Late afternoon light fell in dappled patches across the damp ground. Eujal scraped at the charred earth with a worn branch, doing his best to disguise their makeshift camp. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the boy—gaunt, with dark hair falling across his forehead—sitting upright against a tree trunk. A noticeable flush of color had returned to the boy''s cheeks after several hours of rest and a hearty meal, but he still appeared drained.


    Slinging his small pack over one shoulder, Eujal approached, pausing a few feet away to gauge the boy''s condition. He wasn''t entirely sure why he bothered, but something about the boy''s half-vacant stare, the way he''d been found in that coffin, nagged at him. They were both survivors in a grim situation. If he was stuck with anyone, he guessed it might as well be someone whose circumstances were equally strange.


    "How''re you feeling?" he asked, lowering himself to a crouch.


    The boy pressed a hand against his ribs, wincing slightly. "Better than before. Still… still tired."


    "Yeah," Eujal muttered, surveying the boy''s thin frame. He hesitated, then cleared his throat. "Listen, if we''re going to keep moving together, I need to know what to call you. Do you… remember your name?"


    The response came without hesitation. "Hillel."


    Eujal''s eyebrows shot up. It was the first time he''d heard the boy speak with any certainty at all. "Hillel," he repeated, testing the sound. "You''re sure?"


    Hillel''s lips parted, and for a moment, confidence appeared in his gray eyes. Then confusion set in, and he looked down, as though his sudden realization had begun to slip away. "I… I think so," he murmured. "It was just there, like it was the only word in my head. Does that… mean it''s really my name?"


    Eujal noticed Hillel''s hand trembling where it gripped his threadbare sleeve. "It''s good enough for me," he said. "Until you remember something else, I''ll call you Hillel."


    Relief softened the boy''s tense posture, though worry remained etched across his features. "Right," he said quietly. "Hillel…"


    It wasn''t much, but Eujal sensed a measure of calm setting in. He gave the boy a nod and rose to his feet. "If you''re up for it, we''ve got to move. We''ve spent enough time here. It''ll be dark soon, and we want to get as far as we can before nightfall."


    Hillel pushed himself upright, wobbling slightly. Eujal offered a steadying arm but held back from forcing help on him. Gathering what little they had, Eujal secured the rock he''d used earlier and lashed it to a sturdy branch with strips of hide from the fawn. It wasn''t pretty and probably wouldn''t hold up against anything too large, but it was better than nothing. He tucked a small bundle of tinder into his pack—dry twigs, bark, whatever he could scrounge up that might help spark a fire later.


    They started off toward what Eujal judged to be northeast, guided by the slow drift of the sun behind them. The forest thinned as they went, becoming sparser until the thick canopy gave way to open foothills. That was when Eujal finally caught sight of the mountains themselves, towering beneath a blanket of clouds. He paused and swore under his breath. The valley they''d spent so long escaping from spread out behind them, a stark reminder of his earlier miscalculation.


    "Should''ve realized valleys and mountains go together," he grumbled, a faint sense of embarrassment creeping in. He could imagine Zaher rolling his eyes at him. But the ache of memory sharpened into resolve; even if he hadn''t been the best scout before, he was learning quickly now.


    Hillel brushed back his tangled hair and squinted up at the rugged slopes. Even from this distance, the peaks were imposing—sheer cliffs and sharp ridges hidden by drifting mists. Their first task would be finding a safe pass toward Scissia. Eujal wasn''t entirely sure how they''d do it, but he knew at least one thing: the Asir military patrolled the main roads, and foreign mercenaries—like him—weren''t exactly welcome.


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    As twilight set in, the sky blushed in bands of orange and purple. A light chill clung to the air, spurring them onward. Without the thick forest undergrowth, they made quicker progress over grass and stony patches. Every so often, Eujal cast a glance back at Hillel, watching for any sign of weakness. The boy''s fever seemed to have eased, though he still moved gingerly.


    They hadn''t gone far into the foothills when Eujal caught sight of something cutting through the terrain—a worn-down dirt path. It was just wide enough for a cart or a pair of travelers, but it was clearly man-made. Relief hummed through his tired limbs. This could be one of the minor routes that eventually led to a main road. If luck was on their side, it would point them straight toward Scissia, or at least lead them to folks who might point the way.


    He halted at the edge of the path, kicking a few stones aside to test the ground''s firmness. Hillel stopped beside him, breathing heavily. Together, they stood in the hush of early evening, gazing down the winding trail that disappeared into the dusky hills. With a breath of relief, they began walking.


    They pressed on along the narrow path, its ruts and patches of loose stones illuminated only by the waning light of dusk. The silhouettes of the mountains loomed ahead, and Eujal felt a small surge of relief that they were finally moving closer to their goal. Maybe, if they kept this pace, they could scale the foothills by tomorrow. He could almost imagine a proper road leading to Scissia, complete with other travelers who weren''t out for blood.


    But then he heard it—a distant, rhythmic clattering from somewhere behind them. Hooves on dirt and a long, moaning creak that sounded suspiciously like a wagon''s axle. Instinct seized Eujal; he snagged Hillel''s sleeve and ushered him into the tall grass beside the path.


    "What are you doing?" Hillel hissed, eyes wide.


    "Shh!" Eujal shot back, pressing a finger to his lips. "We don''t know who''s back there. Could be patrols. Could be anyone."


    "But—"


    "I said hush," Eujal snapped, a little more sharply than he intended. Hillel glared but obeyed, crouching low in the dense grass. Together, they peered over the tufts, hearts pounding as the sound drew nearer.


    Within moments, an ox-drawn wagon came into view, rattling along the uneven track. A canvas covering the wagon''s rear fluttered in the breeze, but from Eujal''s vantage, he couldn''t make out who or what might be inside. The driver—a stocky, dark-skinned man wearing a wide-brimmed hat—kept his reins slack. Eujal''s nerves fought with his curiosity; was it safe to reveal themselves and ask for help? He had no way of knowing whether these people would be friendly or string them up on sight.


    The wagon trundled closer and closer, until it was nearly alongside the patch of grass where they hid. Eujal clenched his makeshift spear, sweat beading on his forehead. His stomach twisted in indecision. He was about to open his mouth—maybe risk calling out—when the wagon jerked to a stop, the driver muttering under his breath.


    "Hold up," the man said, dropping the reins. "I need a break."


    Eujal glanced at Hillel. The boy''s face was taut with fear. They both held their breath as the driver hopped down from the wagon, boots thudding against the packed dirt. He trudged toward the grass—directly toward them.


    Hillel shot Eujal a frantic look that screamed, Now what?! Eujal could only clench his teeth in silent dread. But their situation turned from bad to worse as they realized, with mounting horror, exactly why the driver had come this way: he began unbuckling his trousers, preparing to relieve himself right on the spot.


    "Stop right there," came a sharp voice from inside the wagon. Fabric rustled, and the driver paused, exasperated.


    "What is it now?" the driver grumbled. "Can''t a man have some peace to—"


    Before he could finish, a second figure emerged from behind the wagon''s canvas. Eujal barely caught the glint of steel as this newcomer strode over and raised a dagger, pointing it straight at the swaying grass. Right where Hillel was hiding.


    "Whoever you are," the man snarled, "get up—now."


    Hillel let out a startled yelp, scrambling upright. Eujal had no choice but to follow, popping out of the grass with his crude spear at the ready. His heart hammered. He took in the man with the dagger: tall, with strangely luminous eyes that held a hint of pink in the fading light. Faint moonlight glinted on reddish hair cut raggedly short. A wide scar crossed the bridge of his nose, continuing across his cheekbones, and two more slashed down either side of his face in parallel lines. He wore a long-sleeved shirt under a dusty duster coat, complemented by a frayed scarf and worn trousers.


    Eujal opened his mouth, trying to sound intimidating. "We—" was all he managed before the man lunged at Hillel.