The Warden’s shadow stretched across the clearing like a blade.

  Kael’s one good eye widened, his chest tightening until every breath came jagged and shallow. The man’s presence pressed down like the weight of the storm itself—inevitable, crushing.

  “Fourteen years old,” the Warden murmured, his voice carrying with ease through the burned trees. “And you run as if the forest will save you.”

  The words pierced Kael deeper than any blade. His heart thundered, his legs shook—but he didn’t collapse. He wouldn’t. He bit down hard, tasting blood on his lip, forcing himself upright even as his body screamed for rest.

  “Move!” the girl hissed again.

  Her hand clamped tight around his wrist, dragging him into motion. Kael stumbled after her, ash smearing across his torn clothes. Branches whipped his scarred face as they burst through the treeline, his lungs burning raw.

  Behind them, the Warden followed—not rushing, not breaking stride. Just walking. The steady crunch of boots on ash and leaves chased them with patient cruelty.

  Kael pushed harder, refusing to be the prey who simply dropped. He had survived fire. He had survived hunger. He would not fall here.

  But his thoughts betrayed him.

  Why me? Why won’t he stop? I didn’t ask for this.

  A sharp whistle split the air.

  The ground ahead shuddered. Ropes snapped upward, stones whipping into place with a violent crack. A net stretched between two trees, blocking the path behind them. The Warden stopped just short of it, cloak brushing the trap. His head tilted, expression unreadable.

  “Not alone,” he murmured.

  Lila yanked Kael harder. “This way!”

  They plunged through a narrow cut in the ridge. Kael’s legs trembled with each stride, but he forced them steady. The forest shifted—branches cleared, roots flattened—and then torchlight flickered ahead.

  Figures waited.

  Kael’s gut clenched. His feet faltered, instincts screaming danger, but Lila didn’t slow. She hauled him into the clearing where the torches burned, revealing faces in the half-light.

  A group.

  They weren’t soldiers. Not villagers either. Too rough, too prepared. Each one bore weapons—blades, bows, staffs—worn like second skins. Their stances were sharp, their eyes sharper.

  Kael froze. His breath came ragged, his scarred eye burning. He shifted back a step, only to find Lila still gripping him like iron.

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  “Who’s the boy?” a wiry woman demanded, a dagger flashing at her hip. Her hair was braided close, her eyes sharp as a hawk’s.

  “He’s the one,” Lila snapped, urgency under her words. “The Warden’s here.”

  That silenced them.

  A ripple of unease passed through the group. Hands went to weapons. Bows half-raised. The youngest—a broad-shouldered youth with a hammer strapped to his back—swore under his breath.

  And then another voice cut through.

  “Hold.”

  The group stilled instantly, as though the forest itself hushed to listen.

  An old man stepped forward from the circle of torchlight. His hair was white as ash, his beard trimmed close, his back straight despite his years. A sword hung at his side, worn smooth at the hilt. His eyes, sharp and dark, missed nothing.

  Orin.

  Kael didn’t know the name yet, but the weight of the man’s presence struck him as surely as the Warden’s. Where the Warden’s was crushing, Orin’s was commanding—decisive, quiet, and cold as steel.

  “Lila.” His voice was low but steady. “You bring danger to us.”

  She didn’t flinch. “I bring him.” She shoved Kael forward, just enough to show his face in the light.

  Kael stiffened, jerking away from her grip. He raised his hands, half in defense, half in defiance. His good eye darted between them, searching for escape routes—the treeline, the shadows, anywhere he could run if this turned.

  “Boy.” Orin studied him, his gaze lingering on the scar dragging Kael’s left eye half-shut, on the ash-stained skin, the trembling frame that somehow still stood. “What is your name?”

  Kael’s throat worked, dry and raw. He almost didn’t answer. But something in the old man’s gaze demanded it.

  “…Kael.”

  The name hung in the air.

  Orin nodded once, as though confirming something only he could see. “The marked one.”

  Kael’s breath hitched. His fists clenched. “I didn’t—” His voice cracked, but he forced the words out. “I didn’t ask for this.”

  “I believe you.” Orin’s reply was simple, even calm. “But belief doesn’t matter. The Warden hunts you. That makes you dangerous to more than yourself.”

  Kael’s jaw tightened. “Then maybe you should let me go.”

  That earned him a scoff from the wiry woman. “And lead him right back to us? Fool boy.”

  Behind Kael, the forest shifted. A distant sound—measured footsteps, deliberate, unhurried—echoed through the trees. The Warden had not stopped. He was coming.

  The group tensed. Hands went to weapons again. Lila moved instinctively in front of Kael, blades already drawn.

  “We can’t fight him,” the wiry woman muttered.

  “We don’t,” Orin said, voice sharp. “We move.”

  At his signal, the group shifted like a single body. Torches were snuffed. Packs lifted. Bows readied. They flowed into the trees with practiced ease, vanishing into the forest shadows.

  Lila tugged Kael after them. He stumbled once but caught himself, refusing to fall. His good eye flicked back, catching the faintest shimmer of the Warden’s cloak between the trees.

  Still following. Still steady.

  They ran.

  Through ridges, over streams, across ground that seemed chosen not by chance but by design. The group knew the forest like a second skin. They slipped through gaps too narrow for pursuit, crossed stones without leaving prints, doubled back to confuse a trail Kael couldn’t even see.

  By the time they finally slowed, the night had deepened. The air was damp with mist, the forest silent but for their breathing.

  Kael bent over, hands on his knees, gasping for air. He wanted nothing more than to collapse—but he didn’t. He straightened slowly, refusing to show weakness before these strangers.

  The group gathered in a small hollow, their movements efficient, unspoken. A fire sparked low, shielded from view. Blades were checked, bows strung, the hammer boy grumbling under his breath until the hawk-eyed woman cuffed him quiet.

  Kael’s eye lingered on each of them now that the panic had thinned. The wiry woman with hawk eyes who never stopped glaring at him. The hammer boy who looked like he’d rather smash a tree than stay silent. A tall, scar-faced archer who hadn’t said a word but whose gaze never wavered from the shadows.

  He didn’t trust any of them. But they weren’t the Warden. And for now, that had to be enough.

  Orin’s gaze returned to Kael.

  The old man stepped closer, his boots silent on the forest floor. His sword caught the faintest glint of the firelight.

  “You’ve survived fire,” Orin said evenly. “You’ve survived hunger. You’ve survived the Warden’s eye. That is no small thing for one so young.”

  Kael swallowed, wary. “You think that makes me special?” His voice was hoarse, but the defiance in it was sharp.

  Orin didn’t blink. “It makes you alive.”

  Kael’s hand curled into a fist. “Alive isn’t enough. Not when he’s still out there.”

  For the first time, something like approval flickered in Orin’s eyes.

  “But survival is not enough.” Orin’s voice hardened, though it never rose. “If you remain with us, you endanger us. If you leave, you die. That leaves one choice.”

  Kael tensed, his chin lifting. His body trembled, but his eye burned bright. “Then say it.”

  Orin studied him for a long, piercing moment. And then, slowly, the old swordsman’s lips curved—not in a smile, but in something sharper.

  “A test.”

  The firelight flickered. The group stirred, some exchanging knowing looks, others tightening grips on their

  weapons. Lila’s gaze flicked to Kael, unreadable but intent.

  Kael’s pulse quickened. His good eye locked on Orin’s.

  A test.

  Of what?