A hollowed Tyrus stepped into the hut.

  He had not expected West to be there. The sight stopped him anyway. West stood near the cot, fastening the Red Dragon at his waist. His hair lay dark and damp against his neck. His skin looked scrubbed raw, as if water could scour memory from bone.

  The door eased shut behind Tyrus. The sound lingered.

  “West!” Tyrus moved closer before he realized he was doing it.

  West turned and offered a brief nod. “Tyrus.”

  They faced one another without quite meeting each other’s eyes. West’s attention drifted instead to the basket cradled in Tyrus’s arms.

  “What’s in the basket?”

  Tyrus lifted it between them. “Lord Omni’s possessions.”

  West took it at once and began searching through the contents, fingers moving with restless purpose. Cloth shifted. Metal clicked softly.

  Tyrus lingered at the edge of the room. His hands folded, unfolded. “Are…you alright?”

  West paused only long enough to glance up. “I’m fine. Just some bruises.” His focus dropped back into the basket.

  He drew out the blue orb that once rested upon Omni’s brow. The silk cap still clung to it, pale and soft. West’s fingers pressed into the fabric, kneading it as if expecting resistance, or comfort, or anything at all. The cloth gave him nothing.

  He shoved the cap into his coat pocket.

  A breath followed. Slow. Forced.

  “I need to take the Eye back to the Kesh.” His palm rested briefly over the pocket.

  Tyrus answered without delay. “I will go with you.” His voice steadied as if rehearsed. “I owe Lord Omni more than I can repay. At least…let me try.”

  West’s gaze lifted again. This time it stayed. “And your sister?”

  Tyrus stepped closer. The distance between them thinned. “I cannot read the stars as you and Lord Omni could. I will not reach Evokia alone.”

  The silence that followed felt measured.

  “Alright.” West extended a hand. “Get me to the nearest Kesh tribe. After that, I’ll take you east.”

  West extended his hand; Tyrus clasped his forearm. The grip held longer than needed.

  “Where do we find the Kesh?” Tyrus asked.

  West pulled the handmade map from the basket and spread it across the table. The parchment crackled softly as it flattened.

  “We’re here.” His finger marked the river’s bend. “We can intercept the Kesh of Grigo near the Azu.” He traced the coastline toward the bay. Halfway there, his hand slowed. Dark flecks dotted the map. Dried blood, pressed into the fibers. West stopped breathing for a beat.

  “West…”

  The sound of his name cut through the stillness. Tyrus had leaned forward without realizing it.

  “Yeah…” West rolled the map up too quickly. “Yeah. We head for the Azure Bay. We’ll find them in one of the towns.” He began pacing, boots scuffing the packed earth. “Alright! Ready to leave? It’s going to be a two month trek up if the weather allows”

  Tyrus did not move. “Lord Omni just died. You can take time, if you need it.”

  West crossed the room and reached for the door. “He wouldn’t want us lingering over what can’t be undone when there’s still work waiting.” His hand settled on the latch. “And the Kesh will move further north before winter sets in. We don’t have time to waste.”

  The door opened. Cold air rushed in.

  Tyrus followed. “I only thought you might want to—”

  West turned on him. The motion was sharp enough to stop the words mid-step.

  “The only thing I want is to get out of Dagavia.” His gaze swept the street beyond them. “We’ll get the horses. And say goodbye.”

  They moved through the village without slowing. Greetings fell apart in their wake, voices trailing after them unanswered. No one stopped them. No one tried.

  The stables came into view. Nadrin stood nearby with several men, posture stiff, eyes hollowed by a night without sleep. The moment he saw West, he straightened and hurried forward.

  “Master West! Are you… Are you alright?”

  “I’m here for the horses, Captain.” West did not break stride. “We’re short on time.”

  Nadrin faltered. “You’re leaving already? But Lord Omni just…” The rest of the sentence collapsed under its own weight.

  West lifted a hand. Nadrin stopped.

  “I’ll take the same donkey.” West glanced toward the stalls, then to Tyrus. “Pick a horse.”

  Nadrin stepped closer. “Master West, we should talk before you go. This feels… abrupt.”

  “There’s nothing left to discuss.” West turned his back on him. “My work here is done.”

  He looked at Tyrus again. “Hurry”

  Tyrus glanced toward Nadrin. Despite the tension tightening his jaw, the captain gave a single nod.

  Tyrus moved through the stalls, found a steady horse, and led it back by the reins. “This will do.”

  “Prepare the horse and the ass,” Nadrin told one of his men. He dragged a hand down his face, fingers catching in his beard. When he spoke again, the words came slower. “If you must leave now, ride west or south. Avoid the Evokians stationed outside the gates.”

  West wrestled himself onto the donkey. The movement cost him. His breath hitched, and his hand went to his side. After a moment, he pulled a flask from his coat and drank, jaw tight as he swallowed.

  Tyrus mounted with practiced ease.

  West did not look back. He set the donkey forward, straight toward the gates.

  Nadrin fell into step beside him. “Master West, I have to insist. The Evokians are camped beyond the gate. This is not the safest route.”

  “We don’t have time to double back,” West replied. His voice stayed level. “We’re heading east.”

  Nadrin stopped walking and turned to Tyrus. “Has he lost his senses? This is reckless!”

  “West,” Tyrus called from behind, urgency rising. “What’s the plan? We should reconsider.”

  West slowed.

  He turned the donkey in a tight circle and fixed his attention on one of Nadrin’s men. “Tell Dagavia I’m leaving.”

  The man hesitated and looked to Nadrin.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Nadrin nodded.

  The rider spurred off, weaving through the streets. His voice carried ahead of him, loud and unsteady. “Master West is departing! Master West is departing!”

  The sound rolled outward, door to door, until the village could no longer pretend nothing was happening.

  West caught the eye of another of Nadrin’s men and gave a single nod. The man crossed the road and carried the message onward.

  West turned back to Tyrus. “The plan is to walk straight past them.”

  He faced the gate again and kept moving, deliberately slow. Footsteps gathered behind them. Voices followed. Doors opened. By the time they reached the square, the road had filled. A procession formed, dense and unplanned, pressing forward on momentum alone.

  Nadrin shook his head as he walked. “Let’s hope whatever bargains were struck with Dresdi hold firmer than the ones I ever dared make.”

  Tyrus said nothing. His eyes stayed forward, though the thought of Rombo lingered like a splinter. He wondered what Dresdi’s promises looked like in this new world.

  West did not hurry. He absorbed the noise, the reverence, the weight of being watched. When they reached the gates, Nadrin’s men stood ready, waiting for the word.

  Nadrin approached him one last time. “Are you certain, Master West?”

  “Goodbye, Captain. And good luck.” West turned toward Tyrus. “Ready?”

  The gates opened.

  Beyond them, the Evokian camp lay spread across the earth. Tents sagged. Fires smoldered. At first, no one noticed. Then heads turned. Hands stilled. The crowd at Dagavia’s back could no longer be ignored.

  Steu straightened from his wooden chair, fingers resting at his sword. “What is this?” His voice carried easily. “Captain.”

  Soldiers slipped from tents, lazy confidence giving way to interest.

  Nadrin stepped forward. “Two guests are departing. They are merely passing through.”

  Steu’s gaze slid past him, fixing on the mass behind the gates. “And the mob?”

  “They were honored guests,” Nadrin said. “The people wished to see them off.”

  Steu smiled faintly and walked past him. His attention settled on Tyrus. “You. Down,” he said, gesturing toward the ground. “Off the horse!”

  Tyrus did not move.

  Steu’s smile widened. “Well.” His men shifted closer, hands resting on steel.

  Steu lifted a hand. They stopped.

  He glanced back at Nadrin. “It seems your guest does not know who stands before him.”

  Nadrin approached again, unease creeping into his posture. “Tyrus… This is Colonel Steu of the Evokian southern armies. You will show him respect while you are within Dagavia.”

  Tyrus remained mounted, looking down at Steu without blinking.

  Steu clapped once. The sound cracked through the quiet. “Well then… Arrest him!”

  Nadrin turned to West.

  West only shrugged and pulled the flask out for another drink. Tyrus finally looked to him. West’s fingers tapped lightly against the hilt of the Red Dragon. The message was unspoken. It was understood.

  Nadrin saw it.

  “My apologies, Colonel,” he said quickly. “But on what charge? We are still on Dagavian soil, after all.”

  Steu turned back toward Nadrin, his smile settling into something sinister. “Ah, Captain. I should have been clearer.” His gaze flicked briefly to Tyrus, then returned. “We will be arresting you.”

  Nadrin stiffened.

  “You are harboring a man of the southern tribes,” Steu continued, voice smooth. “You know the policy set forth by our late General Dresdi.” He placed a hand over his heart, almost enduring. “Down. Off the horse, Captain.”

  Nadrin dismounted before either West or Tyrus could move. His boots touched the dirt softly.

  “Colonel! Please!?”

  Steu stepped closer and laid a hand on his shoulder. The touch lingered. “I have always admired you.” He drew his sword and held it out, hilt first. “I will give you the chance to correct this.”

  The blade passed into Nadrin’s hands.

  “Give me his head.”

  Nadrin’s grip tightened, knuckles whitening. “They are guests under my protection.”

  Steu tilted his head. “And what am I?”

  “In over your head,” West said.

  Steu turned, curiosity lighting his eyes. He approached West with a slow, appraising walk. “A jester.”

  “Meh, I have better material, but unfortunately we are in a hurry. So if we could please wrap all this up”. West said.

  Nadrin’s hands began to shake. The sword dipped, then rose again.

  Steu laughed. The sound rang out sharp and delighted. He clapped once. “Kill him.”

  Evokian hands closed around hilts.

  Steel sang as West drew the Red Dragon. The blade caught the light. The soldiers slowed, recognition creeping into their posture.

  Steu pressed both hands to his chest. “Father.”

  The word slipped out like a prayer.

  The men advanced anyway, cautious now.

  West held the sword out toward Tyrus. “Take it.”

  Tyrus hesitated, eyes flicking between the approaching line and West’s face.

  “Do you want to end up in another Evokian cage?” West asked.

  Tyrus took the blade and swung down from the saddle, boots planting firmly in the dirt.

  Nadrin moved between them. “Please. Colonel. Let us be reasonable.”

  Steu inhaled deeply, then raised his voice. “Stop.”

  The soldiers halted.

  He stepped forward alone, eyes bright. “My flowers. Yellow and red. A gift to the living from those who are dead.”

  He reached for Tyrus’s cheek.

  Tyrus knocked the hand away.

  Steu smiled wider. “A poem from our great General.” He glanced at Nadrin. “You neglected to tell me your guest was The legendary West.”

  His attention slid back to Tyrus, lingering there with intent.

  Nadrin struggled to steady himself. “Colonel, I—”

  “Quiet! Captain!.” Steu’s voice softened, almost tender. “I want to see the vision.”

  “And the beauty Rombo promised us,” Steu murmured.

  He turned away from Nadrin and walked back toward his men, boots crunching through dirt and trampled grass. “Show us,” he called out, voice lifting. “Show us the beauty of your poetry, warrior of the Ura.”

  He stopped before one of his soldiers and placed both hands on the man’s shoulders. The soldier was not much younger than Steu himself. His eyes were already glassy, lips parted in anticipation.

  “Claim your honor, my son.” He patted his cheek affectionately.

  The man nodded once.

  Then he charged.

  Steel flashed. Tyrus stepped aside and cut through him in a single motion. The blade did not hesitate. Blood spilled freely as the body folded apart and struck the ground in two uneven halves.

  Steu screamed in delight.

  “Yes,” he cried, hands clapping. “Yes!” Steu pointed Tyrus

  Another soldier rushed forward.

  Tyrus met him head-on. The strike rang loud. He turned the blow and answered with one of his own, the Red Dragon tearing through steel as if it were cloth.

  The Dagavians stared in disbelief at carnage.

  Steu laughed, breathless, and ran toward Tyrus with arms open, eyes shining, seeking something like an embrace.

  The Red Dragon answered first.

  The impact dropped Steu where he stood.

  “No!” Nadrin’s voice cracked. “Not here. Not here.What have you done?”

  Tyrus shoved past him. “I thought he was attacking me”

  Another Evokian lunged. His sword struck and bounced wide as Tyrus swung. The force sent the weapon skidding across the dirt. Tyrus drove the blade through the man’s abdomen and wrenched it free without looking back.

  “Do something!” Tyrus turned to Nadrin.

  The sound of a whistle blew on the Evokian side. One of them signaled the rest to halt. “Do not engage!” he shouted. The Evokians stood in place, their weapons still drawn. The man made his way forward, putting his sword back in the holster. He looked down to Steu bleeding out into the dirt. “He did not deserve this, you will pay for this Nadrin” the man turned to Tyrus before breaking. He nodded then took a knee. He grabbed Steus leg and dragged him back to the Evokians.

  Nadrin dropped to his knees. Steu’s sword slipped from his grasp and landed beside him. “This is a disaster,” he whispered, staring at the bodies scattered before him.

  Tyrus stood among them, chest heaving. He turned in a slow circle, counting. Only when he was certain did his shoulders sag. The weight of what he had done pressed in, familiar and bitter. He looked at the horrified Dagavians whose fear of the Ura were just validated.

  West dismounted and limped toward him. He took Tyrus’s hand and eased the Red Dragon from his grip.

  “Are you hurt?”

  Tyrus stared at him without speaking.

  West pulled him into a brief embrace and gave his back a firm pat. Then he turned toward the watching Dagavians.

  “Don’t look away now. You wanted a hero to do your dirty work.” he said, voice carrying.

  He let the word settle as the Evokians continued to retreat into the jungle while packing their things.

  “We are not gods. We are not monsters. We are not fate made flesh.” His gaze swept the crowd. “We just refuse to live on our knees.”

  Nadrin forced himself upright and staggered toward him, face flushed, breath ragged. “They will burn Dagavia for this. They will raze it to ash. How do you expect me to answer for what you’ve done?”

  West slid the Red Dragon back into place. “Goodbye, Captain.”

  He turned away.

  Nadrin looked to Tyrus. “Good luck.”

  Tyrus mounted without replying.

  West nodded once to Nadrin, then once more to the village gathered behind the gates. Together, they set off down the road, leaving Dagavia behind as they turned east.

  At last, the rain came.

  It fell hard, washing blood into the dirt as the figures disappeared into the storm. And the road did not look back.