The stars were still out when they exited the outpost, flickering faintly in the pitch black sky above the woods. A cold wind brushed through the trees, blowing the leaves softly which created a faint rustling sound, barely audible unless you paid attention. The clearing came to a stop as they wandered back through the forest.

  It was quiet now, and for the most part everything was still.

  Soren and Remi walked in silence for a long while, the only sound being their footsteps crunching through the leaves and gravel. The glow of Denor’s hideout faded behind them with every step.

  After a long while, they reached a small cliff side for a breather. The sun was beginning to rise, a slice of yellow and white peeking over the horizon, its light fading into parts of the sky still darkened.

  Soren spoke, his voice calm and relieved, as Remi moved to sit on the edge of the cliff, her feet dangling over the drop.

  “You did the right thing.”

  Remi didn’t answer him right away. She was too focused, staring at the bracelet in her hand, while the insignia was in her coat pocket. Her expression was unreadable to some degree, but Soren didn’t want to press her further.

  “I wanted to kill him,” she said quietly, still looking down at the bracelet, gripping it tightly.

  “Every part of me wanted to. I still do, even now.”

  Soren nodded to her words, trying to offer whatever reassurance he could. “I know… there’s no shame in that.”

  She moved a loose strand of pink hair behind her ear, and finally looked at him, her eyes seemingly grateful.

  “But… I didn’t. Because you reminded me... I'm not... like him.”

  “No,” Soren replied, staring past the cliff and at the forest below. “You’re not.”

  She exhaled deeply, her eyes softening a bit more as her posture relaxed. The pain behind her eyes was still there, but it seemed quieter now. Perhaps less sharp, like a wound that had finally been cleaned, even if it still needed time to fully recover.

  She glanced over at him with a faint smile as she tilted her head, her blue eyes shining from the sun, which had bathed her in a shower of golden light.

  “You’re not bad at this whole motivational thing, you know.”

  Soren smirked, and shook his head. “This just happened to be a fluke, so you shouldn’t get used to it.”

  She stood up a few moments later, and they continued walking. The silence had become more comfortable now, the worst of the confrontation now behind them

  As the trees began to thin out once again, and the Hollow Stag tavern’s familiar shape and warm lights appeared in the distance, Remi finally whispered, “Thank you.”

  Soren looked over at her, frowning slightly. “For what?”

  “For helping me... stay myself, when it could have gone very differently.”

  He turned and gave her a quiet nod and a soft smile, as he spoke warmly. “It was my pleasure, you don’t have to thank me for stuff like that.”

  She looked up at him for a moment, as if she had wanted to say something more, before looking down at her hands and nodding quickly.

  The warm glow of the tavern’s lanterns spilled across the wooden walls as the door swung open. Soren and Remi stepped inside, a cold morning breeze entering with them before the door shut gently behind.

  The tavern was quiet, with only a low hum of conversation in the air, as well as the lanterns burning softly. Jorge glanced up from a nearby table, nodding as they entered. He seemed to have a few questions on his mind, but he knew better than to pry so soon.

  Elise looked at them over the top of her book, and Faris, who was still tending to his herbs, offered a small smile.

  Asta was sitting on a lounge cushion near the hearth, her arm bandaged but her colour had returned. She was sipping a hot drink, most likely one of Faris’ herbal mixes, and her eyes brightened slightly when she saw them.

  Remi walked over to her without a word, while Soren stood a few steps back, silent as he let the two reunite without disturbance.

  From her coat pocket, Remi pulled out the silver bracelet.

  She knelt beside Asta, and held it out gently. Asta blinked in surprise, her eyes slowly welling with tears at the sight of it. Her fingers trembled as she reached forward, taking it slowly into her hands. Her thumb brushed across the worn metal, as she studied a few new scratches that had appeared on it.

  There were no words spoken for a long while, just the sound of the hearth crackling.

  Asta opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, seemingly at a loss for words. She leaned forward and pulled Remi into a hug which was soft, tired, and full of shared pain and deep-rooted affection.

  Remi closed her eyes, resting her chin on Asta’s shoulder as she teared up herself.

  “It’s over,” she whispered, almost inaudibly.

  “You’re safe now… he won’t hurt us anymore...”

  Asta didn’t respond, but she nodded, holding her old friend close.

  The others had given them their space, admiring the moment but not daring to interrupt it.

  The barracks were quiet a few hours later. Afternoon had come, and the sky was clear outside the tavern, the grass in Backstrom even appeared more green than usual.

  Inside Remi’s room, the light from a floating orb of mana was humming gently. She stood by her staff’s resting stand, holding Kerrin’s old patch in her fingers.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  With careful movements, she placed it above her staff stand, pressing it flat against the wood until it stuck to the wall.

  She stepped back, and looked at it. The insignia was framed not in mourning, but in memory. Her face appeared to be calm. Tired, due to recent events and physical exhaustion from her encounter with Denor, but calm.

  Soren was laying on his bed, the bag of stolen loot from the outpost resting beside him on the floor. Coins and trinkets peeked and shone from the opening, catching sunlight from the window in brief glimmers.

  His arms were folded behind his head, eyes locked on the ceiling. The room was silent, save for the occasional chirping of birds or the breeze blowing against his curtains.

  He thought about Denor, and about Remi. About the look in her eyes when she chose not to kill him even when she was able to, easily. Nobody would have blamed her. He certainly wouldn’t have.

  He also thought about how close she came.

  How close he’s come before, too.

  He breathed out slowly, head turning to look out of the window. His gaze landed on a few birds sitting on the steps of a nearby home, chirping lightly and hopping around. He watched them for a while, before sighing and putting a pillow over his head lazily, trying to get some rest.

  —

  It was a quiet morning in the tavern, sunlight pouring in through the windows in thin lines. Soren sat at the lounge table, resting his head on his fist, a plate of bread and assorted fruit in front of him.

  Elise was off in the corner, legs crossed as she sipped on her tea, reading as usual. Faris was on a stool near the bar, tending to one of the tavern’s hanging plants. Jorge sat with a mug of ale, while Remi leaned forward with her arms crossed on the edge of the table.

  Asta entered from the back of the tavern, looking a little more alive than she had a few days ago. The bruises on her skin had begun to fade, and she moved with a bit more ease.

  Her brown hair swayed slightly as she walked towards the table. She took a seat, getting comfortable and exhaling deeply, as Faris walked over to pour her some tea.

  She gave him a small but appreciative nod, and took a long sip, breathing out softly as she swallowed, and put the cup back down. She looked up and some of the group met her gaze. She cleared her throat briefly before speaking, a hint of formality in her tone.

  “I’ve been meaning to tell you all something,” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, and meeting their gazes once again

  “I didn’t just end up in Backstrom by chance.”

  That got everyone’s attention, and they looked at her, curiosity and surprise in their eyes.

  “I was on my way to Celta, and I had you guys as a stop,” she continued. “The Blades Festival is starting in a few days.”

  Remi perked up a little, raising her eyebrow with a slight smirk. Jorge frowned, curious, while Faris simply looked over in interest.

  “The what?” Soren asked, tone anticlimactic and dry, his eyes narrowed while his head was tilted in confusion.

  Asta glanced at him, feigning annoyance at his lack of knowledge on the subject.

  “The Blades Festival is a prestigious tournament that happens every year, in the capital of Celta. It’s a massive event — duels, contests, free-for-alls, even team battles. It brings in warriors from all over Lavon, and sometimes even Eirland. Nobles, knights, mages, adventurers… everyone wants to make a name for themselves there.”

  “It’s more than just a tournament,” Remi added, eyes shifting from Asta to Soren as she continued to explain,

  “Winning there earns you recognition, influence. Some people who perform well even get drafted into noble service. Others leave with gold, sponsorships… connections for life.”

  Asta nodded at her words. “It’s hosted by the noble house that rules Celta, the Valenne family. But other organizations attend, too. The family of House Thornhall, warriors from the north… cold types, very by-the-book and traditional.”

  She took a break from speaking to sip her tea once again, before placing it down gently and continuing.

  “There’s also House Silverglade, one of the wealthier houses, home of countless elven diplomats who seem to have a hand in everything. There are of course other noble houses, though those three hold the most authority across Lavon.”

  “Elves?” Soren asked, shocked that an organization of elven origin could be so prominent in Lavon.

  In Eirland, they didn’t really have an official collective, save for a few communities, though nothing on the same scale as this was being described.

  “Elves with a lot of gold and long memories,” Faris muttered low from across the room. “Like many of my kind, they don’t normally forget a face. Or a blade.”

  “And then there’s the Knights Guild,” Asta said, her eyes drifting towards a set of steel armour that was placed on a nearby stand.

  “They’re always around for big events, though they’re not allowed to compete themselves. They’re strict, polished. They like to put on a show every now and again to remind everyone that they’re the protectors of the realm.”

  A pause followed as the group absorbed the information, and Soren frowned while looking down at the table, his own mind deep in thought. Then she reached into her coat and pulled out a folded letter which was sealed in golden wax.

  She slid it across the table toward Jorge, and the sound of the paper dragging across the wood contributed to the rising tension in the room.

  “It’s addressed to all of you, the Hollow Stag Company. This may come as unexpected, but in truth, The Blades Festival has been lacking entertainment in recent years.”

  Asta looked out the window briefly, watching a butterfly circle enter the Tavern and circle around a few of Faris’ plants, before meeting Jorge’s gaze once again. Her tone was soft, yet still carried a hint of authority.

  “The noble houses believe that more independent individuals and groups taking part may offer a breath of fresh air into the tournament. In these last couple months, it seems word’s gotten around about your company.”

  Jorge took the letter and opened it gently, taking the parchment out and reading it quietly. His face was unreadable as he looked over its contents. After a long moment he passed it to Remi, who read it next, her eyes scanning the words quickly.

  “They want us to attend,” she said, her eyes widening slowly. “As official participants.”

  Soren blinked, frowning harder. He was trying to process the scope of the tournament, what this would mean for the group, and for himself.

  “They want us there?” He said with skepticism in his tone.

  “Well,” Elise said slowly, chiming in without looking up from her book, “We have been making noise recently. I knew something big would come our way soon enough.”

  Faris chuckled faintly, admiring his bow that hung from the wall. “No better place to test yourself than a stage built for war.”

  Asta looked at the group, her gaze drifting from face to face. “It’s an opportunity, and when I found out it was for you guys, I had offered to come deliver it myself. If any of you want a bigger future… this is the door.”

  Jorge leaned back in his seat, arms folded as he frowned, deep in thought. He took a deep breath before exhaling slowly, and shifted forward slightly, a decisive look in his eyes.

  “Alright. We vote.”

  There was a pause. The group looked at each other, trying to gauge one another’s reactions or thoughts. Then, Remi smiled faintly, raising her hand first. Then Elise put down her book, and raised her hand as well. Then Faris, who had been reading the letter, placed it down and nodded.

  Asta watched them, smiling faintly at their agreement. Jorge took in all of their decisions, then turned his head to look at Soren. All eyes were on him soon enough, waiting for his decision.

  Soren hesitated under their gaze, looking at the table while his mind weighed the options. He took a deep breath, then sighed, lifting his head as he faced the group.

  His tone was calculated, but it held a hint of regret.

  “I won’t be going with you.”