Viktor's eyes flew open.

  The cold press of earth met his back, and the canopy above spun in slow, lazy circles. Just beside him, Mira gripped his hand tightly—too tightly.

  "He's awake!" she shouted, voice lifted with both relief and panic. "Guys—he's awake!"

  Mira didn't let go. "Gods, Vik—you scared the hells out of me. What happened? One second you were walking, then—bam, down you go."

  Viktor groaned, closing his eyes again as his head throbbed with a dull, punishing rhythm. "I… dunno. But it feels like my brain's trying to claw out of my skull," he mumbled, dragging a shaky hand over his face.

  Arelos narrowed his eyes. "How often have you been scouting ahead?"

  Viktor blinked, struggling to focus his vision. "What?"

  "You heard me," Arelos said, voice firm. "How often have you been using your powers?"

  Viktor squinted at him, then looked away, embarrassed. "I don't know... every few minutes?" he said, his voice barely more than a guilty whisper. "Ten, fifteen at most."

  Arelos blew out a low breath. "Well there's your problem."

  Viktor hesitated, guilt creeping into his voice. "I just wanted to make sure we don't run into any surprises. Not after..."

  Arelos sighed. "Look, it's good that you're developing the habit, but clearly you also need to pace yourself."

  "We can't risk being caught unawares," Viktor insisted.

  "We also can't risk you being out of commission should we actually run into a fight," Arelos responded firmly.

  "Can someone explain to me exactly what he's been doing? I haven't noticed anything," Jax asked, looking confused.

  "He's been using his powers to scout ahead," Soren explained.

  Jax scratched his head. "Mages can do that? Sounds a bit fanciful if you ask me."

  Mira turned to Viktor, her tone serious but gentle. "Arelos is right. What good is being aware of an incoming fight if we lack the strength to do something about it?"

  Viktor didn't respond. He knew they were right—he'd been reckless, not realizing how close he was to total exhaustion.

  "I didn't realize how drained I was," Viktor said quietly.

  "That's fair, but now you know," Mira said, supportive but firm. "So pace yourself, alright?"

  Viktor nodded. "Okay."

  Arelos sat back on his heels, scrutinizing him. "It's good that you're pushing your limits," he said. "But know them first."

  "My limit just punched me in the face," Viktor muttered.

  "With a flaming gauntlet," Jax added.

  Mira gave Jax a look. "Not helping."

  "What?" Jax threw both hands up. "Just doing my part."

  A moment of silence hung over the group before Viktor slowly pushed himself up from the ground, unsteady on his feet. Mira helped him get his balance, though his vision swam, and he waved her off to prove he was okay. Mira stepped back, trusting him to stand.

  "You good to walk, Viktor, or do you need more time?" Arelos asked, evaluating the situation.

  Viktor checked in with himself. "I can walk."

  Arelos nodded. "Good. We'll take a slower pace. It shouldn't be more than an hour or two left."

  Viktor glanced around, taking stock of the terrain and noticing the sun had shifted dramatically from where he recalled it. "Shit? How long was I out for?"

  "Two hours or about," Soren said casually.

  Viktor winced. "Damn."

  He swallowed and grimaced, realizing how dry his throat was. "Ugh, I could really use some water."

  Jax threw up his hands dramatically. "Tell me about it. I feel like I could drain a whole lake on my own."

  The group responded in unified exasperation, "WE KNOW, JAX."

  Jax raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay."

  Arelos paced restlessly, arms folded tightly across his chest. "What the hell is taking him so long, Soren?"

  Soren leaned against a nearby tree, clearly unbothered. "How should I know?"

  Arelos shot him a glare. "He's your brother, for gods' sake."

  "You know, I'm starting to have my doubts about that," Soren replied drily.

  Jax chuckled. "Doubts? The two of you look basically identical to me."

  Soren shrugged again, half-serious this time. "I say that's just some strange twist of fate. The guy's nothing like me."

  Arelos snorted. "I'll give you that."

  Viktor rubbed his temple lightly, a chuckle escaping as he battled his headache. "I don't know. I think you guys are more similar than you care to admit."

  "Like hells we are," Soren retorted.

  Arelos turned to Viktor with a teasing grin. "Oh, come on, now you're just being mean."

  Soren crossed his arms, trying to look mock-offended. "Yeah, Vik, that was uncalled for."

  Viktor raised his hands in mock surrender. "Damn, I didn't realize that being compared to your brother was such an insult."

  Soren snorted. "Well, now you know."

  The teasing energy of the group faded, replaced by a concerned silence.

  "Okay, seriously," Arelos said more seriously, "maybe someone should go get him?"

  Mira shook her head. "It ain't gonna be me. I've got enough nightmares as is."

  Jax raised his hands. "Yeah, no thanks. I'm not risking getting stabbed."

  Their gazes slowly shifted, all landing on Soren.

  Soren sighed, clearly annoyed. "Why me?"

  Mira shrugged. "Well... Vik needs to rest. He shouldn't be traipsing through the uneven terrain of the forest. Plus, you're his brother."

  Soren scoffed. "Brother? We just went over this. Whether I'm actually related to him or not is currently in contention."

  Mira raised an eyebrow. "Seriously, Soren?"

  "Dead serious," he insisted, folding his arms.

  Gesturing towards Arelos, Soren added, "Besides, what about Arelos? I get Vik not going, but Arelos—what's his excuse?"

  Arelos shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't feel like it."

  Soren sputtered, trying to come up with a comeback, but before he could speak, Fenric stumbled out of the bushes, looking annoyed and disheveled.

  "Took you long enough," Jax said dryly.

  Fenric glared. "What?! You try to take a dump after two days of not going, having walked for fucking ever, without eating, and while being dehydrated."

  Jax snorted. "That bad, huh?"

  "Yeah, that bad," Fenric replied, still cranky. "It's like shitting fucking rocks."

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Mira grimaced. "Okay, I'm not having this conversation with you lot."

  Fenric turned to her, unfazed. "What, like you've never been constipated before?"

  Mira threw her hands up. "Not denying that. Just saying I'd rather not workshop the experience with you clowns."

  She shuddered slightly, visibly unsettled, while Soren tried to stifle a laugh and Jax openly smirked.

  Arelos sighed. "Come on, we've wasted enough time. Let's get moving."

  They walked on for hours, the dense canopy overhead letting shafts of sunlight sneak through as the day wore thin. The sun had long since passed its zenith—its golden slant stretched long shadows across mossy roots and broken branches.

  Jax let out a low grunt and muttered, his patience clearly wearing thin. "Tell me again why we're not at this damn village yet?"

  Arelos, leading, didn't turn but slowed slightly, glancing over his shoulder. "We should've been there by now. I must've overestimated our pace."

  "Wonderful," Jax said, swiping sweat from his brow. "Always reassuring when the guide is guessing."

  Soren glanced up at the sky as they walked. "We've got maybe two hours before dusk. Less if that ridge blocks the sun. If we don't see rooftops soon—"

  "I see something," Fenric cut in, rising to his toes as he pointed ahead. "Fields. Over there."

  The forest canopy thinned at last, drawing back over the scattered remains of fallow farmland. Some plots were carefully plowed in neat lines, others overrun with brambles and time.

  As they crested the next low rise, a faint cluster of crooked roofs and smoke-worn chimneys came into view—like a painting smeared with weather and distance.

  Fenric exhaled hard, running fingers through his hair. "Well, would you look at that. Fucking finally."

  Jax didn't bother celebrating. He licked his cracked lips, eyes fixed on their destination. "Place better have water. I swear I'll drink from a pig trough if I have to."

  Arelos was already picking up speed. "Let's get there before the light fails. People are suspicious enough without strangers showing up after dark."

  The others quickened their pace, boots soon crunching through weeds and the brittle remnants of old harvests.

  But even as they stepped into the outskirts proper, they saw no children chasing chickens, no women hanging laundry. The place sat too still, hushed—not by evening, but by something unspoken.

  Soren slowed, his brow furrowed. "Feels... off," he muttered.

  Jax glanced around at the empty porches and shuttered windows. "Maybe it's nap hour?"

  "Don't joke," Mira whispered, half to herself. "This is weird."

  Arelos motioned for caution but said nothing. They pressed on toward the center of the village, feet shuffling through worn dirt paths softened by time.

  At last, they spotted two men sitting on the porch beside the central well. One leaned on his knees, staring vacantly at the well's stone rim. The other sat upright, eyes trained on the approaching group.

  Upon noticing them, the upright man nudged his companion and murmured something.

  The companion looked up, blinked once, then stood stiffly and made for the door behind them without a word.

  The group halted a few steps away. Fenric raised an eyebrow. "Friendly bunch."

  Soren leaned close to Mira. "That was strange, right? That was definitely strange."

  "Uhuh," Mira murmured, eyes flicking between the door and the distant fields. "I don't like how quiet this place is."

  "It's fine," Arelos said, though he did not sound certain. "They're probably just wary. Small villages like these—strangers set them on edge."

  Minutes stretched longer than they should have. Then, at last, the door creaked open again. A man stepped out, tall but slightly hunched, as though wearied by more than just the day. His hair was wild with sleep, and though he tried for a smile, it didn't quite meet his eyes.

  "Greetings, travelers," he said, his voice thin but courteous. "I'm Ardon, headman here. What brings you our way?"

  There was a subtle shuffle among the group as all eyes turned to Arelos, silently electing him speaker.

  He took a step forward and nodded, projecting calm. "Well met, Ardon. I'm Arelos. We've been on the road a stretch and hoped to borrow your well, fill our water skins. Maybe share a meal, rest a bit. Just for the night."

  Ardon's expression twitched, a furrow forming just above his left brow. "Ah... well. You see..." He rubbed the back of his neck as he searched for the right words.

  A slight pause.

  "We can of course pay," Arelos added quickly, sensing the shift. "We're not asking for charity."

  "That's not—" Ardon stopped, exhaled, tried again. "It's not about that. It's just that... Well, times are complicated here. We're not really... open to guests, I'm afraid. Safer if you moved on down the road."

  "To where exactly?" Jax cut in, bristling now. "You see any towns hitching a ride on the next hill? Place like this is another day's walk in any direction."

  Mira turned to him sharply, voice low. "Jax, don't. Let Arelos do the talking."

  Arelos held up a hand to calm the flow.

  "I understand your concern," he said smoothly. "And we don't mean to impose. But it's nearly nightfall. Pushing on now would be dangerous, for us at least. Just the evening—we'll be gone by dawn."

  Ardon scratched his head, visibly uneasy. "No, I'm afraid I must insist you be on your way."

  Arelos stepped forward, softening his voice. "Tell you what. At least let us refill our water skins and rest our legs for a bit before we move on."

  The headman blinked, his jaw working through inner debate. Then, finally, he gave a small nod—not one of welcome, but of weary resignation.

  "Alright," he said quietly. "But I expect you to move on within the hour. No lingering."

  Arelos nodded, respectful. "Understood. Thank you."

  Without another word, Ardon turned and headed back inside, door shutting just a little too sharply behind him.

  There was a long silence.

  Then Fenric muttered, "That... did not feel like a warm welcome."

  Soren shook his head slowly. "No. It didn't."

  Arelos crossed his arms and looked around the square, thoughtful. "Stay watchful."

  Something about this place wasn't right.

  Soren shifted on his feet, eyes narrowing. "Tell me I'm not the only one getting a bad feeling about this."

  Arelos gazed across the dusty, silent village. Not a dog barked. Not a curtain stirred. "You're not wrong," he murmured. "Something's definitely off."

  "How many people even live out here, you think?" Mira asked.

  Arelos squinted at the line of homes flanking the main road, lips moving silently as he counted. "Maybe fifty." He glanced sideways. "Could be fewer."

  Soren exhaled slowly. He motioned toward a row of shuttered houses. "It's too damn quiet for even twenty."

  Arelos didn't reply immediately, and the tension stretched between them like a pulled rope.

  From a short distance behind them, Viktor stood like a statue. He'd been quiet since they arrived, but now his gaze drifted from window to door to rooftop. His expression was unreadable, but the suspicion in his posture was clear enough.

  A sudden splash broke the uneasy silence.

  Everyone turned toward the well.

  Fenric was bent over it, peering down with casual interest while Jax, sleeves rolled up, worked the pulley with the loose rhythm of someone who hadn't noticed—or didn't care about—the growing tension in the air.

  "What?" Jax shrugged, catching their stares. "We're thirsty, remember?"

  "You sure it's safe to drink from the well?" Mira asked, skeptical.

  He pulled up a sloshing bucket and dipped a ladle in.

  "Nope," Jax said, emptying the contents into his mouth. "Guess we'll find out."

  No one had the strength to argue. One by one, they moved to the well, drawing water.

  Soren took a long pull and exhaled hard. "Alright," he said finally, voice low. "What's going on here?"

  Arelos didn't respond to the question. Instead, he glanced sideways at Viktor. "You think you can take a look around?"

  Viktor hesitated, fingers twitching at his sides. "Yeah," he said finally, though his voice was tight.

  He closed his eyes, breathing in deep. The world dulled around him as he reached out—senses pushing beyond his body, sweeping like feelers behind every door, through shadowed rooms and creaking floorboards. Pressure built behind his skull, sharp as iron.

  "You okay?" Mira asked, stepping closer.

  "I'll manage," he muttered. "Give me a moment."

  The rest exchanged cautious glances as Viktor pushed outward with his mind. The strain was visible in the tremble of his fingers. He inhaled sharply, jaw tightening.

  Finally, he opened his eyes—slowly, blinking against the sharp pain behind them.

  "Well?" Soren asked, voice low and tense.

  Viktor looked at him, then at Arelos. "Most of the houses are empty." He breathed shallowly. "But three of them… packed. Overfilled."

  Mira tilted her head. "Wait—what isn't?"

  "Those three houses." Viktor jabbed a finger toward a crooked cluster near the center of the village. "They're packed. Like, more people than furniture should allow."

  Jax crossed his arms. "And the rest of the houses?"

  "Completely empty," Viktor confirmed.

  Jax swore under his breath. "That's not how a real village sleeps."

  "No, it's not," Arelos agreed grimly.

  Just then, the creak of old timber drew their attention. A door opened across the square, and a man stepped out—Ardon, the supposed headman.

  "You've had your fill," he called, his tone nervous. "The well is free to use, of course, but now perhaps it's time to move along?"

  Arelos took a step forward, expression unreadable. "You say you're the headman?"

  Ardon blinked, caught. "Yes... yes, certainly. As was my father before me, may he rest."

  Arelos didn't budge. "Then tell me something, headman." His tone cooled like steel entering water. "How many men are there here?"

  Ardon swallowed. "Come again?"

  "How many?" Arelos said. Firmer now, colder. "Men. Fighters. Armed." His hand strayed subtly toward his belt.

  Ardon's gaze flitted to the nearby houses, then to the well, then back to Arelos. His breath trembled.

  "I didn't want—listen," he said in a rush, voice cracking. "They've got my family. I don't have a choice."

  Arelos' gaze hardened. "If there's an ambush planned," he said tightly, "we need to know."

  Ardon shook his head, desperate. "I don't know for sure," he admitted. "Could be. They might follow if you run. They've done it before."

  "And how many?" Arelos said again, unrelenting.

  "Th-thirteen," Ardon confessed. The word barely made it out. "Thirteen of them. Heavily armed."

  Arelos gave a single, grim nod. "That's what I needed."

  "We'll go find help," Mira said quickly. "The garrison's just a day south—"

  Arelos turned to face the group. "Agreed, let's move."

  Viktor rounded on him. "We can't just leave these people. You heard him—they've got his family."

  "And you heard him say they outnumber us," Arelos countered. "Right now, this situation calls for strategy, not heroics."

  "I'm siding with Arelos," Jax cut in. "Look, if we walk away, no one dies. Someone comes back with numbers—then clears 'em out."

  Mira bit her lip, then nodded reluctantly. "I get it. It sucks, but it's smart. Better to fight when you've got the advantage."

  "No," Viktor said firmly. He stepped forward, eyes sharpened with resolve. "I'm not signing off on this."

  "I'm with Viktor," Soren said, stepping beside him. "We walk away, people will die. Tonight even, maybe."

  Fenric yawned and scratched his chin. "I don't care either way. But, uh... we might want to make up our minds soon."

  He gestured with a lazy tilt of his chin. Everyone turned.

  Three men had stepped through the doorway Ardon had emerged from. They moved with purpose—confident, like they owned the streets. Their eyes locked on the group, their expressions already suspicious.

  "I'm not running," Viktor whispered, eyes still on Arelos. "So decide now."

  Arelos held him in a long stare. Then sighed. "You up for this? You sure you're not—"

  "I'm sure," Viktor interrupted, jaw tight. "I can fight."

  Arelos studied him a beat longer, then gave a short, sharp nod. "Alright. Then we need clarity. Ardon—how do we tell them apart from the actual villagers?"

  "Easy," Ardon said, bitter and hollow. "They're all male."

  "What?"

  "They killed every man over the age of thirteen," Ardon said. His voice turned gritty. "Every last one."

  "Why spare you?"

  He laughed—a pitiful sound. "Someone had to open doors. Smile at visitors. Show 'em all's well."

  Before anyone could respond, one of the approaching men called out. His voice rang with suspicion. "What's all this whispering about, then?"

  Soren flicked his eyes to Arelos, his expression nervous. "Plan?"

  Arelos's answer came without pause. "Simple," he said, voice low. "Fenric—take our host here hostage. The rest of you, draw and get ready."

  Ardon jerked, startled. "Wait, what?!"

  Too late. Fenric was already behind him, arm around his shoulders, blade pressed to his neck with practiced ease.

  "Easy now," Fenric murmured. "Try not to squirm. Makes things messy."