After the mercenaries agreed to join Akmenos, they headed into the market to gather supplies.

  The market was cramped but very few transactions were completed. Instead, refugees lined the streets. Families huddled together for warmth while others begged for scraps. Thrown out wares were salvaged by the desperate and displaced alike.

  As the group browsed, at least half a dozen people begged for anything the group could give. Akmenos felt for the refugees, truly, but with what’s at stake, he was just as desperate as they were for supplies.

  It cost the group just about every copper they had. With that, the stakes were raised. Now, they’re all in. Not just for their lives, but for the lives of everyone here. Giving the refugees and the citizens of this town the opportunity to rebuild and bounce back is charity enough, Akmenos thought.

  Akmenos returned to The Ember’s Rest where Torva was still running the bar. She leaned on the counter as he approached. Garrek, Lyle, and Bryn returned to the table they claimed earlier.

  "Still breathing, I see," she said, raising an eyebrow. "I Didn't think those mercs would play nice."

  "They're desperate," Akmenos replied, sitting at the bar. "Desperation makes people unpredictable, but it also makes them useful if guided correctly.”

  Torva smirked. "That's one way to look at it. So, what's your next move? Hit the road? Take down the big, bad, evil mastermind and save the day?”

  "I need to know more about the hermit in the Whispering Pines," Akmenos said. "What's his deal? Can he be trusted?"

  Torva's expression turned serious. "Kaelen's his name. He's an elf, been living out in the Pines for decades. Used to frequent here before he was pushed out by townsfolk. They say he's a wizard, sharp as they come. At least, he used to be. These days, rumors have been going around that he's more... eccentric. Lives alone, doesn't take kindly to visitors. Some say he's guarding something powerful, others think he's just paranoid. Either way, he doesn't see strangers unless they're bleeding out on his doorstep."

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  Akmenos frowned. "Does he know about Thornblood?"

  "Hard to say. He doesn't come into town, and anyone who's tried to visit him lately hasn't come back." Torva leaned closer, lowering her voice. "Listen, if you're heading that way, be careful. The forest isn't safe. It's not just Thornblood's scouts you've got to worry about. Kaelen's got wards. Traps to keep out unwanted guests. They don't care if you're friendly or not."

  Akmenos nodded, absorbing the warning. He pulled a small coin pouch from his belt and set it on the counter. "Thanks for the help. This should cover the ale."

  Torva pushed the pouch back toward him, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Keep your coin. Just promise me this: if you make it out of those woods alive, you stop whatever Thornblood's planning. That's payment enough."

  Akmenos hesitated, then nodded. "I'll do what I can. If I can't stop him, I'll slow him down. Someone has to."

  That night, the group gathered their supplies and prepared for the journey ahead. The mood was tense, but Akmenos could see the shift in the mercenaries. They were nervous, but they were willing to fight. That was more than most men could say.

  Garrek sharpened his axe in the corner, the rhythmic scrape of the whetstone filling the quiet. Lyle counted his arrows for the third time, muttering to himself. Bryn sat apart from the others, their hood still up, their daggers laid out on the table as they methodically checked their edges.

  "You've fought fiends before," Bryn said suddenly, their voice cutting through the silence, low and gravelly. "What's it like?"

  Akmenos glanced at them, surprised by the question. "They don't fight like men. They don't tire, and they don't stop. They don't want to win a fight, they want to break you. Body, mind, and soul. You have to be faster, smarter, and meaner than they are, or you don't survive."

  Bryn nodded slowly, their expression unreadable. "Good to know."

  Garrek snorted. "Great. Now I'm looking forward to meeting one of these things."

  Akmenos looked around the room, his gaze lingering on each of them. "You've all fought before. That's good. But this isn't going to be like anything you've seen. Sounds like Thornblood's not just a warlord. If we're going to stop him, we need to work together. No running, no second-guessing, no heroics. Understood?"

  The mercenaries exchanged glances, then nodded.

  The morning comes cold and gray, the kind of weather that seeps into your bones. Akmenos stands at the edge of town, the others gathered behind him. The forest looms ahead, dark pines shrouded in mist.

  “Last chance to back out,” Akmenos says, glancing over his shoulder.

  Garrek grins. “You kidding? I’ve got nothing better to do.”

  Lyle mutters something under his breath but adjusts his quiver. Bryn only nods, their hood pulled low.

  “Alright,” Akmenos says, his hand settling on the hilt of his greataxe. “Let’s move.”

  They step onto the road together. Thornblood’s army is a storm on the horizon, and the Whispering Pines wait ahead—silent, watchful, and unforgiving.

  If they don’t act, no one will.