The market was slowly coming to life beneath the pale morning mist. The scent of fresh hides, game hanging from hooks, fermented apples, and warm bread mingled with the gentle murmur of voices. Children darted between the stalls, chased by skinny dogs, and a group of hunched women traded bundles of wood for medicinal herbs.
Victor, his hood pulled low over his brow, lingered by a stall selling raw wool, brushing the coarse texture with his fingertips. At his side, Adam was exchanging a joke with a toothless old vendor, his gravelly laugh rolling through the air like a familiar stream.
"Planning to dress like a shepherd now?" he asked, nodding toward the shapeless pelisse Victor was holding at arm's length.
"Better that than a leather coat that creaks with every step. You sound like a dead tree."
"A dead tree that knows how to fight, you little brat."
A few paces behind, Edric remained silent. He merely watched, scanning the market with a soldier's glance, making sure nothing felt off. His hood shaded his fair hair, his left hand resting near the hilt of his dagger as always. The wound in his shoulder still flared up on damp days, but this morning it was his gut that was tight—without knowing why.
A bad feeling, maybe. An old soldier's instinct.
Then a voice rang out. Deep. Hoarse. Familiar.
"By all the devils... Edric? Edric Lup—"
He'd turned before the name was finished.
A tall, broad man was striding between two stalls, a hand raised in greeting. His salt-and-pepper beard was neatly trimmed, his shoulders still square despite the years. He wore a reinforced leather tunic, the collar embroidered with an insignia Edric recognized at once—though he had sworn never to see it again.
Hale.
His heart skipped a beat. Fifteen years had passed. And yet his former commander looked unchanged, as if carved from the same block of stone. The same condescending smile. The same steel-blue eyes. Edric felt his breath catch.
"I'm not dreaming, am I? It's really you?"
Hale stepped forward, hand outstretched as if nothing had ever happened.
Edric didn't take it.
"Hale," he said, curtly. Low. Controlled.
Adam had turned, startled. Victor, who had never heard the name, understood at once from the sudden tension in Edric's posture. He understood everything. This was an old story. A story that hurt.
"Bloody hell, it's been an age! Fifteen years, right? Since... the melee at the Three Ravines. Remember that?" He laughed. "By the saints, what a bloody mess that was."
Edric didn't flinch. His gaze was stone-cold. Oh yes, he remembered.
"You've a good memory."
Hale seemed not to notice the distance in his voice—or chose to ignore it.
"Haven't seen you since. You left the army right after. Damn shame. You were a hell of a swordsman. Could've climbed the ranks, if you'd stuck it out. But then... nobles and their melancholy, eh?"
That falsely light tone twisted something inside Edric. He didn't answer. Behind him, Adam had stiffened slightly, his gaze shifting between Hale and Edric. He sensed the charge in the air. Moved a step closer to Victor.
Hale finally turned to them.
"And these two? Your lads?"
"Not my sons, no. Too old. But I keep an eye on them."
But Hale was already fixated on Adam.
"By all the devils, did you run into an axe or a pissed-off woman?" he asked, gesturing at the scar running across the young man's face.
Adam gave a crooked smile.
"An axe. Down south."
"I've seen beams carved straighter." Hale barked a laugh.
Adam shrugged, still smiling, but Victor sensed the restraint beneath it.
Then Hale's eyes turned to him.
He studied him longer. Victor had instinctively dropped his gaze a little. His fine features, dark curls, the way he held himself despite his modest clothing... there was something contained, incongruous. Something Hale could smell.
He stepped closer.
"You... Where are you from, boy? You don't walk like a vagabond. You look like someone who's known better."
Before Victor could answer, Edric cut in—sharp.
"He comes from dust, and he'll go where he pleases."
Hale raised a brow. Victor looked up at Edric. The tone had shifted. There was no threat—but a firm warning. He understood at once: say nothing.
"Hmm," Hale said. "If you say so. Just seems to me a lad like that would handle a ledger better than a blade. But hey. I'm not here to play guessing games."
He stepped back, hands on his hips.
"I'm headed north in two days. Garrison inspections. Lord Harren's orders. But till then, I'm lodging at the forge. If you fancy a drink for old times' sake..."
Edric didn't reply.
Hale walked off without pressing further, tossing a casual salute over his shoulder.
A long silence followed. The market's murmur swelled again around them. A dry leaf skittered at their feet.
Adam was the first to speak.
"Who the hell was that bastard?"
Edric didn't answer right away. He was staring at the spot where Hale had vanished, his face tight, as if he still saw blood on the cobblestones.
Next to him, Victor discreetly brushed his fingers over his signet ring, making sure it was still hidden beneath his collar.
He had never seen Edric like that before. Rigid. Quieter than usual. Almost absent.
A piece of the past had just resurfaced.
And it was sharp as a blade.
At sunset, the campfire threw long shadows across tired faces. The day had been long—bodies were heavy, minds a little lighter than in the morning. Emma, seated cross-legged near the flames, was turning a small piece of wood between her fingers, something she had carved earlier. Adam, nearby, tended the embers quietly, occasionally glancing at Victor and Edric as they returned from another round of sword practice.
Victor sat beside Emma, still catching his breath, hands a little rougher than before. Edric followed, slower, temples damp, shirt marked with earth and sweat. He sat without a word, his left hand clenching over his knee. No one mentioned his shallow breaths or the slight tremors in his fingers.
"You're scarlet," Adam said, handing Victor a flask.
"Feels like I marched ten days uphill," Victor replied, smiling faintly as he took it.
"That's because you're learning to parry," Edric said flatly, leaning back against a log. "If you're not tired, you're not improving."
The fire crackled quietly. A near-peaceful silence settled, broken only by wood snapping and the distant steps of night travelers.
Then a silhouette appeared at the camp's edge, backlit by the fire. A slow gait, broad frame. And a voice.
"Well, well... Thought I saw a fire from afar, Lupenwahl."
It was Hale.
He stepped in without invitation, sweeping his gaze over the group with a kind of jovial ease heavy with assumption.
Edric didn't speak. His features had closed off. He didn't move.
"We're still on first-name terms, yeah?" Hale said, clapping a loud hand on Edric's left shoulder.
Edric flinched almost imperceptibly. His hand tightened on his knee, and his face paled for a second. A grimace passed over his lips before he forced it away.
"Still solid, huh? Thought you'd died in that muck. When I heard you'd left the army, I was surprised."
Victor frowned, watching his mentor's reaction. Emma, too, had lifted her head, alert. Adam kept his eyes on Hale, saying nothing.
"I figured as much, seeing you this morning..." Hale said. "You had that half-buried look again. Same one you wore that day. But hey, it's war, isn't it? We all crawl out of it however we can."
He sat down without being asked, grabbing a piece of wood near the fire and rolling it between his hands. Then his gaze slid over to Emma.
"And I see you even found yourself some company on the road... charming," he added, eyeing her for a little too long. "Haven't lost your touch."
Victor straightened slightly, calmly setting his canteen on the ground. He met Emma's eyes — she hadn't flinched, but her gaze had hardened.
"Her name is Emma," Victor said. "And she's not part of your conversation."
Hale raised his eyebrows, as if surprised.
"Easy, young man. We're just joking. Officer humor."
Édric still hadn't moved. He stared into the fire, but his eyes were far away — somewhere else. His face had gone still, jaw clenched, his breath slowed and deliberately measured. In the flames, he saw no embers.
He saw bodies. The stench of flesh, of blood. Steel. The cold rain and muffled screams beneath the thunder of hooves. He saw his own hand trembling on the hilt of his sword as he crawled through the dead, mud in his mouth. He thought he'd die that day. He wanted to. But he kept crawling. Over familiar bodies. Companions. Some still called out. Others had no voice left.
A sharp sound snapped him back — Hale had knocked over a branch with his foot. He was laughing, still.
"Funny, isn't it? You — camp life, wagons... Not quite what your father had in mind, I imagine. A Lupenwalh among the rabble — poetic, almost."
Victor turned his head slowly toward Édric. It was the first time he'd heard the name of his house. A wave of curiosity and respect stirred in him, like a curtain pulled back on a part of Édric he'd never glimpsed before.
The former soldier barely moved. His features were still carved in stone, and he didn't respond. He would've preferred that name stay buried — cast off like a blood-soaked coat.
Adam leaned forward then, his gaze catching Hale's with calm, practiced ease.
"We're all a bit leftover, after the war, aren't we?" he said quietly. "Even you — you seem to have forgotten how to behave in a camp that's not yours."
He said it with the voice of a polite man, but not a friendly one. The kind of tone that told you you weren't welcome — without ever saying the words.
Hale tilted his head, surprised.
"You didn't talk this much this morning."
"I observe first. Then I talk."
He gave a small smile — almost kind. But his eyes were not.
Hale shrugged.
"Well, suit yourselves. I was just saying hello to an old friend."
He rose slowly, brushing himself off.
"Maybe I'll stop by tomorrow. Share a drink. Reminisce a little."
"Not necessary," Adam replied, that same quiet smile on his lips.
Hale stared at him for a second, then shrugged again and walked off, whistling.
Silence returned. The fire crackled softly. Victor turned to Édric, who still hadn't said a word. But in the shadows, his hand was trembling slightly.
"Édric," he murmured.
The older man finally looked up at him. There was something in his eyes — not anger, not fear. A deep exhaustion. A memory that refused to die. He pulled himself together and gave a small shrug, trying for detachment.
"Forget it," he said simply. "He never knew when to shut up."
Then, stiffly, he stood.
"I'll go walk a bit. Not ready to sleep."
And he vanished into the dark, alone.
Emma watched him go, saying nothing. Adam exhaled quietly, hands outstretched to the fire.
Victor sat still for a while, thoughtful. The name Lupenwalh echoed in his mind, and he realized how little he really knew about the man who had just walked away.
---
Late in the evening, after a tender kiss to Victor, Emma had returned to the tent they shared. Adam, faithful to his role, had risen to take his watch.
Victor hesitated for a moment, his heart a little heavy. The urge to lie down clashed with a dull unease: Edric hadn't come back yet. He was used to finding the solid, unshakable man somewhere around camp, and now the silence weighed on him. He slipped away from the firelight, his steps muffled on the still-damp grass, until he spotted Edric standing a little apart, alone in the shadows.
Victor approached softly and stopped beside him. Silence stretched for a moment before Victor broke it in a low voice:
— That bastard...
Edric didn't respond at once, then a faint bitter smile cracked his face. He looked into the night, his eyes drowned in some distant memory.
— You mean Hale? ...he murmured.
Victor nodded, curious.
— I was a bit older than you when it happened, twenty-three, Edric said, tightening his grip on his coat's sleeve. We were a bunch under his command. A gang of kids, with a leader who thought he was smarter than everyone else. He sent us straight into a trap — a real death sentence. And he came home decorated like a hero. Heroic sacrifice, they said.
His voice grew darker, taut.
— The truth is, I crawled under bodies, broke my wrist, nearly didn't make it. I was the only one who got out. After that, I lost all respect for him... and I left the army.
Victor listened quietly, drinking in every word. He sensed in Edric's tone that bitter mix of pain and deep wound.
— You know, Hale... That's what I could've become if I'd stayed in the army, in that rotten hierarchy, that world of arrogance and lies.
He fixed a heavy look on Victor. His gaze softened a little.
— And you... you remind me a bit of what I was at your age. Maybe a little too much. I don't want you to turn into a bitter asshole like me.
A silence settled, filled with a strange kind of complicity.
Victor frowned, then answered with a half-smile:
— I don't think you're an asshole, Edric. Just a little rough sometimes... but you've got honesty in your eyes. That's rare.
Edric let out a short laugh, almost surprised. He rubbed his jaw, shaking his head slightly.
— Honesty in the eyes... Adam was right, you're starting to sound like Emma. She talks like that too.
— If it's truth I'm after, I don't need to say it any other way, Victor replied with a smirk.
Silence returned briefly, lighter this time. The fire crackled softly in the distance, and footsteps echoed as Adam took his watch. An owl hooted far off.
— Go join your dear one before she thinks you've fallen asleep in the mud, Edric said, giving Victor a friendly slap on the shoulder.
Victor feigned offense, playing the insolent tone:
— What? You're kicking me out? Just so you know, I could stay here and watch over your tortured soul if you want. We could talk about our feelings until dawn.
Edric rolled his eyes but a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
— Off you go, kid, before I regret not letting you get cut in two during training.
— Charming. You really have a knack for tender goodbyes... Victor muttered as he straightened up. He paused, a smile at his lips. — I'd say "Goodnight, sir," but I get the feeling you're not much for titles either.
Edric grimaced slightly but didn't answer right away. He seemed to hesitate, then shrugged.
— Save the bowing for someone else.
— Alright, then just... goodnight, you old grouch.
— Better.
Victor looked at him for a moment, one corner of his mouth raised.
— You're not so bad, you know. Just a little rusty around the edges.
Edric raised a skeptical brow.
— Rusty, huh.
— Yeah. You gotta put some effort in to stop the creaking, but once it gets going, you get attached.
— Planning to butter me up with compliments or finally going to bed?
Victor raised his hands, mock-offended.
— Fine, I'm outta here, old grump.
Edric snorted, teasing.
— And quick about it. Before I change my mind and give you another round of drills tomorrow.
Victor chuckled, stepping back in small strides.
— You'd be capable of it, too.
— That's what scares me for you.
Victor finally moved toward the tent, glancing back over his shoulder — half tired, half grateful.