” Amia says.
Not an offer.
No one argued.
Her companion fell in behind her automatically. Her tall figure disappearing into the shadows as they walked into denser trees and shrub.
They moved with barely any sound. The forest here denser — roots tangled beneath the leaf litter and their feet.
Amia inhaled.
Hues of Destructive Raze again.
Very thin — but deliberate.
She took a small pause as she scanned around.
Nothing.
One step.
Another.
And another one.
Yet, nothing.
Amia’s brows furrow as she concentrates on the scent trail — lowering her posture, similar to how she would stalk her hunt.
She took another deliberate step forward.
And the ground fractured.
Blue geometric cracks of light lit up in the soil around her boots.
Time slowed.
She twisted — but too late.
A sharp concussive blast detonated upwards.
But before the blast could be completed —
A body collided into hers.
Her taller companion had hit her sideways and thrown her parallel to the flare of Destructive High Magick energy that exploded. Amia’s head dug into ribs from the force of her companion’s movement — one arm wrapped around her back as it softens her impact to the ground.
The second explosion erupted and threw all manner of debris that was in the soil right where Amia had stood.
The sound of debris trickling onto the surrounding leaves and trees filled the air before silence returned.
Amia rolled to her knees immediately.
The taller woman now standing above her. Shoulder smoking faintly.
They held their gaze for a while before Amia finally spoke,
“You disobeyed,” she pushed through gritted teeth, although yet to raise her voice.
Silence.
Amia’s cyan eyes almost trembled through the emotion.
She tilted her head to the small crater where the explosion had occurred and saw the etching on the plate.
Triangular. Layered under organic matter.
Masked.
She had smelled the scent of Raze.
But she had not seen the forest floor’s subtleties in angle.
The woman that has been shadowing her for the past few days did.
Amia stood slowly as two pairs of footsteps came rushing to them from the way they came.
“What happened?” Maya asked, frantic. One arm by her side, readying for the worst.
Her eyes scanning the shallow crater in the ground, then at the woman’s shoulder.
Nikolai had his hand by his sword, also readying for an encounter. Dark blue eyes deeply scanning the areas around them.
Amia’s focus snapped back to the taller woman in front of her. Broad shoulders yet unmoved even with one side smoking from the blast.
She places one hand on the woman’s chest and grabbed her tunic by the centre of her chest. Neck straining as she looks up at hazel eyes. Almost unblinking, and lips pursed.
“She disobeyed,” Amia repeated.
“What?” was all that Maya could whisper in response.
Nikolai knelt down by the triangular steel plate and inspected the etching.
“High Magick rune—,” the rumble in his voice foreshadowing the seriousness of what could have been. “—but they have overcharged this one with Destructive Magick Energy.”
Amia’s eyes continued to furrow as she stared at Nikolai.
“They hid this one under natural decay,” Maya added.
The woman placed two fingers on the inside of Amia’s wrist.
Indicative of her rebuttal.
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Alive.
A sharp exhale escapes her as Amia throws her hand down from the tunic. The towering figure in front of her remained steady and motionless.
“You think I can’t see a trap?” she muttered.
Head tilted low as she brushed dirt and leaves off of her leggings — walking away back to camp from the way she came.
Back at camp, the sun had fully disappeared below the horizon and the dark danced with the light of the campfire against the surrounding trees.
Amia sat in front of the flames, sharpening her blade with the whetstone that Olsen had gifted her.
Still as precise as ever, but maybe not as calm as she would like.
The taller woman stood just at the edge of the shadows, tunic half dressed and part of her breast exposed as she bandages her shoulder with cloth. Each subtle movement of her injured shoulder tensing broad muscles that publicized her solidity.
Maya waited until Nikolai walked off slightly further into the opposite side of the camp perimeter before getting up and standing next to Amia.
“She saw it.”
No response.
Amia did not look at her.
“She could have warned you,” Maya continued. “You almost died.”
“Yeah, well. I didn’t.” Her reply was short and abrupt. Whetstone still sharpening the edges of her blade.
“You would have.”
Maya folded her arms loosely in front of her.
“She moved without command,” Amia said instead.
“Yes,” Maya agreed, quietly. “And you're bothered.”
“She’s mine to command.”
Maya studied her carefully.
“And yet, you still haven’t granted her speech.”
The sound of the blade sliding on the whetstone stopped.
Amia’s jaw flexed.
“You asked me this last time,” Amia says, slightly flustered, “what even does that mean?”
Amia stands up as she wipes the fine grains of steel off her blade and slides it back in its sheath. Her brows seeming to not have relaxed at all since the incident today.
She throws the cloth down to her side where her belt laid.
Maya did not answer immediately.
Instead taking a deep breath as she turns her head to Nikolai’s direction who stood watch at the treeline.
He did not look back.
He did not need to.
Maya’s arms tightened around each other.
“In Batin law. When a Batin finds their Master—” Maya said calmly, “—the bond is not fully complete until the Master grants them speech.”
Amia stared at her.
“She cannot speak unless you have granted her the right to use her voice.”
Amia looked at the tall woman that was just finishing up tending to herself.
Tall.
Silent.
Waiting.
“That’s a ritual?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“And I’m meant to just…give it?”
“Well, it’s not so casual,” Amia replies.
Maya steps closer.
“When you grant speech. You are not just giving her words.”
Maya’s eyes continue to look at Nikolai’s direction, amber eyes flickering its glow from the flames.
“You are acknowledging that their counsel matters.”
That landed.
Amia said nothing.
Maya continued.
More softly, and her arms loosening around each other.
“You can command a blade,” she takes a breath before she continued. “You cannot command loyalty without hearing it.”
Amia’s gaze darkened.
“And if I don’t want to be bound?”
“Then don’t,” Maya replied, simply.
“But understand this — she already chose you.”
Amia looked over at the broad-shouldered woman again.
She remembered the explosion.
The impact.
The weight and the towering figure over her.
The decision that the woman made without her express permission.
“Speech means she can question me.”
“Yes.”
“It means she can disagree.”
“Yes.”
She can advise.”
“Yes.”
Amia’s throat tightened slightly.
“That’s not obedience.”
“No,” Maya said quietly.
“It’s partnership.”
A slight uneasiness crept inside her at the words she just said as the wind moved through the trees.
The woman at the perimeter remained still — unaware of the full content of the conversation, yet somehow aware of the gravity.
Amia’s voice lowered.
“And you?”
Maya almost smiled.
“I granted mine long ago.”
Nikolai shifted slightly at the edge of camp.
Amia’s eyes flicked towards him.
There was always something in the way that he stood near Maya.
Protective — but not possessive.
Alert.
But not restless.
A structure that she had not fully understood before.
“You trust him with speech,” Amia observed.
“I trust him with my life,” Maya corrected.
Another silence.
“And he speaks freely.”
“Yes.”
“And he contradicts you.”
“If necessary.”
Amia’s jaw tightened.
“And you tolerate that.”
“I survive because of it.”
That hit Amia harder than the trap.
She thought back at the moment that the dust settled after the explosion and the crater laid where her legs had stood.
She had smelled the structure, and she had smelled the uncanniness of the area.
But she had not seen the difference in angle of the forest floor.
The woman did.
And she had acted.
Amia exhaled slowly.
Amia turned back to her Batin and walked towards her. Stopping with her boots in between a pair of bigger ones. Her lower ribs brushing against the woman’s thighs as she looks up at the towering figure over her.
“You took that hit.”
She did not nod. Her stance did not shift either.
“You believed that I would not clear the second flare either.”
Silence—
Amia’s breath slowed.
Maya stepped closer towards them. Voice softer now.
“You don’t lose authority when someone moves to protect you.”
Amia did not look at her.
Her gaze locked on the face above hers.
“You lose blindness.”
A small pause shifted through the camp before Amia places a finger on the bottom of the woman’s sternum.
Not aggressive — but not soft either. Her finger lightly digging into fabric and into the soft between her breasts.
Her heartbeat strong.
Steady.
“You will not override me because you doubt me.”
The face above tall shoulders held her gaze.
“You will override me if I’m wrong.”
A flicker in her throat.
She could not answer.
“Next time,” Amia murmured, “I want the warning before the shove,” as she took a step back and turning away.
“I’m not ready.”
Maya nodded once.
“You are when you are.”
And she let it rest there.
The campfire continued to flicker past the conversation as the four returned to their posts and prepared for another uneasy night.
Maya sat down by the fire before wrapping her cloak around her as she laid down.
Amia sat and leaned back on the tree by the campfire, eyes flicking back and forth between the two Batin that have been following her.
he forest did not return to normal.
It only pretended to.
Somewhere beyond the treeline, metal shifted against soil.
Not loud.
Not careless.
Deliberate.
Amia didn’t look back at her.
But she felt the angle of the tall presence behind her — steady, unyielding.
The first trap hadn’t been placed to kill.
It had been placed to measure.
survival.
Granting a Batin speech-permission is irreversible. If you were Amia — would you grant it now, or wait?
