Mira stepped forward, her voice tight with urgency. "We need shelter."

  Around her, the aftermath of the skirmish seeped into every surface—splashes of blood darkening the broken cobbles, the empty silence of bodies unmoved. Viktor lay slumped against the well, barely conscious, skin pale as ash, lips parted in shallow breaths. His breathing was shallow, barely more than steam on the air, and his tremors hadn't stopped.

  Ardon eyed him warily. "He's still alive?"

  Mira's tone turned sharp, protective. "Yes. But we won't keep him that way if we leave him out here in the dirt."

  Ardon let out a long breath through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. "And what do you suggest I do with a dozen corpses warming the road?"

  She didn't flinch. "Start digging."

  He lifted his eyebrows in disbelief. "Excuse me?"

  "We're not lifting as much as a finger," she snapped, "until he's under a roof."

  The tension in the square twisted taut. Ardon's mouth opened—then shut again, jaw working, a retort buzzing just behind his teeth. Before it could find voice, the sound of bootsteps crunched against the gravel—not hostile, but brisk, purposeful.

  All heads turned toward the figure approaching from the deeper part of the village.

  It was Nora. She pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders but didn't slow. Her eyes, though tired, were clear.

  "I checked on our people," she announced without preamble. "We've got some bruises, a few cracked ribs, but nothing that'll cost a life. They're shaken, sure—but grateful."

  Ardon exhaled through his nostrils, nodding once. "That relief won't last if they step outside and smell rot. Hope Maggie gets here with those shovels soon."

  "She's gathering anyone with hands and a spine," Nora replied. "The cart's coming too. Horses are already being hitched."

  Arelos stepped forward, gesturing toward the slumped form beside the well. "That's good. But first things first—he needs shelter."

  Ardon crossed his arms across his chest, expression tightening into something unreadable. "Shelter's not a gift we hand out lightly. Gratitude doesn't mean we forget what strangers can be."

  "You don't have to forget anything," Arelos said, evenly. "But we bled for your village. I think a roof for our wounded is more than a fair bargain."

  There was a long pause—Ardon chewing that over, gaze fixed on Viktor like he wasn't sure whether to see him as ally or enemy. Finally, he sighed, shoulders sagging slightly.

  "You're right," he admitted. "You have earned that much. Forgive me." His voice softened a notch—but only just.

  Arelos inclined his head. "You're doing what you should. Protecting your own. We understand that more than most."

  Jax made a noise in the back of his throat, tone dry as dust. "Earned some soup too, I hope."

  Fenric crouched and twisting a ring off a corpse's finger. "I thought you said you wanted jerky?"

  "How are you still looting?" Jax asked.

  "I'm a professional," Fenric said, tugging a boot off the corpse with a grunt. "It's called being thorough. You might try it sometime."

  Soren, hovering on the edge of the group, lifted his chin slightly. "I'll help," he said, voice steadier than before. "Just… tell me where to start."

  "I'm not going anywhere," Mira cut in, stepping back in front of Viktor, her arms rigid at her sides. "I don't care how many shovels need shoveling. I'm staying with him."

  The statement hung in the air like a drawn bowstring.

  Nora studied her—really studied her. Not the blood on her sleeve or the dagger at her belt, but the way her hands trembled when she reached for Viktor's shoulder—the way she hid it with clenched fists. Her suspicion faltered, like snow melting beneath early sun.

  "You can stay with me," she said, quietly.

  Ardon turned toward her, surprised. "Nora?"

  She didn't flinch under the scrutiny. "My father's room's been empty three winters now. I'm not sleeping easy tonight if someone who fought for us is left shivering on the ground."

  Mira blinked, the offer taking her off guard. "...Are you serious?"

  "I don't say things I don't mean," Nora replied. She looked down at Viktor again, her voice gentle. "He's your friend. You're scared for him. That tells me more than you know."

  Arelos gave a nod of honest gratitude. "Thank you, truly."

  "Alright, that's sorted then." Ardon sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Now for the bodies," he continued, nodding vaguely up the road. "We'll haul them past the ridge. Somewhere quiet. Not near our dead."

  Arelos's gaze narrowed slightly. "Out past the tree line?"

  Ardon nodded. "There's a hollow beyond the rise."

  "We'll need torches," Arelos said. "Even if we get a head start, we won't finish before well into the night."

  "We've got a few to spare," Ardon replied. "No lantern oil left, but we'll manage."

  "Oh, perfect. A full night of heavy labor while stumbling around in the dark. Really living the dream," Jax muttered.

  Fenric stood, stretching his back. "Hey. Digging's not bad. You stay warm and no one yells at you for stabbing something."

  Jax shot him a look. "What?"

  As they spoke, Mira dropped to one knee beside Viktor, checking him again. His lids fluttered. A quiet groan slipped from his lips as she shifted him gently.

  "He's cold," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. "Colder than before—I can feel it through his clothes."

  Nora stepped in, her voice soft but resolute. "Let me help you carry him."

  Mira hesitated—just a beat—then nodded. "Alright. Just… be careful."

  Gently, they each draped one of Viktor's arms over their shoulders, lifting him with effort. His head lolled forward, face drawn and gaunt. He didn't quite wake, though he murmured something unintelligible in his haze.

  Arelos turned to Ardon, serious now. "Let's not waste time."

  "No arguments from me," Ardon said, already stepping toward one of the nearer corpses. "Dead don't move unless we do."

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  As Nora guided Mira toward her cottage—winding through the narrow path between scrubbed stone walls and half-collapsed carts—the rest remained in the square, turning slowly toward the grim labor ahead.

  Fenric was the first to grip a body by the wrists. "Alright, ugly," he muttered. "Let's see what kind of pit you deserve."

  Arelos exhaled, then bent to help. Soren hovered behind them, at first uncertain—then, slowly, he moved forward, grabbing hold of a bent spearshaft and using it to hoist one of the smaller bodies.

  Above them, the first stars winked into sight—unbothered, silent.

  By the time Nora pushed the cottage door open and allowed Mira and Viktor through its frame, a small but vital shift had settled over the air.

  The village, once bruised by strangers and violence, had begun—just barely—to uncurl from its fear.

  And for the battered travelers who had spent too long bracing for fights, and cold earth—tonight, at last, would bring shelter.

  Viktor groaned, low and hoarse—the kind of sound that didn’t know if it wanted to be pain or protest. His skull throbbed like someone had packed it with bricks and regrets.

  He blinked into light that poured through narrow slats in an old shutter, warm and unforgiving. Everything hurt. His limbs felt like they'd been boiled, then forgotten. He tried to shift beneath the heavy blankets, but they clung to his damp skin like moss.

  "...Mira?" he rasped, unsure whether he was awake or still dreaming.

  Something stirred beside him.

  "Holy hells, you’re awake!" Mira jolted up like a spring uncoiled, eyes wide with disbelief and—just briefly—shining with relief.

  Viktor winced and raised a low hand like warding off a blow. "Not so loud," he muttered, brow furrowing.

  Mira leaned back just a hair. "Sorry, sorry. I just—gods, Viktor. You were out cold. I thought you were gonna—" She broke off, shaking her head like the very sentence betrayed her. She cleared her throat instead. "But you're awake. That’s what matters."

  He made a weak attempt to sit up, paused, then immediately abandoned the effort with a strained grunt. "I remember the fight," he said, eyes narrowing as he searched his foggy memory. "The blades. I was pushing them out, and then… nothing."

  Mira nodded slowly, her voice softer now. “You collapsed. Completely drained. We couldn’t wake you. Even Fenric stopped cracking jokes—mostly. It got that bad.”

  “That bad, huh." Viktor blinked up at the ceiling, his voice dry and a little cracked. “Sounds serious.”

  "You think?" she shot back, but kindly. Her fingers slid gently across the blanket covering his chest, brushing over the spot where his shirt was still dark and clinging. "You went quiet. Still. Too still. We didn’t know if—"

  “I’m fine,” he interrupted, though he didn't sound it. “Head’s pounding like a war drum, but… better.”

  She gave him a sidelong look, not quite buying it. "Don't you dare juggle knives with your mind for at least two weeks. Healer's orders."

  Viktor smirked faintly. “What if someone asks nicely?”

  She scoffed. “Even if they ask nicely. Especially if it’s Fenric.”

  “Good call.”

  A knock thudded against the door—a brisk rhythm, more habit than politeness. Mira glanced toward it warily, but didn’t move.

  The door opened anyway.

  Arelos stepped in, boots heavy, still crusted in old dirt from the path. His coat was dusted with blood he hadn’t bothered to wash entirely off. He paused in the doorway at the sight of Viktor awake, and something in his expression eased, just a little.

  “Well,” he said, voice unbothered but full of quiet relief. “You’re not dead. That’s a start.”

  “That may still be up for debate,” Viktor murmured, shifting again to lean back against the wall. “I think my soul’s still half floating.”

  “You scared the hell out of us,” Arelos said bluntly, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “We weren’t sure if you’d wake—or if you’d wake sane.”

  “Define ‘sane,’” Viktor said with a smirk.

  “Okay, still you,” Arelos snorted. “More’s the pity.”

  Viktor chuckled. “It's nice to feel appreciated.”

  Arelos folded his arms. “We need to talk options. We’ve stayed longer than we meant to. Every hour here is more weight on people who don’t have much left to give.”

  “Are you serious right now?” Mira stood from the bedside, her spine straightening like a drawn bow. “He can barely sit upright without assistance, and you’re talking about packing up?"

  “If we stay longer, it feels like we’re settling in,” Arelos said. “They’ll start worrying we mean to take the place.”

  “Then we talk to them,” she shot back. “We've done more than enough for these people.”

  A groggy groan punctuated the stalemate.

  All three turned as Jax stumbled around the doorframe, followed shortly by Fenric and Soren. All three looked like they'd woken from a tavern floor—bleary-eyed, sore, and not too pleased about it.

  Jax muttered something about his shoulder before grunting, "I vote we give Viktor his nap. In fact, I vote we all get naps.”

  "We only got four hours," Fenric yawned, rubbing at his neck like it might fall off. "We were digging half the night.”

  “Saw you restin’ on a shovel at least twice,” Jax accused.

  “Strategic leaning,” Fenric shot back. "It’s a skill."

  "Focus," Arelos snapped, before the bickering could derail entirely. "The longer we linger, the more strain we are on their supplies."

  As if summoned by her name, Nora entered quietly through the door behind them, her apron smeared with flour, eyes underslept and rimmed with faint red. She carried a wooden spoon like it was a weapon—and in some ways, it might’ve been.

  “You’re not a strain on anything,” Nora said gently but firmly. “You’re guests. And you helped us when nobody else would. Stay the day, at least. Rest. There’s food coming, and I don’t think anyone back in the square would begrudge you a bowl and another sunrise.”

  Arelos edged a fraction softer, tilting his head. “You’re generous, but—”

  “No. I'm not," Nora interrupted, and somehow still remained soft. "I’m fair. You fought for us. You buried our dead, and you asked for nothing in return. Let us give.”

  Before anyone could respond, another knock, slower, preceded the door pushing inward. Ardon stepped into view, tall and weathered, eyes sharp with daybreak tension. His clothing was still damp at the sleeves, hair tousled by the wind.

  “Good to see you've finally returned to the living,” he said wryly to Viktor.

  Viktor coughed out a raspy chuckle. “Define 'living'”

  Ardon offered him a faint smile, then turned to Arelos. “I need a word.”

  The two men stepped into the adjacent corner of the room, voices dropping.

  “Our grain stores are gone,” Ardon said low, with no effort to dress it up. “We used the last of it to keep people fed last night. If we don’t restock before the week’s end, people will have a hard time, and there's no way we're making it through winter at this rate.”

  Arelos frowned. “You expecting us to pull food out of air?”

  “No. Not that,” Ardon muttered. “But you’re headed to Lanwrik, aren’t you?”

  Arelos nodded cautiously. “We are.”

  “We’re sending two villagers with a cart and horses to resupply,” Ardon continued. “But I don't trust them on the road alone. Too much risk out there.”

  “You want us to escort them,” Arelos said flatly.

  “I’m asking,” Ardon corrected. “Not ordering. You’ve done enough already—but I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t dire.”

  Across the room, Mira, who had clearly been straining to hear, took a deliberate step forward. “If we’re going anyway,” she said, leveling a look at Arelos, “we can take someone.”

  Arelos looked at her in silence for a second, then gave a curt nod. “Two, maybe. Long as they can keep up.”

  “They can ride in the cart,” Ardon said. “It’s not fast, but it’ll carry three, maybe four.”

  Fenric perked up instantly. “So you’re telling me—” he pointed to himself with mock solemnity, “—I don’t have to walk the whole way?”

  Jax snorted. “Give him an inch, he’ll sleep the whole ride.”

  “I’ll snore with dignity,” Fenric replied.

  Soren raised a hand. “I call second nap shift.”

  “I’m going,” Nora said suddenly.

  Conversation stilled.

  Ardon turned. “What?”

  “I want to go,” she said again. “I’ve been locked behind these walls long enough. Let me do something.”

  “You don’t have to,” Ardon said, not harsh, but protective.

  “I know I don’t,” Nora replied. “But I still will.”

  He stared at her a long moment, then nodded slowly. “You’ll need someone with you. Maybe I should—”

  “Stay. You're needed here,” Nora said. “Let Maggie come. She’s strong, and she won’t back down if things turn.”

  “I… alright.” Ardon looked like he wanted to argue more, but stopped himself.

  Mira glanced back to Viktor, uncertainty deepening in her eyes. “You sure about this?”

  Viktor, still pale beneath the dusting of sweat on his skin, pushed himself a little more upright. His breath was labored—but steady. “I’m not dying in someone else's bed,” he said. “Let’s get moving.”

  “You’ll be crawling in an hour,” Jax muttered.

  “Two, if he eats something,” Fenric said cheerfully. “Unless it’s uphill. Then we’re doomed.”

  “Keep betting,” Viktor muttered. “I’m too stubborn to give you the satisfaction.”

  Nora’s voice rose from the doorway again. “No one’s going anywhere on an empty stomach. Breakfast is nearly ready. Come eat. You as well, Ardon.”

  Ardon shook his head but smiled faintly. “Wish I could. Promised Maggie I'd be back. I’ll meet you all by the well in an hour.”

  “Understood,” Arelos said, offering his hand. “We’ll be ready.”

  Ardon took it and gave a firm shake, then paused, eyes sweeping the group. “Thank you, all of you. We owe you a debt just a few meals can't repay.”

  Fenric squinted hopefully. “What you got in mind?”

  Mira smacked him in the arm. “He’s thanking us, you jackass.”

  “I thought maybe he was offering something,” Fenric said, rubbing his arm.

  Arelos sighed, long and patient. “Ignore him. He’s always like this.”

  “What's that supposed to mean?” Fenric asked.

  Ardon shook his head and left the room, muttering something undoubtedly unflattering under his breath.

  As the door clicked shut, Mira turned to Viktor. “Rest a little longer. I’ll bring you something when it’s hot.”

  He nodded, eyes already sliding closed again. “Thank you.”

  Arelos glanced around at the others. “Eat, pack, then help the villagers ready the cart. We move in one hour.”

  The morning had come.

  And with it, the road ahead.