Inside a Kesh tent, a small fire breathed low against the woven walls. A young woman had set it carefully, feeding it thin strips of bark that burned slowly and clean. The smoke rose in a narrow ribbon through the vent at the top.

  Tyrus and West sat opposite one another, steam still clinging faintly to their skin. The dirt, grime, and dried blood they had carried since the prison in Evokia had finally been washed away. What remained felt unfamiliar. Lighter, but exposed. Kesh fabrics hung loose around their shoulders as they waited for their hair to dry. The silence between them was not hostile. It was guarded.

  “Something on your mind?” West’s voice cut gently through the crackle of firewood.

  Tyrus did not look up. His gaze stayed fixed on the flame folding into itself. “I am beginning to doubt if this is all for nothing. What if my sister is already gone?”

  The fire shifted. A log collapsed inward.

  “It’s very possible.” The words came without cruelty or comfort.

  Tyrus drew a slow breath. “Perhaps this is the place to let go. I cannot bear to separate you from your family any longer.”

  West rose at once. The movement was sharper than the conversation required.

  “Do not allow the Kesh lords to divert you into their own visions! Not again…” He crossed the tent where two silk robes had been laid out for them, garments chosen so they might pass more easily among the Kesh. “Basil and Otto are kind in heart. However…in their minds, they are plotting and arranging pieces.” He gathered one of the robes but did not put it on.

  Tyrus remained seated a moment longer, studying the fire as though it might answer him. Then he stood and followed.

  “It’s just one night, Tyrus.” West continued while fastening the rope that secured the Red Dragon. The steel rested against his back with quiet weight. “Just…continue to be polite. Tell yourself all this talk is nothing more than northern superstition.” The blade shifted as he tightened the knot.

  “I can carry that for you.” Tyrus’s eyes rested on the sword.

  West turned. He studied Tyrus in silence, searching his face as if calculating intention rather than strength. Then he lifted a finger and tapped lightly at his own temple. “They are in your mind.” He pulled the Dragon fully into place across his shoulders. The steel settled against him like a burden he refused to name. “Now let’s go find Otto and get something to eat.”

  He stepped out into the night air. Tyrus lingered half a breath longer inside the tent. The fire continued its steady work, consuming what it had been given. Then he followed.

  “THERE HE IS!” A broad man with a heavy beard broke through the lamplit crowd and descended upon them with unrestrained enthusiasm.

  “Young West! It’s been too long, my boy!” His arms wrapped around West before permission could be granted. He squeezed him tight, then pulled back only to grab his shoulders and turn him sideways. “Look at you! Carrying a blade fit for a warlord!” His thick fingers pressed against the Red Dragon’s hilt before he spun West back to face him. “And still that same stubborn face.”

  “Yuzu. Hello.” West pried himself loose with practiced ease. “I did not expect to see you here. What a pleasant surprise.”

  “I traveled north with Master Otto. Assignment under Lord Basil.” Yuzu’s voice lowered slightly, the mirth thinning. “And…I heard about Lord Omni. My condolences, boy.” His head dipped, not fully bowed, but respectful enough. West inclined his own in return.

  “Yuzu, this is my friend Tyrus.” He stepped aside. “Tyrus, this is Yuzu.”

  Tyrus bowed with quiet restraint.

  “The pleasure is mine!” Yuzu drew a flask from within his layered robes and drank deeply. Liquid escaped through his beard, darkening the hairs before dripping to the frost. West watched the spill.

  “What?” Yuzu wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then released a thunderous belch into the cold air.

  “It is good to see you again,” West replied evenly. “But we are meeting Minister Otto for dinner.”

  Yuzu burst into laughter that rolled too loudly through the tents. “That is exactly why I am here! To escort you and to make certain you do not wander off.” He swayed slightly as he turned.

  West stepped forward and plucked the flask from Yuzu’s grip. Without hesitation, he took a long swallow, throat working, eyes never leaving Yuzu’s. The burn lingered. He shoved it back into Yuzu’s robes. Yuzu grinned, amused. “Keep it.” He dug into another fold and produced a second flask, this one already uncorked. “Perhaps later you will tell me your story.”

  “In time.” West reached again for the drink and tipped it briefly to his lips. “And perhaps you will explain how you ferment this poison.”

  Yuzu barked a laugh. “If I revealed that, Lord Omni’s ghost would hover over my bed and haunt me each night!”

  The name hung there. West did not react. Yuzu turned toward Tyrus and extended the flask with exaggerated generosity. “And you? A sip to warm the blood?”

  “I am not much for drink.” Tyrus lifted a hand, palm outward.

  “The silent stranger,” Yuzu smirked. “Where did you find this one? He looks carved from stone.”

  West reclaimed the flask before it lingered too long between them and took another controlled swallow. “Tyrus is a man of discipline.” His hand landed firmly against Yuzu’s back, friendly in appearance, corrective in pressure. “I know that seems foreign to you.” Yuzu laughed again, unoffended.

  They began walking toward Otto’s dwelling, the lantern light catching on silk and frost alike.

  Tyrus followed a half step behind. He watched West carefully now.

  The way he spoke was without thrill.

  The way his laughter stopped short.

  The way his hand never strayed far from the Red Dragon.

  And the way his eyes flickered, just once, across Yuzu’s unsteady gait. Not with judgment. With subtle fear.

  They approached the hut where Otto and his family were staying. Thick furs and stitched hides layered its exterior, keeping the wind at bay. The scent of fried rabbit slipped through the seams, rich and immediate.

  West drew a slow breath as Yuzu strode ahead. “Master Otto. It is Yuzu. I have arrived with Young West and his friend, Tyrus.”

  The entrance shifted. A woman draped in a long veil appeared, one hand holding the fur flap aside. Yuzu lowered to one knee at once. West followed without thought. Tyrus remained standing.

  “Thank you, Yuzu.” Her voice was warm, steady. She stepped aside to grant them entry. Yuzu rose and ducked inside. West stood and approached her. She lifted her veil, revealing a calm, familiar face.

  “Welcome back, West.” Her arms wrapped around him before he could brace for it.

  “Thank you, Midia.” He returned the embrace carefully, as if holding something fragile. He stepped back and turned.

  “Midia, this is my friend Tyrus.” Tyrus bowed his head.

  “Tyrus, this is Midia. Minister Otto’s wife.”

  “A pleasure.” Tyrus inclined his head again, respectful but dignified.

  Midia gestured them inside.

  The hut glowed with lamplight. Otto and Yuzu were already seated around a low table. Three children clustered near Otto, their eyes wide with curiosity. Otto rose as they entered. The children followed his movement instinctively.

  “West. Tyrus. Welcome! Please come in.” He motioned toward the open cushions across from him. A nod passed to Yuzu in quiet thanks with a soft smile.

  “It is my pleasure, Master.” Yuzu settled deeper into his seat.

  West bowed toward Otto, then toward Midia. Tyrus followed suit. They took their places.

  The children did not attempt subtlety. Their eyes lingered openly on the two strangers in travel-worn skin and borrowed silk. The eldest boy studied West with particular intensity.

  Otto placed a hand on the child’s shoulder. “Pan. Do you remember West?” The boy leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. West scrunched his face into something exaggerated and ridiculous. Recognition sparked.

  “Yeah! It’s West! He climbs trees!” A small smile flickered across West’s mouth. The younger girl leaned closer, squinting at the scars that mapped his cheek and brow. “Why are you ugly?”

  The room held still for half a breath. Otto’s hand rested gently against her back. “Nalla.” Her gaze did not waver.

  “You remember West?”

  She stared harder, trying to pull memory from somewhere distant and half-formed. She had been too young when he left. West leaned closer so she could inspect him properly. Her brow furrowed.

  “Boo!”

  She shrieked and scrambled behind Otto, laughter bursting through her fingers as she hid her face. West leaned back again. The smile remained, but it did not quite reach his eyes.

  His attention shifted to the third child, the smallest of the three. The boy sat quietly, observing without blinking. “And who is this?”

  “This is my youngest son, Mace.” Otto’s tone softened. “He was born shortly after my father, and you departed.”

  Otto nudged the boy lightly. “Say hello.”

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Mace did not speak. He simply stared at West. Uncertain. Deferential. West lifted a hand and gave a small wave. The boy continued to watch him as though trying to decide what sort of man sat across from him.

  Tyrus observed it all in silence.

  The laughter.

  The food.

  The warmth.

  The ease of belonging.

  And the way West sat among them was like someone visiting his own reflection. Not fully inside it. Not fully outside it.

  Midia moved with a steady rhythm, placing wooden plates before each of them. Fried rabbit glistened in its own fat. Bowls of broth steamed, carrying herbs and marrow into the air until the hut felt thick with warmth.

  The children ate loudly. Yuzu spoke over them. Otto guided the conversation with meticulous care, steering it toward trade routes, weather patterns, and small domestic inconveniences. No mention of his father. No mention of Dresdi. No mention of prisons or prophecy.

  West laughed when expected and bowed his head in prayer. Ate heartily. Tyrus listened more than he spoke.

  When the meal ended, the children gravitated toward West as though pulled by memory rather than invitation. He rose without hesitation. One climbed onto his back, another clung to his arm. He staggered theatrically beneath their weight and carried them toward the trees bordering the huts.

  He climbed with ease despite the lingering stiffness in his limbs. The children shrieked with delight as he descended, then demanded another turn. He obliged. Again and again. Until his breath shortened. Until his arms trembled. He collapsed into the snow with dramatic finality, one hand thrown across his chest.

  The children gasped, then immediately set to work. They pressed imaginary herbs to his face. Checked his pulse with solemn authority. Whispered urgent diagnoses to one another.

  West remained still beneath them, eyes closed, surrendering to their invented cure. Tyrus watched from a nearby wooden fence. The fence creaked beneath his weight.

  Yuzu approached, weaving slightly, boots uneven against packed snow. He extended his arm toward Tyrus, offering the canister without a word. Tyrus looked at it. Then at Yuzu. Silence held. Yuzu nodded faintly to himself and drank instead. Liquid slipped past his beard again before he wiped it away with a careless hand and tucked the container back inside his robe.

  “It is a shame you leave so soon.” His voice rolled low, softened by drink. “It is always a treat to have Young West around. Nice not being the only servant among the Kesh. They are very kind.” He cleared his throat. “But rather dull.”

  Tyrus’s gaze returned to West, now buried under three children attempting to resurrect him. “He seems…happy here.”

  Yuzu followed his line of sight. “Lord Omni brought him when he was no older than seven or eight. Took time for him to find his footing.” He leaned his weight against the fence. “But look at him now.”

  West allowed one child to tug his hair while another pressed snow against his cheek.

  “This may be the best life a slave could ever scratch.” The words lingered.

  “So…you are a slave to the Kesh as well?”

  Yuzu pushed back his sleeve. The branding was old but unmistakable. “Born into it. Lord Omni claimed me over thirty years ago.” His hand hovered briefly over the mark. “He believed I could be redeemed. Saved from my own hands.” He swirled the remaining drink inside the canister, studying the way it clung to the metal. “His visions were not always right.” He tipped the last swallow into his mouth. “But his promises were.”

  A slow breath left him.

  Midia emerged and began gathering the children. One by one, they embraced West, reluctant but obedient. Pan gripped his sleeve longer than necessary. Nalla demanded another funny face before retreating inside. The smallest boy, Mace, simply watched him. When the door flap closed behind them, the night felt colder.

  West approached the fence where Tyrus and Yuzu stood. He plucked the canister from Yuzu’s hand and tilted it. Nothing. He shook it once. Twice. Dry.

  “All out?” Yuzu caught the empty container as West tossed it back. “Do not tell me you finished the one I gave you earlier, already!?”

  West slapped his own stomach with exaggerated pride. “I am a big boy now!” Yuzu’s laughter carried into the dark. “I will fetch another.” He staggered off between the huts.

  Silence settled.

  Tyrus remained seated on the fence. West stood below him, breath still visible from exertion. “Having fun?”

  “I will once Yuzu returns.”

  Tyrus studied him carefully before speaking. “There is no need for you to follow me tomorrow. It would be selfish to drag you further into this. You should stay. You belong here.”

  West’s expression tightened briefly before smoothing into something lighter. “This…again!?” He brushed snow from his sleeves. “As much as I care for the Kesh, this is not my home. It was Master Omni’s…” He stepped closer to the fence, lowering his voice. “And how would you navigate this world without my brilliance?”

  A crooked grin appeared. It did not reach his eyes.

  Tyrus saw it clearly now.

  The way West drank without joy.

  The way he laughed without resting.

  The way he looked at Yuzu.

  Not with disdain, but with recognition, that made Tyrus grow still. The laughter from the huts carried faintly through the night air. Snow shifted softly beneath distant footsteps. He lowered his head.

  “You are a true friend, West. I was fortunate to meet you…” His voice remained steady, but something beneath it had settled. “Regretfully, that fortune was not returned in equal measure.” He extended his hand. “From the bottom of my heart. Thank you for all you have done for me.”

  West hesitated only a fraction of a second before clasping it. The grip lingered. Not firm nor weak. Only as an acknowledgement.

  Otto emerged from the hut before the silence deepened further. “Dinner was wonderful! Please thank Midia for us.” West released Tyrus’s hand and stepped forward.

  Tyrus bowed his head. “You have our gratitude.”

  “I am glad you enjoyed it. We will see you in the morning before you depart. Midia has prepared supplies.” Yuzu reappeared from the dark between huts, canister refilled.

  “Master Otto, I was about to show the boys the hut Lord Basil prepared.”

  “Thank you, Yuzu.” Otto’s gaze lingered briefly on West, then on Tyrus. “Rest well.” His hand thudded lightly against the hidden canister beneath Yuzu’s robes. “And try not to wake the camp.”

  Yuzu grinned. “I will try.”

  Otto disappeared inside.

  Yuzu motioned for them to follow and led the way through the lantern-lit paths. West and Yuzu shared the canister as they walked. The liquid burned brighter now. West’s steps grew less measured. “So tell me,” Yuzu slurred, leaning closer. “Before you vanish east. How did that dirty dog Dresdi die? I want to hear it properly.”

  “I told you.” West swayed slightly but did not fall. “Tyrus put a blade through his chest. The Evokians finished eating the rest.”

  Yuzu studied Tyrus with exaggerated scrutiny. “I am a fan of this one. Boring as he might be, but effective.” He moved closer. “That’s a serious face! A real warrior!” His shoulders squared playfully. “He does not look so frightening!” His fists rose.

  West exhaled sharply. “Careful now, Yuzu. Tyrus is not someone you can casually test. He is dangerous.”

  Yuzu rolled his shoulders. “Perhaps with steel. But these hands—” They tightened into clumsy fists.

  Tyrus did not move. His eyes shifted once toward West. West gave the smallest motion of dismissal, reading: Ignore him.

  “All right, Yuzu. Do not injure yourself.” West said before taking another sip from the canister.

  “If he is so capable,” Yuzu pressed, breath heavy now, “why did he not protect Lord Omni?” The question struck clean.

  West took another swallow before lowering the canister. “Lower your hands.”

  Yuzu held Tyrus’s gaze another moment. Then his fists unraveled. His knees buckled, and he dropped into the snow. “I miss him…” The words broke apart as they left him. “I miss him so much!” His head bowed. Shoulders trembled.

  “My Master…” Again. “My Master…!” He rocked forward slightly, grief pulling him inward.

  Tyrus turned toward West. West did not stop walking. The distance between them widened by three slow steps. Tyrus looked down at Yuzu, then extended his hand.

  “Get up, Yuzu.”

  Yuzu blinked through wet lashes and accepted the help. He rose clumsily, wiping his face against his sleeve. “I am sorry.” Without warning, he wrapped his arms around Tyrus in a tight, unbalanced embrace. Tyrus endured it without returning it. Yuzu released him and shuffled forward to catch up with West.

  The three continued in silence. Lantern light flickered against the snow. Breath clouded in the cold. They reached the hut prepared for them.

  Inside, the air was warmer. Yuzu and West resumed drinking without ceremony. Tyrus stood near the entrance a moment longer before stepping fully inside. He watched West carefully again. The heavy drinking with the forced laughter that came too quickly, all while grief sat poking through just beneath it.

  The night might have carried them past twilight and into dawn had the drink not claimed West and Yuzu first. Darkness settled thick and airless over the camp, pressing down upon the tents and the men within them. Their sleep was not gentle; it was heavy, drowning, without dream or warning. Morning came anyway. Uninvited.

  West woke with a violent start. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was, only that his skull throbbed and his tongue felt like ash. Yuzu’s snores were just as loud as he remembered, if not louder. He pushed himself upright, wincing. His gaze swept the room. Blankets. Robes. The dying embers of last night’s fire.

  But not the Red Dragon.

  The nausea hit him all at once. He staggered outside and barely made it past the doorway before retching into the dirt. When he finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and forced his eyes open.

  The Kesh were already awake. Smoke curled gently from cookfires. Children ran between tents. It was peaceful. Too peaceful.

  “Tyrus?” West called, already knowing. No answer. His heart began to pound harder than the wine had. He turned toward the animal posts. The donkey stood alone. West stared at the empty space beside it. Then he saw them. Fresh hoofprints pressed deep into the frost, leading north.

  “No…” he breathed.

  “Good morning, West.” Otto approached slowly, hands folded in his sleeves.

  “Have you seen him!?” West asked, though his voice had already changed. It was thin now. Tight. Otto followed his gaze to the tracks. “It would appear,” he said gently, “that he has taken his leave.”

  West’s jaw clenched. His mind raced backward through the night, Tyrus’s gratitude, the handshake, the way his stare had lingered at the fire.

  “Shit!” He ran. Back inside the hut, he tore through the blankets, the silks, the shadows, though he already knew. Already felt the hollow.

  “HE TOOK IT!” West’s voice cracked. “HE TOOK THE DRAGON!!”

  Yuzu groaned awake. “What are you shouting for—”

  “TYRUS IS GONE!”

  Yuzu blinked, rubbing his face in confusion. “He left last night. After you passed out.”

  West froze. “You…watched him leave…?”

  Yuzu shrugged helplessly. “He said not to wake you?”

  Otto stepped inside, his expression unreadable. “Perhaps he believed this was the only way to protect you.”

  West looked down, swallowing hard. Letting the words ‘protect you’ repeat in his mind. “I’m going after him. He took my property…that is my sword!” He stormed past them toward the animals.

  Otto followed, though not hurried. “West. If he has chosen to walk into danger alone, you must consider why. Think of his sacrifice to protect you. Please… Forget about the sword!” West ignored him. He tightened the donkey’s straps with shaking hands.

  “He doesn’t need you,” Yuzu called. “We do!”

  West stopped only long enough to answer. “Yuzu…Maybe this life is meant for you…” He said quietly. “But…I can’t stay!” He mounted the donkey, rummaging through the saddle pouches, and retrieved and wrapped the white fox fur high around his face. Snow had begun to fall again, fine, weightless flakes drifting between tents and trees alike.

  Otto stepped forward one last time. “I will not beg you,” he said. “This is obviously more than retrieving an old sword from dead men's tales. But remember this, West: you are a good man. Kind, honest, and loving. Return to us one day as that same man.” Otto’s expression softened as he smiled at West.

  West’s throat tightened. He did not trust himself to speak and kept his eyes locked toward the horizon. He nudged the donkey forward. Then he rode. The hoofprints were already softening beneath the snow.

  “Tyrus…” he growled, barely audible as the Kesh camp faded behind him: its warmth, its safety, and its offered future.

  Ahead lay only white. The snowfall thickened, swallowing the tracks, swallowing the horizon, swallowing him. And by the time the sun fully rose, there was no sign that either of them had ever been there at all.