Night settled hard over the riverbank.  Clouds smothered the moon, leaving the world blind and heavy. The fire West had built, small and practical, was the only thing pushing back the dark, its glow flickering against stone and water as if afraid of what waited beyond its reach.

  “That was quite the catch, West,” Omni said after a time, tossing the stripped bones into the night. “You have my thanks.”

  “I appreciate the kind words, Master Omni,” West replied with a grin, “but I can’t take all the credit. Tyrus did help out.”

  Omni inclined his head halfway. “Thank you, Tyrus.”

  “It was the salt from your whining that attracted the bass after all,” West added casually.

  Tyrus answered with a light punch to West’s shoulder.

  West stiffened. He struck back, harder than he meant to. Tyrus shoved him off the stone he’d been sitting on, sending him into the dirt.

  West rose quickly, brushing himself off. “Jerk.”

  He drew his foot back, ready to kick a spray of dirt at Tyrus.

  “Do you want to do something about it?” Tyrus asked, not even looking up as he continued eating his fish.

  “West! Sit down!” Omni snapped, grabbing his arm. “If we are to continue together, we must learn to coexist.” His grip tightened. “Apologize to Tyrus.”

  West looked at him, frustration plain on his face. “He punched me. I was joking…you know that’s how I bond with people, Master Omni. Tyrus just can’t take a joke.”

  Tyrus stood.

  He stepped close enough that West had to look up at him. “And fighting is how I bond,” Tyrus said evenly. “Not my fault you can’t take a punch.”

  They stared each other down, neither willing to break eye contact.

  Then they heard it.

  A sound in the dark. Soft and deliberate.

  They moved at the same time.

  Tyrus dove behind the tree trunk where he’d been sitting. West spun, ripping the Red Dragon free just as arrows tore out of the black. Steel rang as he deflected the first volley, the force rattling his arms.

  Tyrus kicked a mass of dirt into the fire.

  The flames died instantly.

  Darkness swallowed everything.

  The ground shifted as the trio scrambled low, breath held. Somewhere nearby, bows creaked as strings were drawn again.

  Tyrus listened hard, straining for direction, but the night gave him nothing.

  West threw himself over Omni, pressing him down. “Stay low, Master,” he whispered. “You’ll be safe behind this stone.”

  He began to crawl away, blade held tight, every muscle tense.

  “Cowards!” Tyrus shouted into the dark. “Show yourselves and fight with honor!”

  Arrows hissed through the air, followed by the dull, final thud of impact. Then came the creak of bowstrings being drawn back once more.

  “Surrender!” a voice shouted from the dark. “You are surrounded!”

  West shifted toward the sound, low to the ground. Every movement was slow, measured, strategic. He let the darkness swallow him as he crawled.

  Another volley sliced through the night.

  Nearby, Tyrus lay flat against the earth, teeth clenched. He couldn’t see. He had no blade. Nothing but pain, dirt, and the knowledge that he was exposed.

  West, however, had found their edge.

  The scent hit him first: oil. Strong and sharp. He crept closer until his fingers brushed against smooth clay. A vase. He wrapped his hand around it just as a guard stepped nearer.

  “Hey!”

  The word died in the man’s mouth as West slammed the sheathed Dragon into his face. Bone cracked. The man collapsed, teeth hitting the ground before the rest of him followed.

  Bows dropped. Steel sang as swords were drawn.

  “He’s over here!” someone shouted.

  Torches flared to life, three of them, and the sudden light revealed West standing amid four armed men.

  Tyrus surged forward, forcing himself up…

  An arrow struck his thigh.

  He went down hard, a raw cry tearing from his throat.

  West heard it.

  He felt the moment snap.

  The Dragon slid free of its sheath.

  One man charged. Their blades met, and the impact rang like a bell. The enemy sword shattered under the force of Evokian steel. West recoiled, stiffening his footing, and brought the flat of the Dragon across the man’s head, dropping him instantly.

  Another attacker rushed from behind as a third came head-on.

  West caught the rear strike, steel crashing against steel. He drove his foot forward, kicking the man in front of him square in the chest, then swung wide. Crack. Shattering another blade.

  Something slammed into his back.

  West hit the ground hard, breath knocked loose. The man he’d kicked staggered up, lifting his foot, lining up a killing blow…

  An arrow tore through his jaw.

  The man dropped, screaming, clutching his face as blood poured through his fingers.

  The weight of the attacker hesitated.

  West didn’t.

  He drove his heel into the man’s groin. The attacker rolled off with a howl. West scrambled up, seized the Dragon, and kicked the man hard in the ribs, leaving him gasping.

  He turned in a tight circle, blade ready.

  Silence.

  Then he saw him.

  Tyrus stood a short distance away, braced awkwardly, a bow clenched in his hands. His right leg bled freely, but his eyes were sharp. Fiercely locked on the fallen enemies.

  He had crawled. Limped. Fought.

  The bow was the same one taken from the man who had put an arrow through his thigh.

  West exhaled, slow and shaky, as the weight of the moment finally caught up to him. He backed toward Tyrus, eyes already drawn to the arrow buried deep in his thigh. At Tyrus’s feet lay the man responsible; his body twisted, lifeless. Two fingers had been driven clean through the man’s eyes, ending the fight with brutal certainty.

  “We need to clean that,” West said quietly. Then, louder, “Master!”

  He called Omni out of the darkness.

  Tyrus’s gaze flicked toward the unconscious men scattered nearby. One still screamed, high and broken, clutching what remained of his shattered jaw. “I’ll finish them,” Tyrus said, extending his hand toward West. “The Red Dragon.”

  West shoved his hand aside. “It’s finished.”  He turned and walked toward Omni.

  “Excellent work, both of you,” Omni said, then stopped short as he noticed the corpse beside Tyrus. His eyes shifted to West. West looked away, jaw tight.

  “There are four more down there,” West said, nodding into the dark. “One badly wounded. The rest just knocked out. And Tyrus got hit.”

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Tyrus…” Omni stepped closer, concern overtaking his voice as he saw the arrow. “Are you alright?” He knelt to inspect the wound. “May the Gods help us.”

  “He’ll live,” West said, pacing once before stopping. He pointed toward the screaming man. “What about him?”

  “I will see what can be done,” Omni replied, already moving. “West, help Tyrus with his wound.”

  “We should kill them before they wake,” Tyrus growled through clenched teeth.

  “That will not be necessary,” Omni said firmly. “They are not Evokians. Likely bandits. They pose no further threat.”

  “No threat?” Tyrus snapped. “Do not be foolish, old man!”

  “Lower your voice,” West said, and without warning, he acted.

  His hand snapped forward and ripped the arrow free in one clean motion.

  Tyrus didn’t even have time to scream.

  West shoved him back, hooked a leg behind his, and swept him off balance. Tyrus braced for impact, but surprisingly, West held him, easing him down instead of letting him fall.

  Tyrus shook with fury, breath sharp, teeth bared, but he stopped when he realized what West was doing.

  West tore strips of cloth from the dead man’s clothing, working fast and practiced. His hands were steady…too steady.

  Tyrus took a moment to calm himself, “You forgot to say thank you,” he muttered bitterly.

  “All done,” West said, tying the final wrap tight. “At least until we find some Valorena to smear on it.” He straightened. “Consider us even.”  He offered his hand.

  After a moment, Tyrus took it and was pulled back to his feet.

  “I’ll tie the others,” West said, already moving.

  Tyrus stayed behind.

  He watched Omni kneel beside the wounded man, wrapping a makeshift bandage around his head to brace the ruined jaw. The man’s eyes were wide, glassy with pain, confusion, and fear.

  Tyrus met that gaze.   And did not look away.

  “He tried to kill us,” Tyrus said coldly.

  “And you tried to kill him,” Omni replied without turning. “The debt is paid.”

  “Had any of their arrows struck true,” Tyrus said, voice tight, “he would not be showing the same mercy.”

  “Perhaps,” Omni said quietly. “But I do not share this man’s heart.”

  He uncorked a small vial filled with pale Moonshade oil and pressed it gently to the wounded man’s lips. “Drink,” he murmured. “It is not poison, this will help you sleep.” He supported the man’s head until the vial was emptied. The man's head shook from the pain, he had no interest in knowing what Omni was giving him, hoping for any kind of relief. “When you awaken you will be somewhere that you can be tended to” Omni assured the man and within moments, the man’s breathing slowed, his eyes fluttering shut.

  Tyrus looked away. He could not understand how forgiveness came so easily to someone who had nearly died for it.

  “These men are bandits,” West said as he returned, wiping his hands on his trousers. “One of them confessed while I was tying the others to the tree.”

  He sensed the tension immediately. His eyes dropped to the wounded man. “What happened? Is he…”

  “Alive,” Omni said as he stood. “For now. But he will need proper rest and real care.”

  Tyrus released a long breath and limped away from them, disappearing into the dark to relieve himself.

  “Maybe he has a point,” West offered softly.

  Omni did not respond. He bowed his head and began a quiet prayer. West followed suit, lowering his head in respect.

  The night rustled.

  A sudden burst of movement shattered the silence.  A man lunged from the bushes, sword first, aimed straight at Tyrus.

  Steel sparked past him, close enough to steal air. Tyrus twisted away just in time. The attacker recovered fast, striking again. The blade tore through fabric, grazing near his knee.

  Then another shape exploded from the brush.

  Tyrus barely sidestepped in time, the second sword slicing through empty air where his torso had been. He backed away, heart hammering, forcing himself toward West and Omni.

  West was already moving. The Red Dragon was in his hands again, its edge catching faint firelight as he stepped in front of Omni.

  “West!” Tyrus shouted. “Give me the sword!”

  West took a step forward—

  Omni stepped in front of him.

  “We need not fight!” Omni called out, raising his voice. “Your companion is injured. We have already surrendered.”

  The two attackers slowed, blades lowering just enough to show hesitation.

  “We do not wish to die,” Omni continued steadily, “defending property or valuables.”

  Tyrus stayed coiled, ready to strike, inching backward until he felt West behind him.

  “What are you doing?” Tyrus hissed. “We need to fight!”

  “Put the sword down,” one of the men commanded, eyes locked on the Red Dragon.

  “I am not being captured again,” Tyrus said, teeth clenched. “West! Hand me the sword!”

  Omni stepped forward before West could hand the sword to Tyrus.  He placed himself squarely between the attackers and his companions.

  “I am Lord Omni of the Kesh,” he said calmly, voice carrying despite the night, “Envoy of the Promise and witness to His vision.” He inclined his head slightly. “We mean you no harm. My guards were startled when your men attacked us in the dark. Our reactions were… unfortunate. One man lies dead. Others wounded.”

  The attackers lowered their weapons.

  One of them raised a flute and blew a sharp, piercing note. The sound cut through the trees like a signal flare.

  “Lord Omni,” one of the men said, stepping forward and extending a hand. “Forgive us. We mistook you for bandits.”

  Torches flared to life as more figures emerged from the dark; fourteen men in total, forming a loose perimeter. A broad-shouldered man pushed through them, older than West and Tyrus, yet younger than Omni, his presence immediately commanding.

  “My apologies, Lord Omni,” he said. “Thank you, Amaro.” The man he addressed fell back into line. “I am Captain Nadrin. My men and I heard fighting and assumed we’d stumbled onto Canary band scum.”

  His gaze shifted to Tyrus. “Hope we didn’t rough you up too badly, son.”

  Tyrus didn’t answer. His breathing was still heavy, eyes burning. West placed a steadying hand against his back.

  “We will recover,” Omni said. “Though one of your arrows did strike my guard. In retaliation, one of your men was slain.”

  “Arrows…?” Nadrin frowned and turned toward the bound figures and the wounded man. He stepped closer, crouched, and examined them. His expression darkened. “These aren’t my men.”    He straightened slowly. “Canary bastards…”

  Without warning, Nadrin drove his knee into the nearest captive’s face. Bone crumpled. Teeth shattered. The man didn’t even have time to scream before Nadrin finished the motion, collapsing his skull with brutal efficiency.

  “These,” Nadrin said, wiping blood from his knee as he turned back, “are the bandits we were hunting.”

  He nodded once.

  “Captain Nadrin! Is this necessary? The men are already bound” Omni asked.

  “These bandits belong to the Canary gang, we have a direct order from General Dresdi himself to put these men to death, regardless of their crimes. You should not feel for them, they are nothing more than dangerous beasts” Nadrin stated.

  His men moved in and finished the rest. Quick, merciless, and eerily efficient.

  “They won’t trouble you again, or any one else again” Nadrin said with a rough chuckle.

  Omni turned away as he caught a glance of Nadrin's men executing the man he had just bandaged up. “Are your men Evokian?” he asked Nadrin.

  “Hell no,” Nadrin replied before spitting on the ground. “Dagavian patrol. We hunt bandits, grave robbers, runaway slaves… Anything that escapes the Evokian army's treasure chests.” He smiled wickedly. “But we know about the Kesh. We know the rules.” His tone softened. “ It’s dangerous out here, we can escort you to Dagavia. Keep any more Canary boys from crossing your path.”

  One of Nadrin’s men stepped forward. “We still need to make sure no slaves or spies are being smuggled.”

  “Right, right,” Nadrin said, lifting a hand. “Wrists, boys.”

  Omni hesitated, then offered his arm, but Nadrin waved him off.

  “Not you, Lord. Just your guards. It’s protocal”

  Tyrus stiffened, keeping his arms down as he remembered the secrets West kept under his sleeve. Nadrin’s eyes passed over his bare arms, finding no marks or brandings.

  Then Nadrin looked at West.

  “Well?” he prompted.

  West didn’t move at first. Beneath his sleeve, the metal bracelets felt heavier than the Dragon in his hands, cold against his skin. For a heartbeat, he imagined the torches lifting higher, eyes narrowing, the word slave spoken aloud, and his grip tightened until his knuckles ached. Then West stepped out from behind Tyrus, the Red Dragon still drawn, its edge catching torchlight as West positioned himself to fight. “I’m not putting the sword down.”

  Hands went to hilts. The air tightened.

  “West!” Omni commanded.

  “I’m with West, We can take all of you” Tyrus said proudly as he positioned himself for combat.

  Nadrin raised a hand slowly. His eyes narrowed, studying the blade, the man holding it.

  “West,” he said quietly.

  Then his face changed.

  “West,” he said louder. “The Legendary West?”

  Recognition spread like wildfire. Murmurs rippled through the patrol.

  “And that must be…” Nadrin’s voice dropped with reverence. “The Red Dragon.”

  The tension broke. Hands left swords.

  “That’s him,” Nadrin said, awe creeping into his tone. “The man who killed Dresdi.” He stepped forward, extending his hand. “Gods be my witness! I must shake the hand of the man who killed General fucking Dresdi.” Nadrin walked with his hand extended past Tyrus and Omni.

  West hesitated, then clasped Nadrin’s hand. “The pleasure’s mine,” he said, uncertain.

  “What an honor!” Nadrin laughed. “Come! Dagavia awaits. We’ll feast tonight, ride at dawn. You’ll tell me everything.”

  He threw an arm around West’s shoulders and started walking. “Start with how you killed that despicable fiend.”

  “Well,” West said as he allowed himself to be led, “it all began when Dresdi invited me to dinner and stripped naked.”

  He glanced back once, nodding to Omni.

  And so they followed the patrol to Nadrin’s camp, where firelight replaced fear and wine replaced blood. Stories were told deep into the night: of Vaga, of betrayal, of Dresdi’s fall, all told in the only way West knew how.

  With exaggeration.

  With drama.

  And just enough truth to make the lies truly dangerous.