Annum 378 : 12M/29D

  The crowd had started to cheer before Nire even hit the snow.

  He didn’t look back, the sun burnt into his back as it melted snow and ice alike.

  Torchlight danced against the frost, golden and cruel. Somewhere behind him, Usii was raising his blade like a boy playing king. The circle roared with approval, not even a flicker of doubt amongst their faces anymore.

  Nire walked out of it like a ghost, some part of him had died by the end of that duel. The Empire had great expectations of him, or at least the army did. To lose... From his own challenge, before all the people he knew...

  He clutched his chest, then his throat — the phantom chill of Usii’s blade still lingering like a scar not yet formed.

  He tugged his hood over his head, the Thesian silk was thin and smooth, embroidered with hundreds of intricate golden symbols, blue and gold spoke of honor and history, worthless against the freezing forest's air.

  His breath steamed in the cold, jagged and shallow. He spun his dagger slowly in one hand, a motion that once felt re-assuring. Now it felt pointless, like a party trick.

  Each step dragged and ached more than the last. The noise behind him faded, but it left an aftertaste — of resentment and shame and old blood.

  He muttered to himself. "He got lucky. I was too emotional. Even if his qi is a stage above mine... I should've won."

  This was the boy who once took ten heads in the Halan raids.

  Now? He trudged through the snow like an exile.

  His honor and pride — buried somewhere in that circle.

  So this is what it feels like, he thought. To be weak, to not have enough strength in the crucial moment.

  Slothi stood just outside the circle as Usii's victory was in the midst of being celebrated, silent among the torchlit silhouettes.

  Nire was more than a bruised ego. He was a blade out of balance — sharp, yes, but with a new fracture running through the hilt.

  A voice cut through the air beside him.

  “Slothi, I have a small ask of you."

  Captain Lethin, he had left Usii's side now, his eyes were only set on Slothi. His voice was low, as if the sound was being thwumped by an invisible force.

  Slothi furrowed his brows innocently. "Yes, Captain?"

  Lethin continued, his breath steaming between sentences.

  "He won’t desert us, the army's all he has. But I’ve seen men like him before. Their pride can consume them, ruin them."

  He turned then, met Slothi’s green eyes with something close to concern — or maybe fear.

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  “Go with him. Make sure he's safe. Just for today." Between every pause his lip quivered as if he had something more to say, but he left it at that.

  Slothi closed the grimoire without a sound, tucking it deep into his cloak.

  “I’ll watch him,” he said. "No problem."

  Nire passed the outer tents. He didn’t notice the wind rising. Didn’t care.

  The camp was blurring further and further behind him.

  The forest loomed ahead — snow white, unwelcoming in it's own way.

  The dagger still spun in his hand.

  Behind him, out of sight but never far, Slothi followed.

  Nire walked deeper into the dark, where the snow-ridden trees clustered causing the silhouettes of thousands of branches to be seen when one raised their head and the light no longer followed. Every step crunched beneath him — not loud, not soft, just icy and cold.

  He felt like he heard twigs snapping all around him, but he dismissed it as wild-life crossing through the forest floor.

  There was snow on his boots, moisture on the inside. A miserable feeling, aligning with his mental state.

  He didn’t know why his feet brought him this far, other than to get as far away from the camp as possible. This place, this forest, was only known for one thing.

  "The Uolians." Just the tension in his voice exposed his hidden fear of them. Unlike the brutes he had killed in the raids last year, the Uolians were said to be proficient with Qi and they were also said to be extremely efficient at fighting and dirty trickery. Despite being here for weeks, he had never seen one. The closest thing to an Uolian he had seen was Slothi...

  The dagger spun in his hand, faster now, tracing loops of silence in the air. His hand was desperate, desperate to strike something. On several trees, he noticed strange white markings struck near the bottom. Like a V symbol. His head snapped back as he heard a ruffle in the snow, but whatever had produced the sound was gone.

  “I’m not done,” he whispered, just over the hushed wind. He looked ahead, as if wondering if a Uolian would randomly walk into his line of sight. In this snowy landscape, people could not hide.

  "Where are you rebels?" Nire swathed his black hair to the side, a red glint in his maroon eyes. "We've been here for weeks, and I've not seen a single one of you! Our Camp hasn't even fought a single battle yet."

  He groaned into the forest. "I don't even have a way to prove myself to them."

  The wind didn’t answer. So he kept on strolling, his head downtilt and his face flushed rosy red.

  Slothi yawned, realizing Nire was truly just heading for a walk. The forest gnawed at the reins of his attention — not just darkness, but something else in the shadows. Something waiting. Watching. He hesitated, his ears always on edge as even the smallest noises echoed through the forest.

  Slothi too, kept on hearing scuffling in the distance. Animals or people, he could not tell. He just clutched the Grimoire subconsciously and continued.

  It was bright outside, early in the morning, but here in the forest, only darkness breathed against the snow. It turned the snow grey, it made the mind hazy. It grew from the inside.

  He glanced at the path ahead, where Nire's shape was beginning to blur into the gloom. Then, a flicker. A glint.

  Eyes.

  Dozens of them, low in the brush. Pale and blazing green. Blinking almost perfectly in sync.

  Slothi's breath caught in his throat. Green eyes meant only one thing...

  "UOLIANS."

  From the brush, they waited like wolves, like devils in the darkness. Their hair — the same green as the treetops out of winter — hung over painted faces, camouflaged by mud and silence.”

  One of them, face painted in jagged red slashes, hissed a command inaudibly. A few subtle gestures — fingers slicing the air, tapping wrists, signaling approach angles.

  “There,” one whispered. “He’s alone."

  “He's a fool. We must strike soon."

  “Perfect. We spill his blood. Demoralize the Thesians. Kill their young."

  They moved like smoke — mostly second-stage qi users, but lean, fast. Trained for silence. In order to survive against the outside forces who wanted the forest, they had to learn the forest like the back of their hand.

  "Kill," came the order. "No sound. Leave nothing."

  They surged forward from the underbrush, blades flashing against the snow. A gasp of wind-.

  Then suddenly- A shout.

  "UOLIANS."