I woke to pain.

  a kind that spread slowly, like something wrong had settled in and decided to stay. My head throbbed in time with my pulse, each beat a reminder that I was still here.

  Sophie’s head snapped up from where she’d been sitting beside the bed.

  Her eyes searched my face first—then my chest.

  She let out a breath. “Good,” she said hoarsely. “You’re still breathing.”

  I managed a weak smile. “Remind me not to next time.”

  She didn’t laugh. She punched my shoulder instead.

  I hissed. “I was joking.”

  She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand and stood. “Don’t,” she said simply, and went to fetch water.

  Moments later, Raphael stepped into the room. He looked exhausted—older somehow—but there was a tired smile on his face.

  “Good,” he said softly. “You’re awake.”

  I swallowed. “Lucius and Azazel?”

  Raphael nodded. “Still here. They’ve been wondering when you’d finally stop pretending to be dead.”

  From somewhere outside the door, Lucius’s voice cut in.

  “Pay up.”

  A pouch of coins hit his chest, tossed lazily by Azazel. Lucius grinned, shaking it once.

  “I told you he’d wake up,” Lucius said. “Stubborn bastard, just like me.”

  My throat felt dry. “Before I used the SIN,” I said slowly, “I said a name. I didn’t know it. It just… came out.”

  The room stilled.

  “It was Uriel.”

  Raphael froze.

  Azazel’s smile vanished.

  Lucius stopped mid-motion, the coin pouch going slack in his hand.

  The three of them looked at me.

  Then at each other.

  “What?” I asked. “Who is that?”

  Lucius exhaled slowly.

  “Our kin,” he said.

  I frowned. “Kin?”

  Raphael lowered his gaze, troubled. Azazel rested his club against the wall, suddenly very still.

  Lucius met my eyes.

  “Maybe,” he said carefully, “he heard our prayers to the Father.”

  A pause.

  “And maybe,” he added, “he gave you just enough of his power… to turn the tide.”

  The pain in my head pulsed again, sharper this time.

  I stared at them, unease creeping in where relief should have been.

  I had thought the battle was over.

  But the way they looked at me told a different truth.

  Whatever answered when I said that name—

  —it wasn’t finished with me yet.

  “Maybe we’ll meet him on the road,” Lucius said with a laugh. “Life’s finally getting interesting.”

  “On the road?” I pushed myself up slightly, pain flaring again behind my eyes. “You’re kicking me out of Deermarch?”

  Lucius snorted. “Relax, kid.”

  “What if the Church comes back?” I pressed. “What happens to all of you?”

  Raphael stepped closer, his voice steady.

  “No,” he said gently. “You are always welcome here, Thomas. This will always be your home.” He paused, choosing his words with care. “But the Father told me you would stay here only for a season. To protect our people. To learn from us.”

  He met my gaze.

  “That season has ended.”

  My chest tightened.

  “And Lucius?” I asked.

  Raphael nodded. “Lucius is meant to take you to the next step of the way.”

  Sophie stiffened beside the bed. I felt it before I saw it—the way her breath caught, the way her hand curled into the blanket.

  “But that means leaving you all behind,” I said quietly.

  “We’ll manage,” Raphael replied. “We always have.” Then, softer: “And Lucius will teach you how to control the SIN in ways we cannot.”

  Before I could respond, Sophie grabbed my arm.

  “Let me come too.”

  The words burst out of her, sharp and desperate.

  Lucius turned slowly, his jaw dropping. “Absolutely not. No way, girlie. I run a mercenary band, not a school.”

  Her grip tightened. She shook her head, tears spilling over.

  “Please,” she said. “Let me stay with Thomas. I’ll do anything to help.”

  Her voice broke, but she didn’t stop.

  “I can cook,” she rushed on. “I know how to treat wounds—basic first aid, yes, I’m good at that. I don’t get in the way. I can pull my weight.”

  She straightened then, wiping her face with her sleeve, forcing herself to stand tall.

  “Please,” she said again, quieter now. “Uncle Lucius. Grandpa Raphael.”

  The room fell silent.

  Lucius stared at her, clearly unprepared for this. Raphael closed his eyes for a moment, as if listening for something only he could hear.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  I looked at Sophie, my heart pounding.

  I hadn’t asked her to choose this.

  And that scared me more than the road ever could.

  Lucius exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his hair.

  “You’ve got more spine than sense,” he muttered.

  He glanced at Raphael. Raphael’s expression was calm—but not dismissive.

  Finally, Lucius looked back at Sophie.

  “This isn’t bravery,” he said. “It’s blood and mud and screaming men. You don’t get to take it back once you’re out there.”

  Sophie met his stare without flinching.

  “I know,” she said. “But if Thomas keeps doing this alone… he won’t come back at all.”

  That landed.

  Lucius went quiet.

  Azazel, who had been leaning against the doorway, let out a low chuckle. “Careful, Lucius,” he said. “Girl sound like she already made up her mind.”

  Lucius scowled. “Don’t encourage her.”

  Raphael opened his eyes and spoke at last.

  “She wouldn’t be the first healer to walk the road,” he said. “Nor the first to save lives without lifting a blade.”

  Lucius looked between them all—at Raphael, at Sophie, at me.

  Then he sighed, long and resigned.

  “Fine,” he said. “But you follow orders. You stay behind the line. And if you killed, don’t come back to haunt me.”

  Sophie let out a shaky breath, half laugh, half sob.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Lucius pointed at me. “And you—if you forget her because of that cursed thing on your belt, I’ll put you in the ground myself.”

  I swallowed hard.

  “I won’t,” I said.

  Lucius snorted. “We’ll see.”

  Raphael placed a hand on Sophie’s shoulder, then on mine.

  “Go,” he said softly. “Learn. Survive. And remember who you are fighting to remain.”

  The road waited.

  And for the first time since the firestorm at the border, I realized something clearly:

  I wasn’t walking it alone.

  The morning came quiet.

  Mist still clung to the fields as Sophie stood at the doorway of her home, pack slung over her shoulder. She wore a short chestplate salvaged from the battle—too large for her, but sturdy—and a small knife tied at her hip. She adjusted the straps with steady hands, even as her breath wavered.

  Gramps pulled her into a hug first, rough hands squeezing tight.

  “Don’t go getting yourself killed,” he muttered. “We already lost enough sleep worrying about you as it is.”

  She laughed softly and hugged him back. “No promises.”

  Old Nan stepped forward next, cradling Sophie’s face between her palms like she’d done a thousand times before.

  “You eat,” she said firmly. “You rest when you can. And you come back.”

  “I will,” Sophie promised, voice thick.

  Her mother held her longest.

  Neither of them spoke.

  When Sophie finally stepped away, she wiped her eyes and squared her shoulders, adjusting her pack once more like that alone could keep her steady.

  Lucius stood a short distance off, arms crossed, clearly irritated by the whole affair. His jaw worked as if he were biting back commentary.

  Azazel clapped him hard on the back, nearly knocking him forward.

  “Lighten up,” Azazel laughed. “She tougher dan she look.”

  Lucius grumbled something unintelligible.

  I slung my satchel over my shoulder, feeling its familiar weight settle against my spine. Around us, the townsfolk gathered—men, women, children—offering nods, small waves, quiet blessings.

  No speeches.

  Just presence.

  Azazel stepped back toward the road, staff resting against his shoulder.

  “I’ll be around,” he said easily. “Roads be small places if yah walk dem long enough.”

  “You always say that,” Lucius muttered.

  Azazel grinned. “An’ I always right.”

  Raphael stood beside us, hands folded, eyes kind and tired all at once.

  “Take care,” he said simply. “Both of you.”

  I nodded. Sophie did too.

  Then Lucius turned without ceremony and started down the road.

  Sophie and I followed.

  Behind us, Deermarch grew smaller—fields, homes, familiar faces softening into shapes and color. I didn’t look back again. I didn’t need to.

  The road stretched ahead, uncertain and wide.

  ***

  We walked east.

  Days blurred together into a rhythm of road and sky. We hunted when we could—Lucius teaching me how to read tracks, how to move quiet through brush. Sophie learned faster than either of us expected. She watched. She listened.

  She learned how to stretch a meal until it fed us all. How to salt what we couldn’t eat. How to coax something warm and filling out of almost nothing.

  Lucius complained loudly the whole time.

  “Portions are criminal,” he’d mutter, staring at his bowl. Then he’d scrape it clean without leaving a crumb.

  Sophie grinned.

  “Girl’s better than half the cooks I’ve paid,” he admitted once, grudgingly.

  “Then I expect you to pay me lots, Uncle,” she said, hands on her hips.

  She giggled when Lucius swore under his breath.

  Nights came slow and wide.

  We slept beneath open skies, stars scattered like ash across the dark. When the air grew cold, Sophie curled against me without asking, her head resting on my chest like it belonged there.

  Lucius would glance over from the fire and snort. “Oi. Get a room.”

  I’d shoo him away, cheeks warming despite myself.

  When he finally turned in, I’d look down at Sophie again—at the way her blonde hair caught the firelight, soft and loose against my shoulder. Peaceful. Unafraid.

  Alive.

  Something burned in my chest then.

  Not the hunger of battle.

  Not the pull of the SIN.

  Something steadier.

  The quiet, dangerous desire to keep this.

  To fight—not for glory, not for vengeance—but for moments like this. For warmth earned by shared road and shared silence. For a world where this kind of peace could exist, even if only between two people beneath the stars.

  I held her a little closer and stared up at the sky, wondering how long such moments were allowed to last—

  —and what I would become trying to protect them.

  ***

  The next morning, we climbed the last stretch of the hill in silence, the wind picking up as the ground leveled out beneath our feet.

  Lucius broke it first.

  “We’re almost there,” he said casually. “Then you’ll meet some of my small crew.”

  I snorted. Sophie shot him a look but kept walking.

  When we reached the crest, the land opened up before us.

  I stopped short.

  Below us sprawled a camp that stretched farther than I could take in at once—rows of tents clustered like streets, cookfires burning in dozens of places, smoke curling upward into the pale sky. Horses were tied in long lines. Men and women moved between fires with practiced ease, sharpening blades, mending armor, laughing, arguing.

  Red banners swayed in the wind.

  Not the white and gold of the Church.

  Something rougher. Earned.

  “Small?” Sophie said flatly.

  Lucius scratched the back of his neck. “All right. Maybe I lied a little.”

  She stared at him. “That’s not small, that’s a town.”

  Lucius chuckled. “Don’t flatter them. Towns have rules.”

  I felt something tighten in my chest—not fear, exactly, but awareness. This wasn’t Deermarch. This wasn’t refuge.

  This was momentum.

  Lucius stepped closer and rested his palm on my shoulder, his grip firm and certain.

  “Together,” he said, voice low, “we’ll do great things, Thomas. I can feel it.”

  I looked down at the camp again—the fires, the banners, the people who lived by steel and road and coin.

  Behind me, Sophie shifted her pack and stood close enough that I could feel her presence without looking.

  Ahead of me waited a life shaped by choice after choice—none of them clean, all of them full of danger.

  I didn’t answer Lucius.

  But I took the first step down the hill.

  And that was an answer enough.