The wagons rattled through the final stretch of moss-choked road before Night’s Reach. I walked beside Bront, unease keeping my eyes in constant motion. Ahead, a lone stone archway rose from the earth, framing the town beyond—squat timber-and-stone buildings stood veined with creeping ivy and pale lichen, their crooked chimneys sending thin trails of smoke into the graying sky. The air carried the damp scent of old wood and slow decay.

  The caravan slowed at the south gate, where a dozen sentries in boiled leather and dulled mail stood beneath a banner of gold and purple—Lanton’s colors. Beyond them, near a murky fountain at the town’s center, waited four figures whose presence alone marked them apart.

  Two wore silver and gold plate armor, with mail gleaming between the gaps. The other two were robed in white and gold, one clutching a thick tome, the other a staff. Even without the trappings, I knew them for what they were—the Knights of Golden Light.

  Kaela drifted to my side. “What is this—a prayer circle?”

  I almost joked back to her, but the words caught in my throat when one of the four glanced my way. At… me?

  He stepped forward as the caravan drew to a halt. His armor was more elaborate than the others’—heavy, angular plate trimmed in gold, with great pauldrons shaped into opposing emblems: to one side, an eagle’s wing wrought in silver and gold; to the other, an open tome of jutting metal, the space beneath brimming with gold as if suspended in molten light. A deep violet cape hung behind him, stirring in the reluctant wind.

  Yet it wasn’t the armor that held my attention. Faint purple scales traced his jaw and cheekbones, their edges merging seamlessly with skin. No helm concealed the short, curved horns that swept back to two sharp points.

  Draconic blood.

  I had never met a dragon-born before. His mere presence drew a bead of cold sweat from my brow.

  He pulled a heavy maul from his back, its head an arresting blend of amethyst and iron. With a single motion, he drove its haft into the cobblestones. Dust curled upward, and the murmuring caravan fell silent.

  “Greetings, adventurers—soldiers of Lanton,” he began, his voice deep and resonant. “I thank you for heeding our call. I am Murasa, paladin of Aurelia, and leader of the Knights of Golden Light.”

  As if on cue, his companions stepped in behind him, a wall of polished steel, silken robes, and steady eyes.

  “As you can see, the Fellwood is real—and it is here,” Murasa said, gesturing toward the black sprawl of forest just beyond the northern edge of town.

  “We hope to complete this operation in under a fortnight. But the forest is vast… and its dangers, immeasurable.” His expression hardened. A ripple of unease passed through the newcomers, hushed voices carrying notes of fear.

  A voice rang out from the crowd. “If you lot couldn’t handle it, what makes you think we can? What are we supposed to do?”

  Agreement murmured through the square.

  Murasa slammed his hammer down again, the sound like a judge’s gavel.

  “Rest assured,” he said, tone firm but measured, “we have no intention of throwing you into danger beyond your skill. We are adventurers too. Caution, strategy, and purpose brought us this far. No—your value lies here, in Night’s Reach.” He swept a hand toward the streets around us, and only then did I notice the townsfolk gathered at the edges of the square—faces gaunt, yet clinging to something that might have been hope.

  “Only those willing and able will venture with us into the Fellwood. The rest will stand guard over these people, so they may not lose more than they already have.”

  The crowd’s restlessness ebbed into a low hum of agreement. Then, without further ceremony, orders began to fly—names called, assignments barked, squads forming with practiced efficiency.

  My gaze lingered on the Knights of Golden Light until Lanton's platoon sergeant approached them. I turned my focus to the matter of our own unit’s duties. Around us, the soldiers who had been here before quickly folded into ranks with the reinforcements, already helping to shape our secondary encampment.

  The newcomers—our caravan—would be quartered partly in the longhouse on the eastern edge of town, and partly in tents pitched just beyond it, between the palisades and the last row of homes. The palisades were raw and hurriedly built, their timber still pale and splintered. Just past them, a graveyard spread in uneven rows, stones tilting like teeth in the earth. The Knights kept their command post in the old stone cathedral at the town’s center, while the soldiers had taken over a disused grain warehouse on the northeastern side, and erected their tents in front of it.

  The four of us set to our own work with quiet efficiency. Bront had been recruited to help offload the wagons, and we hadn’t seen him since we arrived. Selene and I debated where to place the fire pit in relation to our two tents when a young man approached—walking, or perhaps stumbling, in our direction.

  I recognized his face vaguely. Sixteen winters at most, lanky, and swallowed by ill-fitting Guild robes. A clipboard clutched in his hands, he straightened and tried for composure.

  “H-hello, my name is William Longfoot. I’m the guild’s liaison for this quest. Could you fill out this form with the names of your party members, their ranks, and, optionally, specializations?” He offered me the clipboard.

  I arched an eyebrow, hesitating before taking it.

  “What’s the guild doing sending a receptionist to a place like this?”

  “Er—well, it was supposed to be Mary,” he said, shifting his weight. “But Guild Master Gerald said he couldn’t run things without her, so… I got chosen instead. Since this quest is so big, they needed someone to act as an intermediary, answer questions, and… stuff.”

  With a short huff, I took the clipboard. “Guess that sounds about right.”

  When I went to hand it back, I held it a moment longer, meeting his eyes.

  “Don’t want to be presumptuous, but if things get dangerous—run. Honor’s no use to you if you’re dead.”

  He nodded quickly, took the sheet, and moved on to the next camp.

  Selene drifted over, smirking. “I heard that. You adding hypocrite to your repertoire now?”

  I chuckled. “I just don’t want to see the kid get hurt.”

  “Aye. I’m with you,” she said, her grin fading into something more somber. “Don’t know what the guild was thinking.”

  Something clattered nearby, and we both turned. Kaela’s head popped out from beneath a collapsed canvas tent.

  “Heh…” she offered, sheepish but unrepentant.

  Lyria passed by and rapped her lightly with a wooden spoon, earning a string of creative curses from Kaela as she struggled free.

  “Can you help her before she burns the tent down?” Selene asked, nudging me.

  I smiled and went to lend a hand, working with Kaela to right the frame while Selene helped Lyria sort the cooking supplies.

  It didn’t take long before our tents stood solid, but every so often my gaze wandered to the graveyard beyond the palisades. The uneven stones, the crooked markers—it all felt too close to the dream. I caught myself scanning for the bell-crowned grave and forced the thought aside. It wasn’t possible.

  The rest of the caravan settled in staggered knots, their boots scarring the damp earth into ruts. There were twenty or thirty new adventurers total, and each tended to their own party’s matters without time for conversation. By early dusk, a few groups already broke away toward their assignments, but the rest loitered, waiting for direction.

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  I took stock where I could. The other Silver party—led by a man named Jango, if I’d overheard right—carried themselves with the kind of quiet confidence that spoke of years on the field, though I couldn’t place their specialty yet. A little apart from them, pacing around a particularly conical tent, was a solitary mage named Karne. Also Silver-ranked. His cloak was frayed at the edges, his manner reserved but not unfriendly; clearly used to working alone. Darron, the sharp-eyed rogue I remembered from the first night of the march, had his band of three clustered around him, each looking equally lean and restless—Bronze. Another party, led by a woman named Helaine, struck me as the kind of standard Bronze company I’d pictured before actually becoming an adventurer myself—steady enough, five distinct roles, but yet untested. Bromdel’s crew were different: all dwarves, heavyset and armored, their laughter already booming across the square as they hauled their gear into place. And then, of course, there were Ron and Margo—faces I actually knew.

  One of the soldiers from Lanton, a lieutenant by the marks on his badge, approached our site.

  “Seven adventurer parties total. You’re Silver, yeah? You’ll be on second watch rotation, northwestern sector. Bronze group’s taking the wall during your shift—northern edge. Check in with them periodically.”

  He jabbed a finger toward the edge of the wall bordering the northern edge of town. From here, the palisade looked more like a fence a farmer might slap together in a bad season—split logs wedged upright, lashed with fraying rope, shoddy scaffolding for guards to stand watch. Beyond it, the Fellwood loomed, its treeline jagged and unbroken, the black bark of its trees bearded with pale moss. A line of willows hugged the barrier on our side, their drooping boughs swaying in the faint wind, spilling tattered green curtains over the sentries patrolling beneath them. The sight made my throat dry.

  “Get settled tonight,” the lieutenant went on, “you’ll have your patrol pattern just before first light. Town’s small enough you can walk end to end in a quarter-hour. Best you take a look now—learn your routes before you’re doing them in the dark.”

  We nodded and accepted a parchment with our initial patrol schedule. Selene weighed it down with a stone, setting it on a split log we’d been using as a table, and turned to Lyria, Kaela and I.

  “Right then… shall we?” She asked, and on cue Bront came lumbering back over, face gritted with dried sweat.

  Bront grumbled something about wanting to sit down, but Selene ignored it and we headed off to take a look around town.

  Night’s Reach was tighter-knit than I’d expected—barely twenty buildings, most of them homes. The L-shaped keep we’d passed on arrival doubled as a safehouse for townsfolk, even now some loitered nearby wanting a word with the mayor. A handful of shops hugged the main street: a cooper’s with half-finished barrels stacked outside, a tanner’s whose awning sagged with old rainwater, and a general store where a thin woman was rearranging jars in the window like she’d done it a thousand times to keep her hands busy.

  It wasn’t long before we found ourselves drawn north. The barricades there were even rougher up close—patched gaps, fresh-cut timber still bleeding sap, and sharpened logs protruding through to the other side. Soldiers from Lanton moved along the line in pairs, boots squelching in the soft ground. One of them, a wiry man with greying stubble, gave us a curt nod before glancing past us, toward the trees.

  The patrol moved on, and we drifted back toward the center of town. Passing the cathedral, I caught sight of Murasa and the other Knights inside, speaking with a cluster of officers. A great map hung from the wall behind them, edges pinned with ivory-handled knives. Lines and markings spiderwebbed across its surface, but even from the street, I could see the black mass of the Fellwood dominating most of it.

  I slowed as the others carried on ahead, their chatter thinning with distance. Squinting, I tried to make out more details on the map—Murasa’s gaze snapped up and locked onto mine. I flinched, instinct pulling me back a step—only to jolt at the sudden clamp of a small, clammy hand on my wrist.

  I looked down. A boy stood there, milky-eyed, staring through me with an unreadable expression.

  “Um… are you lost?” I asked softly.

  He shook his head.

  “Will you save us?” he said. His tone was flat, his face unmoving.

  I hesitated, then gave a slow nod, though I wasn’t sure exactly what he meant. The obvious answer would be from the Fell, but for some reason that didn’t feel like what he meant. Before I could ask more, he turned and ran.

  I let out a breath and glanced back toward the cathedral. The chamber was empty now, the map hanging in silence against the stone wall. With a last shake of my head, I turned and followed after the others.

  The rest of the day’s light was bleeding away when we returned to camp. Lanterns flared in the longhouse windows, and the smell of cooking drifted between the tents. Further orders were posted soon after—Pinned to a wooden notice board near the longhouse.

  For the most part, Bronze parties were split between watch duty, supply runs, and escort work for the foragers and farmers. Silvers would eventually take point on any scouting into the woods, but for now were lending their blades to the patrols around Night’s Reach.

  It was sensible, but I couldn’t shake the pull toward the north edge of town. Toward the drooping willows, and the forest beyond. Something about that treeline felt like it was waiting. Watching.

  Before the night could drag on, Selene called us together. We gathered around the small fire, five shadows cast against the dirt ground beneath us. The flames popped softly, throwing gold light across Selene’s face as she looked from one of us to the next.

  “Alright,” she said at last. “There are a few things we need to address.”

  Her eyes settled on me first.

  “Yukon. I’m glad you’re here with us—and I regret trying to leave you behind in Lanton.” Her gaze flicked briefly toward Lyria, then back. “But the truth is, we all witnessed something pretty disturbing that night… As it stands, you could be a danger to us, to yourself… or both.”

  Her words struck harder than I expected. I lowered my eyes, the firelight blurring in my vision.

  “But,” she added, her tone softening, “I like you. And I want to believe in you. I think we all do.”

  Bront spoke first, his voice steady as stone. “You’ve done right by me. You saved Lyria when none of us could move. Just… don’t lose yourself to that bloody beast.”

  Kaela leaned back, twirling a strand of fiery hair between her fingers. “Honestly? I thought it was kinda hot.”

  I knew she was lying. I knew she’d been terrified of me too. But for once, I appreciated her unserious attitude.

  The silence that followed made her grin widen.

  Lyria gave her a sharp look before turning back to me. “We just don’t want to see you hurt yourself. That power—it’s useful, no doubt. But if the cost outweighs the benefit…” She let the words trail off. She didn’t need to finish.

  I swallowed, meeting each of their eyes in turn. Heat rose in my chest, as steady as the fire between us. “I won’t let you down,” I said, firmer than I felt.

  Selene nodded once, satisfied, then pivoted without missing a beat. “Next item. Kaela—just join the damn party already.”

  Kaela scoffed, arms crossing. “Ugh… Fine. I guess I could lend you my talent.”

  Lyria’s scowl deepened, but she stayed silent. That, at least, was progress.

  Selene clasped her hands, leaning forward so the flames painted her tanned skin in warm orange. A small smile touched her lips.

  “Finally… we should try to settle on a party name.”

  We all went quiet for a moment, though I think Kaela simply just couldn’t be bothered. This mattered to me though. My first party, being a part of the naming process—it was a milestone I had only ever dreamed of back when I lived with my father in our humble shack in the woods.

  Selene looked around the fire expectantly. “Well? Someone start us off.”

  Kaela smirked. “What about… Kaela’s Killer Crew? Because, you know…” She flipped her hair with exaggerated flair. “We can call ourselves the KKC for short.”

  A unanimous “No,” resounded from all of us.

  Lyria folded her arms, clearly not amused. “We should take this seriously.”

  I nodded and glanced back to Selene. “You don’t have any ideas…? Shouldn’t the party leader be the one to–”

  She sighed, “naming isn’t really my strong suit.”

  Bront was next to offer an option.

  “How about Great Ass—you know, like ‘great axe’ and ‘bad ass.’” His tone was dead serious.

  My jaw hit the floor, and Kaela was already doubled over laughing before Selene could shut it down.

  At last, all eyes turned to Lyria. She lowered her hand from her blushing face, drew a steadying breath, and let her mind soften into thought.

  “For now… why not let ourselves remain simply, Selene’s party? No grand title. Not yet. We all still have a lot to learn—about one another, and about ourselves.” Her gaze flicked toward me for a heartbeat before slipping away. “Once we’ve had more time together, the right name will come.”

  Selene leaned back, smirking. “You just couldn’t think of anything either, could you?”

  Lyria’s eyes wandered sheepishly, giving her away.

  “Well,” I offered, “I think she’s right. I’d rather choose a name that reflects who we become, instead of one we’ll have to grow into.”

  The others murmured their agreement. The matter was settled, for now.

  We let the night wind down. Bront and I retired to our tent, while Selene, Lyria, and Kaela gathered in theirs. Patrol would come early, and the weariness of the road still clung to us. Rest was the only gift worth taking.

  Still, as I lay down, my thoughts circled back to the question of a name. A part of me was relieved we hadn’t chosen one yet. I wasn’t ready. Not for that weight. And truth be told, I couldn’t think of a single name worth speaking.

  I leaned over and snuffed my lantern. The tent dipped into darkness as the wind pressed softly against the canvas. Outside, muted murmurs and shuffling boots drifted through camp as guards and other parties kept watch under the night sky.

  Just before sleep claimed me, the memory returned—the blank-faced boy who had asked if I would save him. The more I thought about it, the less it felt like he was asking about the Fell at all… It really made me wonder:

  Save him from what?