The forest loomed behind them, a breath on the nape of their necks. Though the horrors had retreated into silence, their presence lingered, as if watching. The air remained thick, damp with the scent of old earth and something that did not belong to this world.


    Erasmus felt it—a pressure just beneath perception, curling at the edges of awareness. Not a presence, not a voice, but a weight. A silent observer that chose not to follow.


    Not yet.


    They stepped through thinning trees, the damp soil giving way to patches of frost-bitten grass. Through the veil of distant firelight, shapes moved—men and steel, wrapped in quiet murmurs and the occasional clink of armor.


    Erasmus adjusted his posture. Not too stiff, not too at ease. A survivor, shaken but not broken. A boy who had seen too much but kept walking.


    Rei walked slightly ahead, fingers flexing against the hilt at his waist. The habit wasn’t lost on Erasmus. It wasn’t about fear—it was about readiness.


    Then Rei spoke.


    "You never answered me."


    Erasmus glanced up, slow and deliberate, as if caught mid-thought. He let a second pass before responding. "I didn’t realize you asked a question."


    Rei exhaled softly, gaze flicking forward. "Why were you in the forest?"


    A reasonable question.


    The eldritch world was not kind to strays. To walk alone through its maw was either foolishness or something worse.


    Erasmus measured his answer. A lie too intricate could tangle. A truth too plain could invite scrutiny.


    "I was searching for something."


    Rei’s expression remained unreadable. "For what?"


    "A way to survive."


    Simple. True, in a way.


    But Rei was not so easily satisfied. The knight studied him, his footsteps slowing.


    "You don’t seem desperate enough for someone who’s been starving."


    Sharp.


    Erasmus allowed a pause—not of hesitation, but calculation.


    His fingers curled slightly at his sleeves, an unconscious motion. A small tell—just enough to be seen, to be mistaken for something unguarded.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    "I didn’t say I was starving."


    Rei’s brows furrowed. "Most who wander alone don’t last long."


    Erasmus exhaled, allowing his shoulders to tense, just slightly, as though weighing whether to speak. Then, softly—


    "I don’t feel fear the same way anymore."


    Rei’s posture shifted, just slightly.


    "What?"


    A pause. A hesitation. Then Erasmus let his gaze lower.


    "My ability… It changed me." His voice was measured, uncertain. "I still react. My heart still pounds. But my mind doesn’t panic."


    Rei didn’t speak at first. His eyes flickered—not with doubt, but recognition.


    "That’s lucky," he murmured. "Most people lose themselves to fear out here."


    Erasmus let out a breath, somewhere between amusement and exhaustion. "Lucky? Maybe. But it also means I don’t know when to run until it’s too late."


    That was the hook. A flaw. A weakness that made the ability seem less like an advantage and more like a curse. Something Rei could understand.


    Rei said nothing, but his gaze softened.


    Good.


    Erasmus had given him something to believe in.


    "Come on," Rei said. "Stay close. The others won’t be as welcoming."


    —


    The firelight bled into focus as they stepped past the last line of trees. Tents, makeshift barriers, men leaning against sharpened stakes—the trappings of survivors hardened by battle.


    Conversations dimmed.


    The camp had noticed him.


    Erasmus let himself shrink slightly—not exaggerated, just enough to be natural. A boy stepping into unfamiliar territory, uncertain of where he stood.


    A soldier rose from where he’d been kneeling, sharpening a dagger. His gaze swept over Erasmus, then flicked to Rei.


    "You’re bringing in strays now?"


    Rei’s expression remained impassive. "He’s with us."


    The soldier didn’t move, but his grip on the dagger remained firm.


    A tension lingered. An unspoken rule that Rei had just broken.


    Erasmus let his gaze flicker downward, playing his part. A lost boy, not a threat.


    The soldier exhaled through his nose. "He’s your problem, then."


    Interesting.


    Rei led him further in. The fire’s warmth licked at Erasmus’ skin, but the cold of the knights’ gazes lingered longer.


    They were testing him. Watching for something out of place.


    And then—


    A man sitting by the fire raised his head.


    —


    Riven had been sharpening his blade when he saw them.


    The leader. And a boy.


    The whetstone in his grip stilled. The firelight carved sharp shadows across the newcomer’s features—too thin, too pale.


    Something about him was… off.


    Not unnatural. Not wrong. But measured.


    Riven’s fingers curled slightly against the hilt of his sword.


    A stray in the den.


    The murmurs in the camp had dimmed, but the weight of unspoken doubt lingered.


    Rei motioned toward the squires. "Get him supplies. Set up a tent."


    One of them hesitated. "Should we really be—"


    Rei’s gaze sharpened. The squire swallowed and nodded.


    Erasmus allowed his eyes to widen slightly—not too much. Just enough.


    "You don’t have to—"


    "You won’t last long if you don’t rest," Rei interrupted.


    Another kindness. Another thread of trust to tighten.


    Erasmus lowered his head slightly. "Thank you."


    The squire left, but Riven didn’t move.


    Not yet.


    He watched as the boy—Veridion, Rei called him—stepped toward the tent.


    Watched how he adjusted his posture.


    Watched how his fingers curled, but not quite like someone afraid.


    No. That wasn’t it.


    Riven had spent too many years watching men lie to their own reflections.


    And this one?


    This one’s reflection didn’t waver at all.


    His reflection was just a little too perfect.


    He wasn’t just surviving.


    He was playing.