They walked back toward the tent rows, shoulders sore, backs stiff, but steps steady.

Behind them, the map on the crate fluttered once in the breeze, red markers, black lines, and one big circle drawn around the place they'd just escaped from.

The war wasn't over.

It hadn't even started properly.

—

The stars were out, but only barely. Thin clouds dragged across the sky like smoke trails, veiling the moon in dull silver. The camp was quiet now. Tired quiet, not peaceful. Fires burned low, people slept in shifts, and every shadow looked like it might move.

Lindarion sat alone near the edge of the clearing, his back against a dead tree, a plate of untouched food in his lap. The stew had gone cold.

He hadn't noticed.

Ashwing was curled in a tight ball beside him, tail flicking. His eyes were half-lidded but alert. Watching everything.

'Still too much noise,' Lindarion thought. 'Even in silence.'

His ribs still hurt. His mana pool was running on fumes. The divine reserves he'd pushed through earlier had barely recovered, and every time he blinked, the image of Luneth flashed behind his eyes, bound, cornered, alone.

He didn't hear the footsteps at first.

Didn't feel the approach until the voice came, low but clear.

"You look like shit."

Lindarion blinked and glanced up.

An elf stood a few paces away, arms crossed, posture casual. Not familiar. Not from the capital. Not from the Academy. He looked… out of place.

But not lost.

"Excuse me?" Lindarion muttered.

The elf stepped closer. His hair was silver, not like moonlight, but tarnished steel, and pulled back into a loose tie.

His armor was travel-worn, more leather than metal, with a forest-green cloak tossed over one shoulder. He was older. Thirty, maybe a bit more. Faint scarring along his cheekbone, like a claw had once tried to take his face.

"I said," the elf repeated, "you look like shit."

Lindarion's brow furrowed. "Do I know you?"

"Nope," the elf said. "But you're Lindarion Sunblade. Elf prince. Academy drop-out. Now war-front healer and full-time city-crasher."

Ashwing stirred, lifting his head slowly. "He's got your number."

"Who are you?" Lindarion asked, sitting up straighter.

The elf dropped into a crouch across from him, not bothering to ask permission. "Kaelen Lareth. Former scout captain, Southern Reach. Ran recon during the border campaigns before most people knew there was a war."

"Why are you here?"

Kaelen shrugged. "Same as you, I guess. Wrong place, wrong time, too much pride to stay home."

Lindarion didn't answer.

Kaelen looked around the camp. "I saw what you did earlier. Divine magic on half the wounded. Not many elves who'd bother. Even fewer who wouldn't gloat."

"I'm not in the mood for praise," Lindarion muttered.

"Wasn't giving any," Kaelen replied. "Just making conversation."

There was a pause.

Then: "They said you fought Maeven. And lived."

Lindarion's mouth pulled into a thin line. "I got thrown across the city."

"And lived," Kaelen repeated, like it mattered.

Lindarion leaned back against the tree, exhaling. "Why are you really here?"

Kaelen glanced at the moon, then back at him. "I've been tracking mutant activity for a year now. Not officially. Just quietly. Patterns don't lie. I saw what was building under Caldris before it cracked open. I tried to warn some people."

"They didn't listen?"

"Course not." He smiled without humor. "No one listens to the tired scout with a bad leg and too many field notes."

Lindarion studied him for a second. The guy didn't feel like a liar. Didn't act like a zealot either.

Kaelen went on, voice lower now. "Thing is, you're right. This isn't some freak uprising. This was planted. Layered. Built up over years. Maybe more. The way they moved—organized, surgical—it's not random."

"I already know that."

"Yeah," Kaelen said, eyes steady. "But you don't know where they went."

That got Lindarion's attention.

He sat forward. "You know where the nest is?"

"No," Kaelen said. "But I know where one of their old camps used to be. Abandoned now, but if there's a trail, we might be able to follow it. I marked it weeks ago."

"Why are you telling me?"

Kaelen's mouth twitched. "Because you're the only one in this camp who looks angry enough to actually do something about it."

Lindarion didn't reply right away.

Ashwing's voice slid into his mind. "He's reckless. But not stupid."

'I can work with that.'

Kaelen stood, brushing off his knee. "You want to sit around and wait for command? Fine. You want to actually do something? Meet me by the northern trailhead at dawn. Don't bring a parade."

Then he turned and walked off, leaving Lindarion with cold stew and a head full of worse ideas.

'This is dumb,' he thought.

But he already knew he'd go.

He leaned back again, watching the firelight dance along the trees.

Tomorrow might get them killed.

But at least it'd get them moving.

—

Not sunrise, too cloudy for that. Just a dull gray spilling through the tree branches like someone had forgotten to turn the sky on properly.

The camp was already moving.

Soldiers tramped past with bedrolls slung over their shoulders, armor buckled half-right, faces hollow from sleep they hadn't gotten. Some clutched half-eaten rations. Others just drank from tin cups and stared into nothing.

Lindarion stood near the edge of the medical tent, arms crossed, jaw tight.

More boots.

Another company had arrived, three dozen at least, marching in two staggered lines between the trees.

Their colors were muted, nothing ceremonial. Mostly Caldris' southern sigil stitched into battered surcoats, some bearing different family crests. Reinforcements from the other provinces, probably. Word had traveled.

A captain rode at the front, woman, maybe mid-thirties, her armor clean but not polished. She dismounted without ceremony and spoke briefly with a commander Lindarion didn't know.

They exchanged nods. Fast talk. Nothing drawn out. Then she walked toward the triage tents, her eyes scanning.

He stepped forward before she got too close. "You're from the Southern Watch?"

The woman looked him over once. "And you're the elf everyone keeps talking about."

"Lindarion Sunblade."

"Captain Rael Iverna," she replied, offering a handshake that was quick and firm. "You're a bit younger than I expected."