Later in the evening, lying on his cot, Raen stared at the dark canvas ceiling of the tent, his body still aching from the spar. The tent was quiet, only broken by the occasional murmur drifting from a neighboring tent or the distant call of a night watchman making his rounds.

  He had fallen asleep right after Dral, and Adam brought him back, like a candle being snuffed. Adam had woken him for supper, as promised, and Raen had eaten mechanically, barely tasting the food. His body demanded sustenance, and it felt much better than before, most of the aching and tiredness coming from his lack of stamina.

  Two days in a coma had left his body weak; the sparring session was just what he needed to wake it up.

  He thought back on the spar, how he lost every single one of the 6 rounds they ultimately went through. His body still remembered each point Mark scored.

  In the final round, perhaps because Mark had finally also gotten tired, or because Raen got better, he nearly scored a point. The opening had been there, his sword moving in the right direction.

  And then his foot slipped in the mud.

  ‘Progress,’ Raen thought, flexing his sore fingers. ‘Perhaps not enough, but it’s something.’

  As the night deepened, Raen was left awake in his cot, the familiar sounds of the sleeping camp—the distant calls of night watch, the rustle of the wind—were a haunting melody from a past he never thought he'd relive.

  His mind churned, sleep eluding him as he replayed the contents of the day, the disbelief in Adam’s eyes, Mark’s calculating look, Thatch’s smile …

  It was all so familiar, yet so distant, almost alien.

  He should have forgotten it by now, after so many years passed, and yet …

  ‘The doing of the Altar.’ Raen mused. ‘It sent me back and made me relive my memories immediately, but why?’

  ‘So I can adapt better?’

  His gaze drifted across the dim tent, lit only by the faint moonlight filtering through the seams of the tent.

  His gaze first landed on Dral, who slept like a predator. Still, seemingly unbothered and yet alert, his fingers curled loosely around the shaft of his axe. Not gripping it, simply resting there, as if it were an extension of his arm.

  Raen observed him for a long moment, his mind drifting.

  ‘The way he carries himself, the efficiency of his fighting style. The way he reads an opponent before they even begin moving.’ The thoughts assembled by themselves. ‘And the immense ‘intimidation’ that he can project. It’s not just trained, but inherited.’

  ‘He’s from the northern tribes. The northmost reaches of the second continent, no question about it.’

  In his previous life, it had taken Raen multiple years to piece that together. Years filled with hardship, bleeding across battlefields, and meeting people from places most in the Empire had never heard of. The northern tribes, however, were not like the southern ones the Empire had made contact with.

  They were older, stranger.

  ‘The Empire had been exploring the second continent some time ago. Seeing barbarians in the army has become somewhat normal, but they all came from the south, from the primitive tribes.’

  He shifted slightly on the cot.

  ‘The northern tribes have never made contact with the Empire, so how did someone like Dral end up here?’

  It was a question for another day.

  Then he moved to the next cot, his eyes finding Thatch, one arm tucked beneath his head, the other on his chest, palm inside the cotton shirt, no doubt holding a dagger. The white hair spilled across the rough fabric of the cot, noticeable even in the near-darkness.

  ‘And you,’ a grimace touched Raen’s lips. ‘You are the biggest giveaway of them all.’

  Raen glanced at his snow-white hair again.

  ‘One of the ‘lost children’ of the ‘Crimson Veil’, the secret blades of the damned Sanctum.’

  Raen had encountered them before, the organization that only a rare few in the Empire knew existed. He had seen what they could do, the precision of their blades, the coldness with which they moved – not natural talent, but brutal, methodical training that began before they could even hold a sword.

  Their signature was unmistakable. White hair, bleached by whatever process the Veil used to ‘forge’ them.

  ‘But why is an initiate here, in a war camp?’

  The children were supposed to stay in their training facilities until they were given their first mission. Upon completion, they become ‘Shadows’ of the Veil.

  ‘A battlefield is no place for one of them; the Veil would never send one of their trainees to this place.’

  He thought it over, examining the situation from a different angle.

  ‘So… an escapee?’

  It was the only explanation that made sense. For a child who fled the Veil, a war camp, ironically, was one of the best places to disappear. The Veil wouldn’t look for them here, especially not this battlefield that was so far away from the capital.

  Raen then glanced at the far corner of the tent, to Marcus, who was sleeping whilst sitting, his greatsword cradled in his arms like a child.

  ‘And you,’ Raen thought, this time feeling nothing but confusion and frustration. ‘You are the only mystery I never solved.’

  In thirty years of war and struggle, Raen had learned to read people, especially fighters. He could look at a man’s stance, his grip, how he moved, and piece together what kind of a person he was, what kind of weapon he used.

  It was a skill born of necessity, one that kept you alive when your enemies were better than you.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Marcus, however, was someone he could still not see through.

  The man was not just strong – he was wrong.

  His existence itself, a walking contradiction wrapped in flesh and silence, someone who did not belong in their squad, in this battlefield itself.

  He couldn’t get a read on him; he had never seen his fighting style used by anybody else, and he didn’t understand just what his goal was.

  ‘A man with such strength, hidden in a squad like this one, without any accolades, without any fame, just who truly are you, Marcus?’

  A slow, determined breath escaped him. The Altar had sent him back, not to a perfect past, but a pivotal moment in his life, one he perhaps didn’t even realize. Everything was set, the pieces were moving, but this time, he held a deck of cards nobody knew was in play.

  ‘Will it suffice?’ Raen stared at his right hand, still feeling unfamiliar with it. ‘Even with my memories, I’m a squad leader, just a cog in the wheel.’

  ‘I know the broad strokes of this battlefield, but not enough to guarantee anything. With these monsters beside me, at least I won’t need to worry too much about safety. Any serious threat that comes our way will meet them first.’

  ‘I just need to make sure I’m not caught off guard.’

  He exhaled. ‘But making a difference, changing the outcome of this war is … impossible.’

  “Whacha thinking of, Cap?”

  The voice came from behind him.

  Low, unhurried, and close enough that Raen’s body froze before his mind finished processing the words. He turned his head, his eyes finding Mark lying on the cot nearest to his, bandana half-off, eyes sharp.

  “You’ve been staring at all of us.’ Thatch’s voice came from his other side, and Raen’s pulse spiked, because Thatch had not been there a second ago. The boy was sitting cross-legged on the edge of Raen’s cot.

  “It’s kinda weird.” He paused. “Bit creepy, actually.”

  “Something changed after he took that blow … he is still the same, but also different?” Dral asked, seemingly himself as he stared at Raen from his left. With his axe in hand, he held an expression that was not hostile, but not relaxed either.

  “Your eyes are different,” Marcus said, his voice barely above a murmur.

  He emerged from the darkness like something that had always been there. “More profound than before. I wonder just what made it so?”

  In a mere instant, without creating any sound, before Raen could even notice, the four men had suddenly surrounded him.

  Silent, deadly, predatory.

  Raen’s pulse hammered, his mind a blank.

  ‘These guys are even more terrifying than I remember.’

  Raen forced himself not to reach for a weapon that he didn’t have, not that it would matter.

  If any of the four wanted him dead, he’d be dead already.

  “Hey, you four are way too good at creeping up on people,” Raen said with a strained smile. “You nearly gave me a heart attack there.”

  Mark didn’t laugh, neither did Thatch – that alone was alarming, nearly terrifying. Thatch was always smiling, always enthusiastic. That was his mask, one he wore so consistently that most people would never think there was anything underneath. For that mask to drop, even for a second …

  “That’s because you never looked at us like that before,” Thatch said, his voice light, but eyes sharp, never leaving Raen. “It was like you were memorizing us, figuring how to deal with us while we slept.”

  He tilted his head. “It was creepy, Cap’n.”

  “Correct, that look in your eyes earlier … it was weird,” Mark added, the scar along his face seemingly moving as Raen stared at his face.

  “Different,” Dral corrected, the grip on his axe not relaxing.

  “Like the eyes of a man who has fought many battles, yet you have fought too few.”

  Raen’s heart thumped, Dral’s words stabbing deep inside it.

  “The way you were observing everyone … assessing … weighing … almost like a Knight before a duel,” Marcus said quietly, carefully.

  Knights.

  The word hung in the air. Knights were not just strong, outrageously so – they were something else entirely. They had experience etched in their bones, characteristics that none were born with, but were gained after many hardships.

  Raen did have such experience, just not in this lifetime.

  “I was thinking,” he said, picking his words carefully. “About the scouting mission, and how things went wrong the last time.”

  “I’m trying not to repeat the ambush from last time.”

  “You’re lying,” Marcus said.

  Raen froze.

  “You’ve lied before,” Marcus continued, his eyes steady. “But your heartbeat didn’t lie with you.”

  A chill ran down Raen’s spine. He had forgotten. Forgotten how frighteningly perceptive Marcus was, how perceptive all of them were.

  Thatch suddenly leaned closer to Raen, so close that he could feel the boy’s breath on his ear.

  “Cap’n,” Thatch whispered innocently, his tone not matching the intensity of his eyes, “did that club knock something loose in your head?”

  “Perhaps it had put something in it?” Dral added from the side.

  Raen held his gaze. He couldn’t tell them the truth, not even a fraction of it.

  But he couldn’t give them nothing either. They were too sharp for that. A deflection, anything that went hollow would only deepen their suspicion.

  So he chose the middle.

  “When I woke up, I felt … off.”

  The four all exchanged subtle looks.

  “Not sick, not injured, just … different, clearer. My head feels lighter, things are easier to understand now, clearer.”

  It wasn’t a lie, not entirely.

  “Clearer how?” Dral asked immediately.

  “My instincts,” Raen said. “They’re sharper.”

  “When you moved previously, even before you stopped your axe, Dral – I saw it.” He paused, searching for words. “Not with my eyes, I just … knew.”

  “Danger, like a spark before lightning.”

  “He speaks the truth,” Marcus said, interest lingering in his voice. “His body tensed at that time, responding to the danger. I noticed it.”

  “As did I, during our spar,” Mark added, nodding his head.

  “Yeah, so when I look at you guys now …” Raen’s gaze moved across each of them in turn. “It’s different, frightening almost.”

  “I feel pressure, strength … but no danger.” He then chuckled nervously. “Well, not until a couple of seconds ago.”

  Raen then reached out slowly, deliberately, placing his hand flat against Thatch’s face. The boy raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t move, didn’t flinch.

  “And you,” He said, pushing the boy’s head back gently. “Are just making me uncomfortable at this point.”

  Thatch’s composure cracked as a laugh slipped out. It was short. Genuine even. The kind of laugh that couldn’t be stopped.

  “So you woke up wiser, Cap’n, that’s good. We were worried you would wake up dumb.”

  Mark snorted, Dral relaxed his shoulders while Marcus blinked, slowly. Raen felt tension bleed out from the air, not completely, but enough for him to finally breathe normally.

  Mark let out a sigh and flopped back onto his cot, one arm draped over his eyes.

  “Good, the last thing I need is you going crazy. Would suck to take over the position like that.”

  He lifted one hand, not looking at Raen, just waving it lazily.

  “Oh, and Cap, since when were you ambidextrous?”

  “I’m not,” Raen answered.

  Mark chuckled. “Well, you sure could’ve fooled me.”

  He smirked, eyes still closed. “That strike from before … impressive.”

  “It is late, rest,” Dral said, settling back onto his cot, axe across his lap. “Tomorrow, we shall see if your clarity holds up.”

  Thatch grinned before pushing himself off the edge of the cot and stretching. He crossed back to his own cot with silent ease.

  “Don’t die on us, Cap’n,” he said, pausing for a moment. “I’d miss messing with you.”

  “I won’t,” Raen said. “And Thatch, I need a favor.”

  Thatch paused and turned his head, raising an eyebrow. “Hmm?”

  “I need you to use those connections of yours. Find out if any of our guys have noticed any weird movement from the enemy, anything beyond the ordinary. And see if you get a more detailed map of the surrounding area as well.”

  The playfulness in Thatch’s eyes dimmed for a moment.

  “Sure, no problem. You think something’s going on?”

  “The ambush, it was too well prepared. I just have a feeling that there’s more to it than what we thought.”

  Thatch listened to his words and then nodded.

  “Talk to the night watch as well, see if anything’s caught their attention, anything at all.”

  “Got it.”

  “Keep me updated, every day.”

  “Something changed in you,” Marcus said quietly, his voice barely above a murmur. “But … it is not a bad change.”

  Raen swallowed inwardly and nodded at Marcus, who said nothing more. He settled back down, greatsword across his chest.

  Within moments, the tent was still again, as if nothing had happened.

  Raen, however, sat frozen for a long moment as his heart hammered.

  They hadn’t bought it.

  The half-truths he’d given them, the sharpened instincts, the new clarity ...

  It was easy to accept, that was all. It didn’t threaten them, just potentially made him a better leader than he’d been before

  They’ve merely decided to tolerate it for now.

  They were not ordinary men. They noticed the difference in him the moment he arrived.

  What just happened was an assessment, and he passed. But barely.

  ‘I need to be careful around them, very careful.’

  He lay back down, eyes open.

  The scouting mission was in four days, the first divergence from the future he knew.

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