Chris stood steadily. His feet were planted firmly on the snowy ground as he held his sword out in front of him, waiting in anticipation. His lips pursed.

"He's comin' at you!" the old man's voice called from the sidelines, "stop his advance!"

Chris was in a feverish rush. Cold breath in. Hot breath out.

Swing. Backslash. Step forward. Overhead strike.

Every time his sword whiffed through the cold, stiff air, he exhaled thick steam.

"Stop that!" His grandfather screamed.

"What? Stop what?" Chris responded in an exasperated yell.

"That shuffling! Stop shuffling your feet around! Keep them solid!"

"Uh... Right! Solid!" Chris responded. His feet dug into the snow. His hands felt numb from the frigid, icy air. Every breath he exhaled was output in a condensed, hot cloud. He continued the practice strikes as quickly as he could, his feet pivoting and sliding slickly beneath him. He conducted each strike in a smooth manner, tying every individual move into one clean motion.

"Spin!" His grandfather yelled. "Sit too still and your opponent will take your head clean off!"

Chris's brow furrowed. Adrenaline coursed through his body as he continued the neverending slew of swings, slashes and strikes through the chilled and empty air.

Focus, he thought. Sideways cut. Overhead slash. Now pivot backwards and finish it with a backhanded stroke. Opponent should be reeling by now. ...And finally, a twist. Disarm him. He's on the ground now. Downward thrust!

The tip of the steel blade pierced through the snow and dirt into the deep ground. Chris released his death-grip on the handle, leaving it planted firmly in the frosted soil. Beads of sweat dripped down his forehead. Exhausted, he slowly turned his head to his grandfather for approval.

The old man nodded, his arms crossed.

"And you're done!"

Chris heaved a sigh. He collapsed wearily onto the ground next to his weapon. He heard footsteps approaching and saw his grandfather standing above him - arms still crossed.

"You've got skills, son, I'll give you that."

"...Skills?" Chris gasped in-between heaving breaths, "I feel dead."

"Hah! Welcome to combat! If you're planning to make it as a soldier, kid, you'll have to work harder than that." He turned and walked back towards the house, shaking his head and mumbling something Chris couldn't understand.

"One other thing," Chris began, finally mustering the strength to sit up properly on the wet snow. "I'm just doing practice swings. I've never fought a real opponent before. How in the world am I supposed to make it through military admissions testing tomorrow?"

His grandfather stopped and turned back around, a hand placed on his hip. He heaved what sounded like a worn-out sigh.

"Pah. I'm too old to be sparring with you, Chris," he replied with a grunt. "Just hope for the best. And remember, it's not strength that necessarily wins, but speed!

Chris stood up slowly.

"Speed of hand," Chris replied, rolling his eyes, "speed of mind. I know, grandfather."

The old man beamed a bright grin.

"The sooner you put that to heart, the better! Now, get yourself inside - and warm. You're welcome to get sick after you become a soldier."

The stew they had for dinner was phenomenal. Carrots, green beans, with a little bit of rice mixed in - delicious.

He looked up at his grandfather - head down, eating noisily. His long, unkempt gray hair hung down with his head over his soup bowl.

"So, grandpa?" Chris asked tentatively.

His grandfather looked up, his face asking the question all on its own. Soup broth was dripping off of his scraggly gray mustache.

"Hmm?" His grandfather asked, after a long questioning look.

Chris hesitated a bit. He wasn't quite even sure what he wanted to ask. He just didn't like the silence that was in the room.

"...How do you think I'll do tomorrow?"

His grandfather shrugged. "You feel ready?"

Chris thought about how to answer. "Well, to tell the truth, no," he replied.

The old man raised his finger, pointing it to his head. "A battle is more about what's in your head than you think," he answered. "Doesn't matter how good you are - if you don't think you can win, you probably won't."

Chris nodded, pretending to think deeply about the advice he just received. Of course, he'd been told all this before. What he was worried about, however, was his lack of experience. Every day he'd been running practice drills and strokes. Not once had he sparred with a real opponent.

"Don't worry about fighting real people," his grandfather added.

Chris looked back up. He had always marveled at his grandfather's pecul way of knowing what he was thinking.

"Let me tell you, son," he continued, "too many youth out there are so impatient that they want to jump straight into sparring - they never even bother with the basics. Now if there's anything you've got right, it's the basics. You'll see what I mean when you get out there. All those wild ones swinging weapons all over the place - they leave themselves wide open."

"So, all I have to do is just stand there?"

"No. By no means will you just stand around - you wait. Keep your feet solid and knock 'em off their unstable stance. Nothing to it."

"And speed," Chris said, a smile taking shape on his face.

"Speed of hand?" His grandfather started.

"Speed of mind," Chris repeated, now grinning widely. He stood up from his chair. "Thanks, grandpa." He took himself upstairs, feeling much more relaxed about the next day.

Once the evening was over, Chris lay in bed. His mind was everywhere at once. His stomach was tied in an unbreakable double-knot. Despite his best efforts to calm down and sleep, his head persisted in creating scenario after scenario. Who would his opponents be? What other kinds of exercises will they run me through? Every time he practiced, he got that rush of adrenaline that he loved so immensely yet always dreaded feeling. The feeling that he would almost certainly experience tomorrow.

And tomorrow came much faster than he hoped it would.

2: Chapter 2

The city was surprisingly alive the next morning as Chris made his way to the castle. Bit by bit, he pushed through the mobs of people bustling here and there to get to their own destination.

Snow fell lightly from the sky, falling like feathers onto Chris's golden hair and brown leather coat. He walked quickly through the cold brisk air, his tight boots making firm imprints into the snow with every step. As he walked, homes emptied and shops filled. Doors were either being locked up and left, or unlocked and opened wide. As busy as the hustled environment was, Chris's mind was ahead of him - centered and pointed on just one thing.

"Break some legs out there." Those were his grandfather's parting words that morning.

You're not going to have him coaching you this time, Chris told himself. He imagined his potential opponents: big, 6 foot, muscular? Maybe a shorter, thinner man with a light weapon? Maybe even a girl?

Bump.

"Watch where you're going, child," the old woman snapped.

"Sorry," Chris mumbled, barely regarding her as he kept walking.

His feet shuffled through the snow and his mind wouldn't sit still.

"Stop shuffling your feet!" His grandfather said.

"I've never fought a real opponent before!" his own voice shouted internally.

His eyes moved up as he felt a presence beside him.

A young man, appearing to be the same age as Chris, was walking on his left. Their footsteps were synchronized. His short dark hair and dead-set green eyes were immediately impressed upon Chris's memory. Upon second glance, it was the short bow and quiver strapped to his back.

The man glanced to his side, causing the two of them to lock eyes. For what seemed like minutes to Chris, neither of them said anything. The man quickly tilted his head upwards, as if to finally acknowledge Chris's existence. They each knew they were going to the same place. The rest of the way to the castle was silent.

Chris's feet made a deep 'clump' sound as they stepped across the stone courtyard leading into the castle's wide, silver gate - which was planted in between two very large, thick stone walls. A man stood there wearing quite scholarly and prestigious looking black robes. He had a large sheet of paper and a quill in his hands, which he held out in a halting gesture as Chris and the other guy approached. He made eye contact with Chris's companion.

"Name?"

"Klein," was the simple response.

The man gestured inside the gates. "We'll be starting shortly."

Chris looked into the small courtyard, where there were many boys his age milling around, undirected. Some were swinging weapons about. Some were merely wandering. Some were even sitting down.

"Name?" The older man asked again, this time to Chris, who had lost himself momentarily.

"Uh, Chris," he replied, shaking his head.

The man scribbled onto his paper. "Head in," he directed, "I think you're one of the last."

Chris wandered into the group of people. He assumed people had been wandering in for a while, since no one really seemed to take notice of him. Some were in groups talking, while others were off on their own, taking practice swings with their weapons. Chris's thoughts were interrupted by a firm hand clasping his shoulder.

He turned to behold another boy, around his age like all the others. He had medium length blonde hair, somewhat like Chris's - but awkwardly sticking up in an unkempt manner. His body was well built and strong, and he looked like he'd probably been carrying extremely heavy things most of his life. He was wearing the standard battle tunic with a leather strap to hold his weapon, which he had in his hand. The weapon in question was a small axe - a large hatchet, really, but made with much more care.

"Hey there," the boy started, "I've been looking around for someone to spar with. You know, get warmed up. Everyone's so secluded, though. You mind?" He gestured to Chris's sword, which was strapped to his waist.

Chris noticed how outgoing this person was, walking up to a total stranger to practice weaponry. He had a certain look in his eyes, like they were intentionally designed to pierce any social barriers.

"Uh, sure, I guess," Chris responded. Getting warmed up wouldn't hurt. Furthermore, Chris wasn't going to miss the chance to make a friend. "What's your name?" If he made it into training, he knew, friends were something he'd need a lot of.

"Evan," the boy responded, smiling, "you?"

"Chris." They shook hands briefly. Chris stepped back a bit to draw his sword, but heard a thundering voice coming from the end of the courtyard.

"All right, listen up!" On top of the staircase that led to the barracks, there was a tall, muscular man wearing shiny red armor. He had short cut, military styled brown hair.

He certainly looks like an officer, Chris noticed.

"This is straightforward," the officer continued. "Come up and grab a weapon here so you don't kill each other. Get a sparring partner. I'll be coming through with some others simply to observe you. If you're not making the cut, you leave. That clear?" Another strong looking man dropped a huge pile of wooden weapons on the ground.

Everyone nodded, then looked around nervously. Chris was a bit worried by how harsh and… direct this sounded.

"Well? Don't stand there, get started!"

"Hey," Evan elbowed Chris's shoulder. "You and me, okay?"

"...Okay." Chris nodded.

At the top of the staircase, Chris rummaged through the pile of weapons. He found a medium length sword, similar to his own, and pulled it out. Evan, who already had a wooden hand-axe in his fist, was beckoning for Chris to come over.

"Alright," Evan said, excited. "Let's go!"

Chris still hesitated. "Uh, I've never fought a real person, so…"

"What's the matter?" Evan asked, confused. "Look, everyone else started already!"

Chris looked around him. Sure enough, everyone was cleanly clacking weapons together.

A loud, deep voice came from behind Chris.

"What are you standing there for?" It was the short-haired officer. Chris looked back to Evan. He couldn't appear weak, or he'd be sent home.

"All right," Chris said, taking a stance, "let's go."

It was all instinctive. Evan rushed Chris head on with an overhead swing, which Chris avoided with one simple step. He managed to suppress Evan's attacks with one clean movement after another. It was like his grandfather had told him - as if he was running any other practice drill.

The only difference, however, was that practice dummies didn't fight back. Evan put both arms behind his next swing, which knocked Chris to the ground despite his efforts to deflect it. Slowly standing back up, Chris shook his head.

"Stop that!" His grandfather's words echoed in his mind. "That shuffling! Stop shuffling your feet around! Keep them solid!"

Chris focused and planted his feet squarely on the ground. Holding his sword outward, he signaled for Evan to attack again. This time, Chris tried to not just defend himself. He flicked his sword upward, deflecting Evan's swing, then continued by swinging his sword back - as furiously as possible - towards Evan's side. The two weapons let out a magnificent crack as they collided again, however Evan soon fell to the ground after Chris followed with a series of blinding strikes.

Evan stood up as Chris had, wiping the sweat off of his forehead. He then took his stance.

"Again?" he asked.

They continued for what seemed like an hour. The two were evenly matched, and it was as if they were taking turns hitting the ground, one after the other. Every now and then Chris noticed the officer regarding them from a distance, burning the side of Chris's head with his gaze.

After several more beatings, Evan stood up for the last time before the officer called for them to stop. Chris looked around, shocked to count only 16 people remaining, including Evan and himself. The lot of them gathered around the officer as he gestured for them all to come over. He cleared his throat before speaking.

"Needless to say," he began, "the reason you're all still here is because you're good. Good enough that I've chosen you out of the 50 that came."

Anxiety was suddenly building within Chris. He actually made it. He'd never even fought a real person before, and he was good enough to make it into training.

"What I'm telling you now is that your life is about to change. I'm assuming you came here to make a difference - to help our nation for the better. Trust me - if you're not up to the training you're about to go through for the next three weeks, it'd be best if you left now."

Nobody moved a muscle. The group stood solemnly, their eyes dead-set on the commander.

"Everybody get in a line," the officer barked.

They all did so very quickly.

"There are 16 of you here," he began. "Platoons consist of eight soldiers. This means that you're going to be split into two platoons."

Everyone looked around, murmuring a bit nervously.

"Now!" He began, quieting everyone down again, "the platoon you're about to be put in is your new family. Without you, your platoon is useless. Without your platoon, you are useless." He looked about the new recruits, looking for any sign of fear.

To be honest, most of them were probably feeling it, but none displayed that fact.

"Is that clear?" He bellowed. Chris and the others all nodded.

"Richard, step forward!" He commanded.

Out of the line, a young man stepped forward. He looked strong, with medium length brown hair and dead-set dark brown eyes. He had a sword, similar to Chris's, strapped to his waist.

"You are the commander of the first platoon! We're going to debrief later so you understand your responsibilities!"

Richard nodded, stepping back in line.

Chris looked to the ground, his heart thumping. The commanders of each platoon weren't volunteers. He wasn't ready to be a commander.

Please, he thought to himself. Not me. Please not me.

"Klein!" The commander bellowed.

Chris looked up to see Klein, the one he had walked beside, step forward. His eyes were like a hawk's - sharp, attentive, and completely steady.

"You are the commander of the second platoon!"

Klein nodded quickly, yet confidently, and stepped back in line.

What skill they must have had to be chosen that quickly as leaders of an entire group.

The group of sixteen was quickly split in two. Chris was relieved to see Evan in his group - since Evan was the only one he really knew. The rest of the day consisted of rough training drills - sword exercises, long runs, and heavy lifting.

3: Chapter 3

Throughout the entire first week, Chris was exhausted. Every night he entered the barracks, accompanied by his other seven platoon members, and effortlessly flopped down onto his mat. At the end of the week, his first impression of the group was positive. They worked well together, and Klein seemed like extremely competent leader. He directed them in drills, yet performed as well, instead of standing looking down his nose at them. He directed decisively, but quickly and with little passion. "Efficient" was the single word Chris would use to describe him. Not only that, but he was an impeccable fighter. He wielded his sword and bow with a swift style that reminded Chris of a snake biting its prey at a precise artery.

It was the eighth day of training when the commander approached Chris individually.

Chris was walking out into the courtyard that morning, stretching his arms, readying himself for yet another day of rigorous work. He was beginning to wonder if he'd still be able to survive the weeks to come. From behind him, however, he heard a deep voice.

"Chris."

Chris stopped abruptly and turned to see the commanding officer.

"Yes, sir?" He replied tentatively, afraid he'd done something wrong.

He raised a hand and beckoned Chris over. Chris obeyed, and followed the officer into an isolated corner, away from the courtyard. He had a rather stern expression on his face, which amplified Chris's fear that he'd done something wrong.

"I'm not one for long explanations. I'll start by saying that I've been observing you all for the past week, and have been trying to make decisions on the roles each of you will play once you're a proper unit."

He stood in silence for a moment. Unable to bear the lull, Chris nodded.

"...Yes?" He said, carefully gesturing for the commander to continue.

"Well, to be honest, you're most likely going to be a proper unit very soon. I'm thinking a few days, in fact."

Chris nodded again, eyes widening.

"You're all very skilled. The reason I have approached you, however, is that I've already decided on your role."

Chris's chest thumped. His role had already been decided? Had he been set apart from everyone else somehow?

"There is a village just a few miles from this city that has reported it has no soldiers garrisoned. The military considers this a problem, as there have been numerous reports of bandits marauding around the area. The village in question is the one your unit shall be assigned to."

"...So, we're like their personal bodyguards?" Chris inquired.

The officer nodded.

"Yes. I am sending you there before the rest of your platoon. Your mission is to get to know the area. Know the terrain, know the weather patterns, know the available resources… And even know the people."

"So I'm like a scout?" Chris asked again.

"Yes, that's your job."

"...When do you want me to go?"

"Right now."

"Right now?" If Chris had been drinking anything, he would've spit it out. He'd been training for one week, and now he was taking on an official mission?

"I've already informed Klein of your mission. Prepare to leave, and inform him when you do so."

"...But I… I have no idea how to even do this sort of-"

"The mission is not a difficult one. You are only to reside there for a short time."

Chris inhaled deeply, collecting himself, then nodded.

"I understand. I'll get ready immediately."

In the heat of the moment, Chris couldn't think of anything he'd need besides food and his sword. ...Maybe paper and charcoal? If he needed to draw maps? He slipped some in the bag, to be safe. Rummaging through his room like a dog looking for its lost bone, he stuffed a random assortment of goods in his bag, and set out to find Klein.

Klein was in the middle of directing the rest of the platoon in weapons drills.

"One!" They jabbed in unison. "Two!" They all performed an overhead swing. "Three, four!" Now it was a forehand swing, accompanied by the complementary swing back.

Chris approached Klein like a sheep wandering into a cow pen. He tapped Klein's shoulder, and Klein stopped mid-swing.

"Yeah?" He asked simply.

"I, uh, I'm ready to go," Chris replied.

Klein gestured for the others to continue swinging.

"Well, good luck. You know how to get there, don't you?"

"Actually no. Not at all."

Klein raised an eyebrow, noticing Chris's apparent concern.

"Take the main road south. When you cross Karys' bridge across the river, follow it east. It's only about one mile from there. Really close to the city, actually. Should only take you a few hours."

Chris's shoulders eased a bit in relief. Klein put his hand on Chris's shoulder.

"Really, it's no big deal. Just relax. If you ask, someone will probably let you sleep in their barn of something."

"Oh. Wonderful," Chris replied, rolling his eyes. He turned to leave.

"Oh, Chris!" Klein called.

Chris turned back to him questioningly.

"The rest of us are going to show up exactly four days after today. We'll be there just a few hours after sunrise. Remember that!"

Chris nodded, making a mental note, and set out.

The scenery on the way was beautiful. Once out of the city, the air was filled with a cool, crisp silence that he'd rarely ever experienced. The air was chilled with the sort of cold that could energized one to the bone. The trees were sprinkled with small traces of snow. The ground had a clean white blanket across it, disrupted only by his own footsteps. It was there, walking along the empty main road, that the nerves that had been building up for hours finally began to settle. For the first time, Chris felt just a little confident.

The confidence was disrupted when he heard a sound to his right. Not stopping, he turned his head, only to notice a lone deer slowly skulking along the thicket. Its head was buried in the grass, nibbling the tall plants. As it noticed Chris's presence, its head shot straight up, and it stood in stony silence. Chris smiled to himself at its absolute terror of him, despite the fact that he meant it no harm.

Ah, here was the river. It was wide, flowing smoothly and freely with great force. Despite the relentless cold and thick blankets of snow, it had no layers of ice encasing it. It continued on, as if the freezing effects of the ice around it were completely meaningless.

Chris suddenly stopped as realization dawned on him. There was no bridge for him to cross. He remembered Klein's clear instructions: follow the main road south, then cross Karys' bridge. ...So where was it?

Chris inhaled deeply.

It's no problem, he told himself. Just walk along the river, and you'll find it.

Klein had said to go east once across the bridge. If Chris walked along the river, he'd simply see the village on the other side. Looking to the sky, he noticed the sun beginning to set in the west, and walked in the opposite direction.

It was another two hours before he started to wonder. Still no bridge. No village, either. It was only supposed to be one mile before he made it to the village - he must have made it countless miles by now.

The sprinkled trees, the blanketed snow, the flowing river - none of these seemed calming to Chris any more. Exasperated, he turned around at a quicker pace.

I must have passed the village already. I just missed it - that's all.

Light began to dwindle along the horizon. Had he been walking so long that the sun was setting already? He looked across the river again, in the hopes of seeing the village he was looking for. Stopping for a second, he pressed his fingers to his forehead.

"Klein said it was one mile east after I crossed the bridge," he said out loud. "I never crossed the bridge! How can I even know if I'm on the right track?"

As if being completely lost on the brink of night wasn't enough reason to panic, Chris heard a distant howl.

Too distant to be any danger, he thought.

Another howl.

Not distant. Very close.

He abandoned any rational thought and ran. Still in the hopes of seeing some form of civilization, he continued dashing alongside the river.

His heart was thumping uncontrollably.

There's nothing close to me, he thought. I'm just overreacting.

As if on cue, Chris noticed a shape running alongside him in the shadows of the trees. A swift, gray, panting shape. Chris breathed harder and ran faster.

The figure, which Chris could now certainly identify as a wolf, began to hungrily close in behind him.

Along with two others that materialized out of the forest.

Wonderful.

Not one now, but three. Three snarling wolves chasing him down like he was the animal. Beads of sweat dripped down the side of his face as raw adrenaline drove him forward. The sun dropped further below the horizon.

Chris's footing wavered as he moved over uneven ground. Looking back at the chasing wolves, he failed to see the gnarled root that his foot caught - and he hit the snow face-first. Collecting himself, he quickly scrambled to his feet, only to be cut off by the three wolves, snarling menacingly at him.

Chris's hand darted to his waist as he drew his sword with a magnificent sound of sliding metal. The wolves didn't seem to relent, as they continued strategically circling him with keen eyes.

Chris's mind raced. If he waited for them, they would all attack at one time and overwhelm him. All he had to do was prove to them that he wasn't worth the trouble.

He leapt outside of his position, swinging wildly at the wolf on his right. He missed deliberately, hoping to scare it off. The other two barked in response, and the wolf in question growled even more fiercely as it crouched down. Chris had to act quickly. Stepping forward once more, he brought his blade horizontally across the wolf's face. It yelped in pain, hobbling as if it couldn't muster the strength to run.

Chris spun to face the other two. Without any warning, one on his left viciously leapt towards him. Instinct drove Chris to shoddily swing his sword in front of him, clipping the side of the animal's body. As it landed clumsily, he turned and stabbed the blade's point into its back. It buckled to the ground, wailing helplessly.

Chris counted himself lucky that they hadn't all attacked at once. Before he could turn around, however, the third hurled itself onto his back, knocking him to the ground. Chris crawled away before it got on top of him, immediately twisting to face it. While Chris was still on the ground however, the wolf ran forward to attack. He pointed his sword tip outward as the animal ran straight into it, barking upon impact.

Chris slowly sat up from his laying position, yanking his blade out of the wolf's chest.

His breaths were shallow and ragged. With all energy drained from his body and the relentless cold setting into his bones, he lay back down - motionless. It was right there - in the evening's deadly cold wind, with the sun still setting gradually, that he lost consciousness.

4: Chapter 4

...Softness. Warmth. Awareness slowly seeped back into Chris’s mind like water slowly funneling into a cup. Strangely enough, he felt safe. Odd sensations filled his mind; that is, ones he didn’t expect. He no longer felt cold, no longer felt the sense of anxious terror. He - he was even smelling… Roast? Roast on an open fire?

    “Mommy, mommy!” A shrill voice pierced through the thick fog of his sleep.

    “Not now, honey,” a softer, older voice responded. “Syl will be back with water soon, then we can eat.”

    The shrill voice expressed displeasure and moved away.

    Chris’s eyes slowly inched open. ...He was in a soft, warm bed. In the small back corner of a wooden house. He sat up slowly, his head and back throbbing in protest. The small, shrill voice spoke up again.

    “Mommy, look!”

    Directly in front of him stood a young girl with short, curly orange hair and lively blue eyes that looked unbelievably large. She only looked about four years old. Towering over her was a woman Chris assumed to be her mother - larger, with similarly orange hair. She was wearing a blue blouse with an apron, and it seemed she had been working on something over the kitchen counter.

    “Oh, my,” the mother exclaimed. “Look who’s woken up.”

    The little girl ran to Chris’s bedside, her wide eyes examining him with innocent curiosity. Chris regarded her, then turned back to the mother.

    “Um, I apologize, but where am I exactly?”

    “Oh, I’m sorry. You’re in our home.” She approached Chris quickly, hand outstretched. “My name’s Anne, but you can call me Mrs. Riven.” Chris shook her hand. “This is my daughter Lucia.”

    The little girl waved enthusiastically, then scampered off to some unknown part of the house.

    “Are you quite alright? You’ve been sleeping hard all day. What were you doing outside all alone?”

    Chris blinked absently, remembering the wolves.

    “It’s… A long story,” he replied, shaking his head. “But… How did I get here, exactly?”

    “Ah, that would be Sylvia, our oldest daughter. Found you unconscious in the snow, she did. Now, why don’t you get up and-”

    A knock sounded from the door, and it creaked open.

    “Hello? Mom? I’m home!” Through the door stepped what looked like a young woman, though the hood of her thick overcoat covered most of her face. She lifted it back once inside the house, and Chris was immediately enchanted. She resembled the rest of the family: long, orange hair; bright, emerald green eyes; fair skin with just the faintest freckles along her cheeks… She was absolutely beautiful. Chris eventually realized he had just lost himself staring at her. He quickly shook himself out of the trance as Mrs. Riven spoke up.

    “Oh, Sylvia, the man’s just woken up.”

    “Oh, really?” Sylvia set down the wooden bucket she’d been carrying in her left hand. She then walked over to where Chris was laying, a welcoming smile on her face.

    “Are you all right? You were laying face down in the snow when I found you.”

    “I feel a little sore,” he responded, smiling back, “but I’ll be fine.” He paused briefly. “Did you… carry me all the way back here?”

    She nodded. “Well, it wouldn’t have been right to just leave you there to die, would it?”

    “Yeah, I guess not,” Chris answered, realizing he would have done the same.

    “What’s your name?” Sylvia asked.

Mrs. Riven stepped back into the kitchen, taking no further part in the conversation.

    “Chris. And you’re Sylvia, as I’ve been told?”

    “Yes, that’s me. Can I ask what exactly you were doing outside, in the freezing cold? At night?”

    Chris looked down. For some reason his subconscious wouldn’t reveal, he wasn’t sure he should tell her. Revealing the nature of his mission wasn’t necessarily dangerous, but he felt the urge to keep it secret.

    “It’s a long story,” he answered simply. “I’d been walking for quite a while, looking for a place to stay, but I-”

    “Those wolves had attacked you, hadn’t they?”

    “What?”

    “There were three dead wolves around you. I assumed they attacked you.”

    “...Yeah, they did. I just got lucky, I guess. But I am glad you found me. Thanks.”

    She smiled back at him. “It was no problem.”

    At that moment, the door opened yet again. Two larger men stepped through, one looking to be in his forties, and the other much younger, maybe a year or two older than Chris himself. The older man had short graying black hair, with just a few wrinkles visible on his face. His eyes were the same light blue as Lucia’s, and his body looked solid and muscular, like his job entailed some kind of physical labor.

    The younger man beside him looked like a younger version of the same person. He had short black hair, but no gray, with lighter green eyes, like Sylvia’s.

    Chris assumed the two had been out working together. They were both strong and muscular, and were breathing as if they’d been working themselves fairly well.

    “I smell food!” The older man exclaimed, his face splitting in a grin. Mrs. Riven came and hugged him, the younger man moving on to the middle room of the house.

    “Looks like our man’s woken up!” Mr. Riven exclaimed - at least that’s who Chris assumed he was.

    He approached Chris briskly and shook his hand, Sylvia having to step aside to make space. The hand felt rough and leathery, like it had been shaped by years of experience.

    “Ben Riven, young fella! Or Mr. Riven, if you want.”

    “I’m Chris,” Chris responded, nodding.

    “Dinner’s on!” Mrs. Riven’s voice called from across the house.

    “Come eat with us if you want, Chris,” Mr. Riven said, walking around the corner. Sylvia followed, gesturing for Chris to get up. Chris sat upright, his back meekly protesting the movement. He then stood slowly, walking around the corner into the next room. There was the dining table at the front with the whole family of five around it, then what looked like a living area in the back of the room. Lucia happily pushed an extra stool up for Chris.

    Chris hesitantly sat down, placing himself with Mr. Riven on his left and Sylvia on his right. The meal was a simple one, a roast that had been spun over the fire, and a basket with chunks of bread on the other side.

    “Oh, right,” Mr. Riven began, “you haven’t met Jacob yet, our son.”

    Jacob looked up from across the table, simply waving.

    Chris responded, waving back. He understood the type. Not much for talking.

    “So, Chris,” Mrs. Riven began, “as long as you’re here, why don’t you tell us your story?”

    Chris still hesitated. Although everyone was still casually going about the meal, all their eyes were on him.

    “Well, I…” Chris’s mind fought to retrieve something. “...It really is a long story.”

    “Well, no better time to tell one than at a meal,” Mr. Riven said.

    Chris fought the urge to hide the truth. There wasn’t any point in it.

    “Do you want the whole story,” Chris started, “or just how I got here?”

    “Like I said,” Mr. Riven repeated, “no better time for long stories.”

    “Well, I came from Kerdon,” Chris began. Kerdon was the name of Krendale’s capital city, where Chris had lived and trained. “I lived with my grandfather.”

    “You don’t have parents?” Sylvia asked.

    That was a topic Chris was used to explaining.

    “My father was a soldier. He’d been one for years, but he eventually stopped sending letters home when I was around three years old. My mother went looking for him. Never came back.”

    No one responded to that. They were all looking with sympathetic eyes.

    The urge to hide the truth came back. Chris didn’t know why, but he spoke on impulse.

    “Anyway, he’s been getting old lately. Eventually he said that there wasn’t any point in him looking after me, so he sent me out to ‘master a trade’ or something. He told me that I should have a shot at my own life, and that he’d always be there if I came knocking again.”

    “Wait,” Jacob interjected. “He just sent you out into the wild by yourself?”

    “Something like that, yeah,” Chris responded. Jacob’s eyes were skeptical. “I had only just left the city yesterday, when I was attacked by that wolf pack. Luckily my grandfather had given me that sword, so I was okay.” Chris gestured back to the bed, where his sword leaned against the wall.

    “You didn’t look okay to me,” Sylvia responded.

    “Well, just having a sword didn’t mean I was any good with it. I guess I mean I’m lucky I didn’t die.”

    “Well, that’s certainly true,” Mr. Riven said. “So, to put it simply, Chris, you’re a traveler with no particular goal in mind?”

    “Yes, sir,” Chris responded. “Just looking for a place where I can support myself.”

    “Well, as long as you can earn your keep, you’re welcome here as long as you like.”

    “Really?” Chris answered, a small bit surprised. He looked around the room, everyone giving looks of confirmation - excluding Jacob. His eyes still communicated suspicion. “Thank you all,” Chris said.

    The rest of the meal was small talk. Rather boring in Chris’s opinion, but he finished the night with a full stomach. As the night grew late, the family began to turn in. When the question was raised of where Chris would sleep, they decided he could stay in the same corner that he’d slept in already.

    “Good night, Chris,” Sylvia said, as she was the last of the family to go to bed.

    “Good night,” Chris answered. Once she left, Chris was left laying in his bed, the room blanketed in darkness. As he closed his eyes, he found that he had to make a deliberate effort to keep them that way. He’d been sleeping the whole day, and now his body couldn’t relax.

    Why had he lied to them? They’d welcomed him into their home without knowing a single thing about who he was - something that no ordinary family would be willing to do. They’d communicated that he was welcome, so what was the point in hiding his position as a soldier?

    Because these people may not want a soldier in their home, he told himself. With that, he forced his eyes shut again.

    They shot back open the next morning. He jerked himself up, the fog of sleep quickly scattering out of his head. The light of day had just scarcely begun to peer through the windows of the house.

    Without much hesitation, Chris stepped out the door into the biting breeze. He had his sword strapped to his side, simply because he’d been drilled to take it everywhere.

You can never predict a time when you’ll need it. His grandfather had taught him that at an early age.

    Now that the break of dawn had just peeked over the horizon, Chris could see various buildings scattered across the flat landscape. It was a small village, just as he’d expected.

    Upon observation, Chris noticed that the town was made up of only two rows of small buildings. To be honest, it looked less like a village and more like a small commune.

But is it the one you’re looking for? He asked himself. It had to be. There were no other villages around this area.

He turned briskly back around. As long as he was up, he might as well run through some more sword drills. Just because he wasn’t in training anymore didn’t mean he could become undisciplined.

    Upon turning around, Chris noticed the roofed woodshed attached to the side of the house. Seeing it as a potential spot to run his drills, he drew his sword and stepped around the corner.

    Jacob was inside the shed, hatchet in hand, with an enormous stack of lumber behind him. He brought it down onto a wide stump, cleaving the log he’d set up perfectly in two. He regarded Chris, standing up straight.

    “Nice sword you’ve got there,” he said, gesturing towards it with the hatchet.

    Chris awkwardly examined the blade, pretending to have forgotten he had it. “Yeah, nice. Thanks. ...Shiny.” He lowered the sword again. He’d been caught red-handed with it.

    “I thought you just carried that thing for protection,” Jacob said, a tad bit condescending. “Afraid I’m gonna hurt you?”

    “Well, no,” Chris stuttered, looking for a fake story. “I was, uh… Just-”

    Jacob raised his free hand to cut him off, stepping towards him slowly.

    “Listen. I know a soldier when I see one. You’ve even got the typical uniform - and no traveler goes walking around with a sword like that.”

    Chris held Jacob’s eye contact. He’d figured it out, and Chris accepted it, not responding.

    “We’re not going to kick you out or anything. Just being a soldier doesn’t make you suspicious.” Jacob took a small step forward. “Trying to hide it from us does.”

    “Yeah, I know,” Chris replied. “Sorry. I didn’t really have a reason to keep it a secret. It was just a feeling.”

    “A feeling?”

    “Well, I was told that some people didn’t like soldiers. You know, thought they attract danger.”

    Jacob nodded, then knelt down to pick up a second hatchet on the ground next to him. “I could understand that.” He held the handle out towards Chris. “Here, I could use some help.”

    “Alright,” Chris agreed, re-sheathing his sword at his side. He took the hatchet, then noticed there wasn’t a second stump for his to split wood on.

    “There’s another one behind the house,” Jacob said, his hand pointing past the wall of the shed. He gestured to the stack of wood behind him. “Just carry it back and forth.”

    Chris nodded, walking over and gathering an armful of logs. Then, walking out and around the corner, he spotted the stump and got to work.

    The two of them worked for an hour, Chris chopping and hauling the smaller pieces back to the shed. He and Jacob nodded to each other each time.

    Chris had taken Jacob for a somber quiet type, but it turned out he was simply an honest person with little room for false pleasantry. Chris respected his hard-working attitude, as well.

    “How much of this stuff are we supposed to chop?” Chris asked, bringing around another arm-full for what seemed like the 20th time.

    Jacob’s hatchet fell on another log. “As much as we can before breakfast,” he replied.

    Chris nodded, then headed back around the corner.

    “If you two want any breakfast, now’s the time for it.”

    Chris turned back around to see Sylvia peering around the corner. She turned back towards the front of the house, Chris and Jacob dropping their hatchets and following.

    Just as the night before, everybody sat around the small table. The mood, however, felt much dimmer than it had. Nobody spoke much - not even little Lucia was chattering like she was. Chris figured that he should tell everybody what Jacob had discovered about him, but couldn’t bring himself to pierce the silence. Come to think of it, he wondered why Jacob hadn’t told them already.

    Before he was done pondering, everyone had finished eating. People were leaving the table, getting set for whatever it is they did during the day. Chris figured there was some routine to the family, but he had no clue what it was. He continued sitting, feeling out of place.

    Jacob and Ben made for the door, putting on thick coats and gloves.

    “We’re heading out,” Ben said. “Keep the fire warm for us when we get home!”

    After they shut the door behind them, Chris turned to Sylvia.

    “Where did they go?”

    “Work,” Sylvia said, walking past the table, towards the door. She pulled her thick hooded coat off of the wall. “Come on, I’ll show you around the village.”

5: Chapter 5

The glacial freeze attacked Chris as soon as he stepped outside. The village looked a little more alive now, as people were up and wandering from here to there. It was a much different atmosphere than the bustling chaos of Kerdon. Sylvia walked down the steps in front of him, and he followed.

    “This village is extremely small,” Chris said. “How do you all survive?”

    “We all support each other,” she said, turning back to him. “It’s a wonderful thing, really. If everyone has an assigned task, then we all get along just fine.”

    “So, ” Chris responded, “how does that work, exactly?”

    “Well,” she began, rounding the house back to the woodshed that Jacob and Chris had been working, “for example, Dad and Jacob collect wood. That’s what our family does. Fortunately, everybody else needs wood, so we can trade it for what we need.” She went to the back of the shed, where she rolled out a large wheelbarrow.

    “I see,” Chris said, nodding.

    “That’s what we’re doing now, by the way,” she gestured to the wheelbarrow. “Let’s get this filled.”

    Chris hurriedly began piling the chopped wood into his arms, loading it into the container.

    Sylvia walked ahead, waving for Chris to follow. Chris hoisted the thing up onto its wheel and rolled after her.

    They made their way across the middle of the village, passing other men and women as they went. Many waved as Sylvia passed, nodding or giving a quick “morning” as they went by. Chris received none of it. No one said anything to him outright, but he was certainly out of place, getting a few raised eyebrows and even a double take from an older man with a moustache.

    “People here,” Chris said to Sylvia, “certainly seem to like you a lot more than they like me.” He asked it as a question, but he quickly realized the answer was obvious - what was not to like about Sylvia? A well known, kind-hearted, beautiful girl walking through town was sure to get more attention than some never-before-seen stranger.

    “Well that’s because they know me, silly,” she said, turning her head back to him. “In a town as small as this, people are surprised to see someone they don’t recognize. ...Ah, here we are!”

    They approached an insignificant wooden house.

Shaped just about like every other in town, Chris thought. How can this village be so simple?

    Sylvia walked lightly up the steps, quickly tapping the front door three times. Chris still stood with the wheelbarrow.

    Just a few seconds passed before the door clicked and swung open, revealing a bald man wearing a white apron over his warm brown coat. To Chris, he seemed  to be in his forties somewhere. A smile spread itself across his face upon seeing Sylvia.

    “Ah, Ms. Sylvia! What a pleasant surprise! What can I do for you?”

    “Just a stack of wood for our daily cuts of meat, Mr. Woltman!”

    “Ah, of course, miss. Be right out with it.”

    He turned back inside, the door latching behind him.

    “So we just do this to get whatever we need for the day?” Chris asked.

    “Every day,” Sylvia said, turning around.

    “That’s… incredibly convenient.”

    The door clicked back open, Mr. Woltman coming back out with two slabs of some kind of raw meat, each hung on a metal hook. He then stepped down the stairs towards the wheelbarrow.

    “I’ll just be needing four or five today, I think,” he said. “Who’s this new fellow, by the way?” He extended his hand to Chris.

    “Chris,” Chris replied, clasping hands with the man.

    “And how’d you end up around our parts, Chris?”

    “Well, it’s an interesting story, really,” Chris began.

    “Interesting is an appropriate way to put it,” Sylvia cut in. “I was on my way to the river just two days ago, collecting water, when I found this one face first in the snow, unconscious.”

    “Really?” Woltman replied, seeming fascinated. He began loading wood into his arms. “What were you doing out there, might I ask?”

    “He’d love to tell you all about it, Mr. Woltman,” Sylvia hastily replied, “but my mother wanted these cuts right away. I’ll see you tomorrow!”

    “...Well, I look forward to it!” He replied, reluctantly accepting the end of the conversation and heading back into the house.

    Chris eyed Sylvia, confused. “Why’d you cut him off so quickly?”

    She tilted her head, also seeming confused. “I thought you didn’t want anyone to know you were a soldier.”

    Chris raised his eyebrows. So Jacob had told her.

    “It’s not hard to figure out, Chris,” she said. “I found you with a sword strapped to your waist, and for goodness sake, you’re wearing a uniform.”

    Chris shrugged - he was a terrible liar. “I don’t really know why I kept it secret,” he said. “I just wasn’t sure people would appreciate a soldier in their midst.”

    “Actually Chris, people should be happy you’re here. we’ve been in need of soldiers lately.”

    Chris remembered what his sergeant had said. Bandit problem.

    “...So I’ve been told. There’s a group of bandits nearby, right?”

    Sylvia’s face suddenly grew less cheerful.

    “Yes,” she said. “They’ve been growing more aggressive lately, and…”

    “How often do you see them?” Chris asked. He figured now was as good a time as any to gather some information on them. Once the rest of his squad arrived, they’d need to know what they were up against.

    “They used to come less frequently, but lately… They’ve been coming more.”

    Chris nodded. He noticed she was growing less comfortable as she spoke.

    “Come on,” Chris gestured, taking hold of the wheelbarrow and starting back across the village. “Tell me more on the way back. Everything. When did it start? How long has it been going on?”

    “It started just a few months ago,” she began. “I still remember the first time it happened. They came barreling down in a group of eight, carrying swords, axes, what you’d expect. They started demanding that we give up protection fees.” She hesitated, obviously disturbed a bit by the memory. “We’d never experienced any of this before, so… We just did. We hoped they wouldn’t return… Hoped that they were just passing through. Every few weeks, though, they’d be back. There wasn’t anything we could do to fight them.”

    “So you’ve been losing things to them ever since,” Chris finished.

    She nodded somberly. “We managed to pull through at the beginning… But now we’re running low. We don’t think we can make it much longer with so little. We thought about resisting… They hadn’t hurt anybody up to that point.”

    “Up to that point?” Chris asked. “...What did they do?”

    “It was Dallan, our village blacksmith. He spoke out against, them, told them to leave.” She paused. “So they held him down and broke his arm.”

    “Someone should have sent help earlier,” Chris said. “I’m sorry they didn’t.”

    Sylvia shook her head. “I’m just thankful they didn’t kill him - I thought for sure that they would. ...And I’m still not certain that they won’t.”

    “You said they’ve been acting more aggressively?”

    Sylvia nodded. “They take more each time, too. They say that if we value our lives, we’ll stay silent and do as they say.”

    Chris and Sylvia slowed to a stop, having arrived back at the woodshed.

    “Thanks for telling me all this, Sylvia,” Chris said. “There’s not much I can do alone, but the other seven are arriving in just a few days. Hopefully then, we’ll be able to drive them off.”

    Sylvia started, her eyes suddenly gleaming. “Other seven? You mean there are more!?”

    Chris was startled as she tackled him in a joyous hug. Had he failed to mention that?

    “Chris, that’s wonderful!” she exclaimed, releasing him quickly enough. Chris’s chest thumped like a galloping horse. “I figured you were investigating our problem, but I had no idea they’d sent an entire platoon!”

She had the most radiant smile.

    “Well, uh, they did,” he replied, nervously running his hand through his hair.

    Every time he looked at her, it was the softest, most beautiful slap to the face he could ever ask for. It was like he forgot what she looked like, only to be completely overwhelmed when he looked back. He couldn’t even glance at her without steeling himself first.

...And of course, he could feel his face turning red, too. Great.

    Sylvia’s mother appeared from around the corner.

    “Sylvia, dear, would mind coming inside to help me for a minute?”

    “Yes, mother,” she replied, still grinning. Her mother looked a bit confused.

    “What are you grinning for? Is there something going on that I don’t know about?” She winked at Chris.

    Sylvia’s face quickly turned to a beet red shade.

    “...What? NO! I mean - I’ll tell you inside!” She turned to walk into the house.

    “Anything I can help with?” Chris asked as Mrs. Riven turned to leave.

    “Not that I can think of Chris, but thank you.”

Chris’s legs nearly buckled as Mrs. Riven turned to go back inside. He could even feel blood pulsing through his head as his heart throbbed. Why was he so nervous around Sylvia? She was just a girl - granted, she was the kindest and most beautiful girl he’d known, but it still didn’t seem right to just melt like that.

He stepped into the shed, sliding his hands down his face and breathing out heavily. He just needed to clear his head. Time to go check out the forest around the village. For that, he would need his paper and charcoal.

---

Walking through the forest in the brisk, cold air did help clear his head. Snow had fallen again the previous night, as the ground was covered in fresh blankets of smooth, crystal white.

He’d decided to walk to the north, and map out the general area where he’d gotten lost. Finding the bridge he’d missed before would help, too.

Chris wasn’t the best person to draw a map. He drew vague straight lines as he walked, hoping he could keep proportions straight. He just didn’t have that sense of distance that other artists had. The pathway he walked on was much narrower than the main road he’d taken from Kerdon. There was no established road, just compact and solid snow where everybody stepped. It had been forged simply by people walking on it, rather than being built by workers.

Light traces of snow began to fall from the clouds. It helped him relax even further, looking up into the sky - the endless stretch of snowflakes falling to settle on the earth.

Chris smiled. Many people in Kerdon would be whining about the snow. It was the exact opposite environment - yet he felt completely comfortable.

His mind wandered as he stepped through the forest’s path. He’d been walking for about 20 minutes now. How long did it take to reach the river? An hour?

A twigged snapped in the bush to his right, and Chris stopped. Turning, he saw nothing there. The thought recurred to him that the bandits were set up near the village. He dismissed the thought, trying to think rationally. The villagers went this way to get water regularly - and if the bandits occupied this side of the river, then nobody would ever use the path.

    The bush rustled again, and a small, brown squirrel came darting out, scurrying up a tree.

    Chris snorted, taking a more relaxed posture.

    “Be quiet, won’t you?” he mumbled. “I thought you were trying to kill me.”

    He turned away, wondering why he was even talking to it. He really did need to take a walk to relax.

    The path widened as he continued on, and he could finally hear water running ahead.

    As he walked, his thoughts turned to the people in the village. Just how accepted was he, really? The Riven family had taken him in a heartbeat. As he’d walked through the village, however, he got funny looks.

    Chris slowed his pace, finally having arrived at the river. He looked about, still not seeing a bridge of any kind. ...It did exist, right? Klein had even named it. Karys’ bridge.

    He’d need to find it in order to make an accurate map - not that he expected it to be accurate anyway, with his lack of drawing skills.

    Chris thought back to Klein’s original instructions. The village was supposed to be east of the bridge, so in order to find it, he should go west now.

    Chris continued to walk in that direction, the sound of natural flowing water soothing his nerves even further. Taking nature walks was therapeutic - he made a note  to himself to do it more often.

    There it was! The bridge was made of light- colored wood, which Chris couldn’t see until he got closer because it was sheeted in snow, and it had a thin guard rail and a slight arc to it. As he approached the bridge, he stepped onto the bank of the river, carefully sitting down on the snow to draw his map.

    ...Well, to at least attempt it. He started scrawling out lines that depicted the path he’d taken to reach the river. He didn’t even try for detail - just the lines that would accurately represent the distances and directions needed to get from place to place. After a few smudges and numerous unintentional off-shooting lines, he figured he had it done well enough.

    All he had was a set of lines for the road, and some for the river. What he needed to know was where the bandits had their camp set up. Unfortunately, looking for it would be a deathwish until his platoon arrived. If they knew where it was, it might be possible to get the jump on the bandits and clear them out…

    ...What was he saying? A platoon full of brand new soldiers that had never fought a single person for real before?

    Chris stood up, stuffing his “map” in his pocket and running his hand through his hair in thought. These bandits actually meant business; they had real weapons, and they’d almost certainly killed people before. Could his platoon really just take out a band of practiced killers?

    That’s what you’re supposed to find out, he told himself.

    He’d gotten himself worked up again with his own thoughts. He tightened his hand around the sword at his waist and drew it with a metallic ring -

    - And spotted someone. A man on the other side of the river. Big, muscular, with a torn up, old shirt… And a battle axe that was held in both hands.

    Chris jerked himself to a stop, catching his breath in his throat, going dead still. This man and everything about him communicated that he was dangerous. He eyed Chris, weapon held low and steadily, neither of them moving for what seemed like minutes.

    Chris needed to get out. He looked from the bandit to the bridge - and back to the bandit again. Was he going to cross it, maybe make an aggressive move?

    Chris had to communicate that he didn’t want a fight. Still holding the man’s gaze, he stood up straight, slowly sheathing his sword. He then raised his hands in an innocent gesture, slowly stepping back towards the thicket of trees.

    The bandit took a slightly more relaxed posture - but he still looked dangerous. Chris kept slowly stepping back. The man slowly and reluctantly lowered his axe, watching Chris go. Once out of sight, Chris turned, walking very quickly back to the village.

6: Chapter 6

Chris’s pulse still hadn’t settled by the time he reached the village . Now that it was later in the day, things certainly looked less busy. Some of the villagers still walked about, running their errands for the afternoon. On the whole, though, it looked like the day was about done.

    Chris briskly walked down the slope leading into the village. He didn’t feel self- conscious at all anymore. He didn’t even notice or care if anyone was looking at him; he’d had enough excitement for the day already.

    As he approached the Riven household, he found Sylvia and Lucia on the front steps by the door. Lucia was rolling in the snow, laughing cheerfully and obviously having the time of her life. Sylvia simply sat on the steps, watching with a smile on her face.

    Chris approached, and Lucia sat up, seeing him for the first time.

    “Chris!” She squealed, standing and scampering over to him. She dove and tackled his leg, giggling mischievously. Chris tried to keep walking, dragging her across the snow with him like she was a koala latched onto a tree trunk.

    Sylvia leaned backwards, laughing at the sight.

    “Well, I’m glad at least one person in this town likes me,” Chris remarked, still pulling Lucia along like some inanimate object that had snagged onto his pant leg.

    Lucia let go as Chris moved to sit down by Sylvia, running off and diving headfirst into the snow.

    “She really does light up the day, doesn’t she?” Chris asked, watching as Lucia started forming a small snowball.

    Sylvia nodded warmly. “I look forward to coming outside with her. It’s like… She can just erase any worries you have. She really does have an infectious attitude.”

    “Most kids are like that, I think,” Chris said. He reached back into his pocket, retrieving the ‘map’ that he’d attempted to outline. He flattened it out a bit, holding it up for Sylvia to see. “Speaking of things that cheer you up, what do you think of this monster?”

    She covered her mouth, laughing out loud. Such a melodious laugh it was.

    “It’s outstanding,” she said sarcastically. “You truly are a master.”

    Chris looked back down at the crumpled thing. “Yeah, I figure cartography isn’t really my calling.” He put it back in his pocket, having to shift awkwardly on the stairs. “To be fair, I was sort of cut off.”

    “Oh, how so? More wolves jump on you?” She asked jokingly.

    “Well, not exactly,” Chris replied, nervously running his hand through his hair. “I ran into a bandit on the other side of the river.”

    Sylvia’s expression fell. Really fell. Every bit of warmth and joy of the conversation died instantly - like sticking a pin into a balloon.

    “...What do you mean ran into?” She asked anxiously. “Did they attack you?”

    “No, nothing like that,” Chris answered hastily. “I just saw one on the other side. He was large - muscular. Had a big battle axe?”

    She nodded, swallowing nervously.

    Chris could see the anxiety - the fear in her eyes. She had been so happy, so friendly. A single mention of the bandits had so vigorously unsettled her.

    “I’ve seen that one,” she said. “He comes with the leaders that steal from us. He’s not in charge, but he’s always there with them.”

    Chris looked again to Lucia, obliviously forming a miniature snow man with her little hands. She was so cheerful and carefree - a stark contrast to the situation this village was really in.

    “I worry for her,” Sylvia said quietly, suddenly changing the subject.

    Chris turned to look at her, his eyes questioning.

    “She’s so innocent and exposed,” she continued. “Those bandits come so often now… She could be hurt so easily.”

    Chris had known from the beginning that Sylvia was a kind, selfless person. Time and again, he found his initial assumptions exceeded and completely shattered. She wasn’t afraid for herself - she was afraid for her little sister.

    “Sylvia,” Chris said reassuringly, “that won’t happen. I’ll try to protect her as best I can.”

    Try. Chris just wanted to be comforting, but the same statement resounded in his head:

    You’re brand new. These are practiced killers. Did he really have any power over them?

    Not alone. But you won’t have to be alone much longer.

    Sylvia looked at him with comforted eyes. It was a look of sincere thanks, yet a look that filled Chris with guilt. He just wasn’t sure.

    A snowball pelted Chris in the face, followed by Lucia’s high-pitched laugh.

    “Snowball fight!” She squealed.

    “Oh, now you’ve done it, Lucia,” Chris said, smiling and leaning down to form up a snowball of his own.

---

    Chris lay in the woodshed, darkness having enveloped the village outside. He’d asked to have a mat moved out there, so he could sleep in the open. It was freezing cold, but for some reason, he felt that it would be helpful. He’d argued that he could spot anything dangerous coming, or would be alerted if bandits invaded in the night.

    It was completely impractical, but it helped Chris’s conscience.

    After he’d let Lucia wallop him in the snowball fight, Chris had spent the rest of the afternoon helping Mrs. Riven fix up the evening meal. In doing so, he realized how comfortable he’d become around the family in such a short time. He’d only been with them for two days now, and the majority of the first had been spent unconscious in their house. Now it was as if he’d known them for some time.

Chris settled down on his mat, silently listening as the breeze swept through the trees just outside the village. His eyes drifted close, and his mind wasted no time slipping into a deep sleep.

---

    Whack.

    Chris jumped awake, startled by the sudden noise. He tore his blanket off, eyes scanning for -

Jacob was in the shed, splitting wood like he had the day before. Chris sighed, flopping back down onto his mat.

“Well, I had to wake you up somehow,” Jacob said, his voice lacking any sympathy. He picked up another block of wood, bringing his axe down and splitting it cleanly in two.

“As long as you’re not trying to kill me, I’m fine,” Chris groaned, standing up begrudgingly. Chris had no clue how early in the day it was, but the sun had risen, so he made his way to the wood pile and grabbed another hatchet. Jacob hadn’t asked for any help, but Chris figured it wouldn’t hurt to make a habit of it. He went around the back of the shed to the other stump, setting of a block of wood to split in half.

Today was the third day after he’d left Kerdon. His platoon would arrive the day after tomorrow. Hopefully, the bandits would decide to hold off on their marauding until then.

Unlikely, Chris thought to himself. If they did decide to attack, what would he do? He’d thought about it more times than he’d wanted to, and the only thing he could come up with was to cooperate with them. He couldn’t just fight them; it would be one man with a sword against four or five experienced murderers.

Giving the bandits what they wanted was not a good option, but it was a scenario in which everybody stayed alive. That was good enough for Chris.

...But what if they actually attacked? Sylvia had said that they’d been more aggressive as of late. Chris tried not to think about that possibility.

Piling up his fresh stack of newly split wood, he made his way over to the shed, plopping his small pile onto the bigger one.

Jacob acknowledged him, slicing yet another block directly in half.

He hadn’t said anything to Chris about the bandits. He’d only heard about them from Sylvia. What did he think?

“Hey, Jacob,” Chris began.

Jacob looked up after he split another block, his expression telling Chris to continue.

Chris knew Jacob didn’t like dancing around a subject. “Can you tell me what you know about these bandits that keep coming down here?”

Jacob stood up straighter, exhaling deeply through his nose.

“What have you heard of them, so far?” He asked brusquely, bending down to move his pile of wood. Chris couldn’t quite read his reaction.

“Well, nothing very useful, honestly. Sylvia just told me that they steal the village’s resources. And they’ve been acting more aggressively.”

“That much is certainly true,” Jacob hissed.

That tone of voice made it clearer to Chris. Sylvia’s reaction to the bandit’s mention had been fear and worry. Jacob’s was anger.

“To put it simply,” Jacob continued, dropping his wood on the pile and moving nearer to Chris, “they come down here and demand most of the things we’ve built or collected. Usually food and weapons. Doesn’t matter to them that we need it; they’re happy to just leave us with nothing and let us die.”

Chris nodded. He knew Jacob didn’t care at all about avoiding touchy subjects. He approached everything in a straight manner.

“So long as I’ve been here, though,” Chris questioned, “there’s been plenty of food and supplies for everybody.”

“They haven’t been here for a few days,” Jacob replied. “After some time, we bounce back. Right after they come, though, we eat less than half of what we normally would for two or three days.”

“How long has it been?”

“Since they last came?” Jacob shrugged. “I don’t keep track. It feels like almost a week, though.” He leaned down to set another block on his stump, then stopped. “It’s longer than they usually wait. I’d say they’re due back any day now.”

Great, Chris thought. He prayed it wouldn’t be for two more days.

Sylvia came around the corner of the shed. “Food’s ready!”

This time around, the conversation among the family was much cheerier. For starters, they discussed their plans for the day, which Chris honestly didn’t see much point in. It seemed like the family had the same daily routine. Everybody finished up their food, then Jacob and Mr. Riven stood, getting set to leave.

“Try to get something useful done today,” Sylvia remarked jokingly as they stepped out the door.

    “Goodbye to you too, Syl,” Jacob snapped back, setting off into the cold.

    Chris sat in silence for a second, slightly confused by that little exchange.

    “So…” he began, “I assume we’ll be doing more trading today?”

    Sylvia walked to the door, unhooking her large fur coat.

    “Not right away,” she said, pulling it over herself. “I’m going to collect water first, for mom.”

    “From the river up north?” He asked. “Mind if I come?”

    “Not at all,” she responded. “Why?”

    Chris shrugged. “No reason,” he lied. “I just don’t have anything else to do.”

7: Chapter 7

Rays from the golden sunrise pierced their way through the tree branches as they walked the forest path. For the first time since Chris had arrived at the village, the sky had cleared and the sun shone majestically over the frozen landscape, warming his soul to the core as his feelings of worry and uncertainty melted like flakes of ice.

He and Sylvia each carried a bucket in their right hand. Another good reason for Chris to come along - they could bring twice as much water back.

Chris tipped his head upwards, feeling the cold breeze on his face.

"Does walking this way relax you the same way it does me?" Chris asked, not looking back down.

Sylvia tilted her head to him. "I suppose. Collecting water can be a good excuse to come out here, sometimes."

"I had no idea how soothing it was," Chris said, looking down now at his feet imprinting the snow. "I mean, growing up in such a large city."

"What's it like?" She asked.

"What's it like?" Chris repeated, pondering. What was a good way to sum up city life?

"You know how when you wake up and go outside in the morning," he began, "you nod, wave and say hello to practically everyone you see?"

Sylvia nodded. "Well, I really do know everyone. Wouldn't it be rude not to?"

"Exactly," Chris replied, "except in Kerdon, the only people I really knew were my grandfather and maybe a few neighbors.

"Didn't you have any friends your own age?" She asked.

"Well, I did," Chris remembered, "come to think of it. When I was much younger. I'd play with some other kids across the street."

"But when you got older?" She asked. "Why did you stop?"

"I didn't stop, exactly," he replied. "When they all got old enough, their parents sent them to school. My grandfather was training me to be a soldier, so I stayed behind."

"That must have been lonely," Sylvia answered.

"It wasn't bad," Chris answered. "I didn't have much time to play around, anyway. My grandfather was a pretty ruthless trainer - he had me working throughout each entire day."

"He fought with you?"

"No, he had me perfect the forms and techniques through drills… And I mean perfect. He kept lecturing me about how being the best required ten thousand hours of experience."

"I'm assuming you don't have that much," she said.

Chris laughed. "Of course not. If I did, I'd be in charge of the entire army up in the city."

"But they sent you here instead," she responded. "Why did they send you alone?"

"I'm still not exactly sure of that myself," Chris answered. "My instructions were to 'know the terrain, know the weather patterns, know the available resources… And even know the people.' I guess it's so the others have an easier time familiarizing themselves and settling in when they get here."

"So would right now count as you getting to know the people?" She said, a smile spreading across her face.

"I suppose you could call it that if you want to," he said, smiling back. "Speaking of which, you've lived in this village your whole life, haven't you?"

She nodded. "Ever since I was born."

"And you thought my life in the city was lonely?" He remarked.

"To be honest, it can be, sometimes," she responded. "I love my family and all, and everyone in the village is kind to me… But every now and then, I just wish I had someone I could relate to more."

"I know the feeling," Chris said. "You ever thought about visiting the big city?"

"Oh, I've been there," she said, laughing and shaking her head. "I can't stand it. It's chaos."

"Oh, come on," Chris replied, "you just have to get used to it."

"I'd rather not have to, thank you very much."

"You just said the village could get lonely," he said. "But you're not willing to go anywhere with more people?"

"The only place nearby with more people is in a constant state of bustling frenzy," she said. "Along with that, you're here now. I do have someone my own a…"

Sylvia froze where she stood, unmoving. Chris stopped beside her, tilting his head in confusion. Her eyes wandered up and down the path freely, yet she looked focused. Did she hear something?

"Sylvia?" Chris asked quietly. "What's wr-"

She broke into a sprint, tackling and shoving him off of the path and into a thick layer of bushes. He landed straight on his back with a thud, Sylvia flat on top of him.

He struggled to get his breath back, as the landing had knocked the wind out of his lungs.

"Sylvia!" He coughed, "what are you-"

"Shh!" She shushed him, placing her hand firmly over his mouth. She raised her other finger to her own mouth. She turned her head to try to look behind her, but with the bushes enveloping them both, nothing could be seen. She turned back, her eyes fixed to a random spot on the ground as she listened.

"Hear that?" She mouthed silently, not looking at Chris.

Chris listened intently. He heard faint footsteps - very faint, but approaching. How had she heard that?

Sylvia tilted her head ever so slightly, meeting Chris's eyes.

...And his breath caught in his throat. His pulse stopped completely for a split second - only to continue at a galloping pace. He'd been frustrated that he kept falling for her like that, yet...

Those eyes were mesmerizing. Chris lost himself entirely, staring at her eye to eye - he'd never seen such breathtaking beauty. It was natural, attractive, like a lake glittering with reflected sunlight or a creamy orange sunset over an open ocean. Her features were soft, yet fine - like a sculpture that was somehow carved out of the air itself.

It was silent, and Chris could hear nothing besides his own pulse and the sound of Sylvia's light breathing.

His subconscious vaguely registered the footsteps growing nearer - the eye contact didn't waver. He stared deeply into her eyes, and he caught glimpse of raw emotion. He felt like he could see her soul, her very being in her expression. Her look was communicating something to him… Something touching, moving. Unfortunately, he couldn't interpret what it was.

He tried to whisper something to her. He didn't even know what he'd say, but it didn't matter, because his voice wouldn't cooperate. His mouth had dried out completely, allowing only small rasps from his vocal chords. He just continued laying in silence, overly conscious of the fact that Sylvia was literally laying on top of him.

Had the footsteps passed? Chris couldn't tell. There might've been voices, but he wasn't paying attention. How long had they been staring at each other? A whole minute now? He hadn't made any effort to look away - why would he? The girl was gorgeous.

Then again, Sylvia hadn't made any effort to look away from him, either. She opened her mouth, as if to whisper, but hesitated, only a small croak escaping from her throat.

"...Did you hear what they were saying?" She whispered eventually.

Chris paused, straining to break out of his entranced state.

"...No," He finally managed.

"Me neither," she replied.

Should he have heard what they were saying? Had the voices been loud enough to interpret, or had he just been too distracted?

Well, he'd certainly been distracted.

Sylvia finally turned her head, slowly lifting herself up for a look at the path. Chris still laid there as his body tried to regulate its heartbeat.

Sylvia's head poked out of the bushes, and a small moment passed before she spoke.

"It's clear," she said, returning to her normal tone of voice. She stood up to her full height, walking back out onto the snow-covered path.

A cool, refreshing wave of reality washed over Chris as she moved away, like an icey dose of raging rapids. He shook his head (it was still spinning) and rolled over, slowly pushing himself up and out of the bushes. The cool breeze blew through his hair, bringing him back to normal as he stood up fully.

"Any idea who those people were?" Chris asked.

"Bandits," Sylvia said. "By the sound of their voices, I'm almost sure of it."

"I thought you couldn't hear them," he replied.

"I don't know what they said exactly," she answered, "but their voices were deep and masculine."

"Best not to dwell on it," Chris suggested. "They didn't see us. Come on, let's keep going."

They continued down the path, noticeably less talkative than before.

So she had been simply listening that whole time. A tiny shard of Chris's hopes dropped. Yet, at the same time, he remembered the way she'd been looking at him. He didn't think he'd ever forget that look - it had not been distracted. It had been intentional. And meaningful.

Chris remained distracted for the rest of the walk.

Returning to the village helped clear Chris's head a bit. As he and Sylvia arrived back, they got to the regular trading for the day. The butcher was as friendly as he had been the day before, and the baker even stopped to chat with him and Sylvia for a few minutes. Come to think of it, Chris realized that the village as a whole didn't treat him as much of an alien anymore. It was like he'd made an upgrade from "who's this stranger?" to "oh yeah, he's the newcomer".

As they made their way back to the house, Chris looked up to see the sun about three quarters of the way across the sky. Was it mid-afternoon already?

They reached the house eventually and were greeted by a cheerfully squealing Lucia. Chris feigned defeat as she tackled his legs, intentionally losing his balance and falling to the ground. As she jumped off of him, she grabbed a handful of snow and pelted him while he tried to get up.

It had now evolved into another snowball duel. To Chris, it felt like it lasted for over an hour, but he guessed that Lucia felt the opposite, seeing how she whined and complained when Sylvia called her back inside.

He watched her mope back inside, then stood in silence for a moment after the door was shut.

He felt exhausted. The day had gone by quickly, but it had still drained him. He shuffled his feet back into the woodshed, laying down on his mat and letting his eyes drift closed.

Just a small bit of sleep will help, he thought. His mind began to wander, right on the edge of unconsciousness…

"You've certainly made yourself comfortable," Jacob's voice said.

Chris jerked awake, suddenly yanked out of his peaceful state.

"I'm just tired is all," he replied drearily, letting his eyes slip back closed.

"Just don't get too relaxed," Jacob said, tossing his leather gloves and hatchet on top of the wood pile. "I want to ask you a favor in a minute."

Chris would have asked what that favor was, but it had taken him all of a few seconds to start drifting back to sleep as Jacob walked away.

---

Next thing he knew, he was nudged awake yet again by Jacob's foot.

"I said I wanted to ask you a favor," he said.

Chris groaned. How long had he gotten to sleep? Ten minutes?

He stood up begrudgingly, shaking off the dreary fog that had collected itself in his head.

Jacob had a sword in his hand, still in its sheath. He held it out for Chris to see.

"Teach me to fight," he said simply.

Chris rubbed his eyes, then yawned, still a bit tired. "Where did you get that?" He asked.

"Old man Dallan. I just asked for it. He said the bandits probably would've come and stolen it anyway, so I could just take it."

"...And you think I can just teach you how to use it?" Chris said, crossing his arms. Chris had experience training with the sword. He knew the work and discipline it required.

"Well, it looks to me like you've got it down pretty well," Jacob said. "Can't you just repeat to me what you were taught?"

"When have you seen me fight?"

"You're good enough that the army sent you here alone."

"It's not that simple."

"I just want to be able to protect my family, Chris."

"I want to protect your family, too." Chris paused. "I still don't know if even I can do that."

Jacob eyed him. "You don't know what it feels like, do you? To just stand there, unable to do anything."

He was right. Chris had no idea what it felt like.

...But he could imagine it, and he imagined that it felt terrible.

Chris stepped forward, wrapping his hand around the hilt of his own sword. He drew it slowly and held it up for Jacob to see, the shiny metal reflecting its own surroundings.

"It's not so easy as driving the pointy end into the other guy," he began. "You can't learn to use it in just a few days. You won't even be ready for sparring for months."

"I get that," Jacob said. He seemed to understand exactly what Chris was saying. He knew what he was getting into.

"I know you want to protect people," Chris said, "but you can't let that drive you to do anything stupid. To put it simply, if those bandits show up again, don't even think about touching your sword. You have no experience, and they will kill you. That won't get your family anywhere."

At that, Jacob hesitated for a second, but nodded again.

"All right, draw your sword," Chris said.

Jacob grabbed his weapon, drawing it slowly and carefully as Chris had.

"Now drop it," Chris continued.

"...What?" Jacob said.

"You said you wanted me to teach you to fight," Chris said. "I'll do that first, then teach you how to use your sword while you fight."

"I… Don't understand," Jacob said, "but all right."

"Now stand still," Chris said. Jacob stood with his arms down as he was told.

Chris then took a large step forward, pressing both hands on Jacob's chest and shoving forward. Jacob stumbled back, an expression of surprise written across his face.

"Hey!" He exclaimed. "How is this even helpful?"

Chris stepped back again. "The essence of a fight," he said, "is positioning. As soon as your opponent gets you to move, you're constantly stepping back. They have momentum. I'm teaching you to keep your feet solid." He planted his feet as his grandfather had taught him numerous times. "If you're opponent can't get their momentum going, it'll be like running into a brick wall for them."

Jacob nodded, understanding. "Let me guess," he said, "you're just going to push me around for five hours now?"

"That's exactly it, to be honest," Chris replied, smiling.

Jacob stood steadily again, waiting for Chris to give the shove.

Sylvia rounded the corner right as Chris heaved into Jacob's chest.

"Hey guys, it's…" she paused as Jacob stumbled back again, struggling to stay upright. "...What are you doing?"

"Well, he wanted me to teach him how to fight," Chris said, turning to her.

Jacob winced, apparently wishing Chris hadn't said that.

"Jacob," Sylvia began, "you know that dad forbade you to do this."

"I know," Jacob replied, "but I have to learn. I need to be able to do something."

Sylvia waited before replying. "I'm not going to stop you," she finally said, "but dad is going to kill you if he finds out."

"I'll just have to deal with it," Jacob said back.

"Anyway, I was coming to tell you it's time to eat." She turned, walking back into the house.

Chris hesitated for a second before following. He wouldn't have agreed to teach Jacob anything if he'd known his father wouldn't allow it. Even without knowing, he'd still almost declined. He moved back around the house.

After the evening meal and few sword drills, Chris wound down for the night.

Just one more day until they arrive.

He slept relatively well that night.

8: Chapter 8

Chris awoke in a relaxed, peaceful state. He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes in a dazed manner.

...Curious, he thought. He'd been expecting to be jarred awake by more loud thumping from Jacob's hatchet. Instead, there was just the natural noise of the forest - birds chirping, wind blowing through the trees. The sun shined over it all - so brightly, in fact, that Chris almost immediately found himself in a cheerful mood. He stood up slowly, meandering out of the shed and leaning back, staring into the sky.

...The sun was directly above him. His stomach leapt into his throat. How long had he been sleeping?

He began to panic despite himself. Chris turned, frantically examining the village. There were hardly any people village always had a calm air about it, but this felt lethargic. It was like everybody in town had slept even longer than he had.

He walked past the shed, rounding the house towards the front door to see what was going on. The door opened as he was halfway to it, and Sylvia came striding out.

Chris stopped. Was he showing an obvious expression of unsettled panic? Apparently not, because she simply waved.

"I was wondering when you would get up," she said, walking towards him. "I was on my way out here to wake you, actually."

Chris laughed, nervously scratching the back of his head. " I was honestly expecting Jacob to be back here chopping wood again," he said. "I had no idea how late it was."

"Well, I think it goes without saying that you missed breakfast," she added. "Sorry about that. I thought about waking you up earlier."

"That's not a problem," he answered quickly, waving a dismissive hand. He then turned his head back to the awkwardly quiet lines of houses. "Why does everything seem so… " he paused. "...inactive?"

Sylvia opened her mouth to answer, but the front door of the house opened again. Lucia came sprinting out, with Jacob following right behind her.

"...Aren't you usually working with your father right now?" Chris asked.

Jacob gave him a pained look.

"It's the day off," he responded, then turned to Sylvia. "She wanted to go for a walk," he said, jerking his thumb toward Lucia. "I have no idea when we'll be back."

Sylvia just waved him away in a dismissive manner, smiling jokingly.

"Well, what are the plans today?" Chris asked as Jacob walked off with Lucia.

Sylvia spread her hands. "Nothing," she said simply. "The day is yours to use however you like."

"That sounds… incredibly boring."

"Only when you've spent your life growing up in a mind-numbing city," she said.

"Hey," Chris responded, "that has nothing to do with it."

"Excuse me," another voice called from the door. Mrs. Riven held an empty water bucket in her hand. "We're out of water," she said simply. "If one of you could go and collect some more, I would appreciate it."

"Chris would love to," Sylvia quickly replied. "He was just complaining about having nothing to do."

"...Yes," Chris replied, casting her a side glance. "Of course."

---

The walk down to the river was as relaxing as it had ever been before. Chris had been slightly disturbed by his own mistake of oversleeping,

It helped that the walk to the river was a fairly long one. After walking back and forth between it multiple times, Chris estimated that the journey was an entire mile in one direction. It also explained why he'd had such difficulty finding the village in the first place, after doubling back along the river so many times.

It was there, on the way back to the village, that he finally felt a sense of ease. He walked slowly, his full bucket of water swinging slightly in his grip. The sun had just reached the edge of the horizon behind him, and the birds flew into their nests, preparing to settle for the night. Darkness wouldn't set in for another hour or two, but the day was coming to a close nevertheless.

For Chris, of course, it felt as if it should have been mid-morning. Waking up in the middle of the day would make it feel shorter. On one hand, though, he was glad to have it over with so quickly. The more quickly tomorrow came, the more quickly his platoon would arrive.

He wondered how his group would handle living in such a small village. He could help them get acquainted with all the people, of course, but compared to Kerdon, the town was completely sedate. Even Chris had felt out of place after first arriving.

I got used to it quickly enough, he told himself. They'll probably do the same.

Chris came to the end of the path, near the edge of the village. The dense trees around him grew thin as he came into the clearing.

To be honest, the town would probably welcome them all as heroes once they took care of the bandits. With the entire platoon working together, Chris didn't think they would be too much of a problem.

As long as he was alone, the bandits were a much larger threat. Chris was just thankful they hadn't attacked since he arrived.

A thundering shout pierced the still air. Chris stopped right at the edge of the forest. He was only close enough to see the edge of the village clearly, but he could make out a thick figure standing between two of the houses.

Oh no.

No, no, no!

Chris approached cautiously, jogging lightly and leaving the cover of the trees.

The bandit spotted him immediately, his eyes following Chris as he ran forward. As he drew closer, the shouting became more clear. It was coming from the center of the village, which Chris still couldn't see. His heart leapt into his throat as he realized what he was doing.

You don't have to fight them, he reminded himself. As he came within feet of the bandit, he raised his hands. His stomach twisted into a knot. The bandit crossed his arms, giving Chris a dangerous glare.

Chris had to look up to meet the man's eyes. It was the same one he'd seen across the river - grisly beard, dark brown eyes, small scar across his cheek, and a large battle axe strapped to his back.

The bandit let his arms drop to his side, anticipating some kind of move from Chris.

Instead, Chris spoke, hands still raised.

"What's going on?" He demanded, trying not to look away from the man.

"None of your business," he growled. "Now get out of here before someone gets hurt."

Chris moved his eyes to look behind the man. Three other bandits were standing in the middle of the town, and there was an older man laying on the ground that Chris didn't recognize. Jacob was standing between him and the bandits, hands held out cautiously. The bandit in the middle was the obvious leader. He was taller than the others, with longer black hair and a large sword held in both hands that he pointed threateningly at Jacob.

"No one touches the Redclaw bandits without being taught a lesson!" The leader bellowed.

"Listen," Jacob pleaded, "we're already giving you whatever you want. You don't have to hurt anyone!"

The grisly bandit right in front of Chris took a step forward, ignoring the incident behind him.

"You hear me?" He snarled. "Get out of here!"

Chris kept looking ahead. The leader swung at Jacob, barely missing his neck. Jacob ran and tackled him to the ground. Chris's heart skipped.

They're going to kill him.

Chris darted forward, attempting to pass the bandit in front of him and draw his sword. In a blink of an eye, the bandit stepped to block him, firmly grabbing the collar of his tunic. He hoisted Chris straight off the ground and punched him straight in the jaw, letting go of the shirt as he did so. Chris fell back, tumbling onto the cold snow. His head spun as he tried to push himself back up. His vision was blurred, but as he sat upright, everything came into focus.

The bandit's axe blade was held mere inches from Chris's face. He stopped cold, breathing violently as his heart pounded.

"You want to die with that old man?" The bandit yelled at Chris. "Well?"

Chris's frantic gaze shifted back and forth from the axe to Jacob. He couldn't see what was happening behind the bandit.

Instead, his mind fell away from reality.

Chris saw cracks before him, like shattered glass - each containing a different village, a different Sylvia, a different him. There was a crack with himself absent, his platoon protecting the village without him. Another portrayed the village burning, with evil men running free. Yet another contained himself, returning to his grandfather in shame, and the last - and most terrifying - showed himself fighting. Protecting until his last breath. His last breath before death. Each crack extended into smaller, less significant consequences, until the glass shattered and fell to the ground in pieces, yanking Chris back to reality...

That reality was currently being expressed in the form of an axe positioned to cut his head in half.

Chris's instincts kicked in, and he ran. He scrambled to his feet and ran as fast and far away as he could.

9: Chapter 9

Leaning his back against the trunk of a tall, thick tree, Chris drew rapid and vigorous breaths. His eyes anxiously scanned his surroundings, searching for any sign of someone in pursuit.

Nothing.

He leaned his head back with a sigh, sliding down the trunk of the tree into a sitting position. His eyes closed, battling with the thoughts that churned in his mind.

He could have helped them. He could have drawn his weapon, stared down his fear, and saved the village. If only he could have beaten his fear.

If only it were so easy, he told himself. He could have faced the bandits alone - but he wouldn't have lived through it. He'd never fought in a real life-threatening situation before. Four enemies would have outnumbered and slaughtered him in a matter of seconds. So he just ran away.

Chris let his eyes back open, lowering his head as his heart began to settle. His hands were still trembling, he noticed.

The air around him was deafeningly silent. It was the sort of silence that blanketed the world when something terrible happened. The silence that dropped when someone informed you of the death of a friend. The silence that you hear at a funeral.

The only sounds for Chris to hear were his own breath, beating heart, and shrieking conscience.

He was a soldier. It was supposed to be his job to protect people - it was why he wanted to become one in the first place.

...But he had no experience. A single scout with only three weeks of training being sent to a village alone? He was lucky to have made it out alive.

...I was just sent for what was supposed to be an easy job, Chris realized. I wasn't expected to have to fight anybody. I'm really not a soldier.

No real soldier would've run from the situation he'd just faced. Anyone else would've stayed and fought.

...And died, he thought. I can't protect anybody if I'm dead.

He clenched his fists, frustrated.

So which is it? Am I supposed to fight to protect, and die in the process? Or am I supposed to keep myself alive, so that I can succeed in protecting others later?

Chris ran his hand through his hair, exhaling in a defeated manner. He knew the answer to his own question. Deep down, he was still afraid. Thinking about the bandits made him timid. If he faced them again, he'd run again.

He should have expected it. His grandfather should've expected it. His commander should have expected it. Chris just wasn't ready, and he knew it.

I'm no fighter, he thought. I haven't ever been.

---

Darkness fell as Chris rose from beneath the tree. The bandits would almost certainly have left the village by now. With sunlight waning and nothing left to run away from, Chris had no other reason to keep hiding. Yet still, he hesitated.

Sighing heavily, he looked up to the sky. The sun no longer lingered, and stars began to take shape and faintly glow through the thin clouds.

If he went back, he'd have to face them. Explain what he'd done - no, worse - explain what he hadn't done. He'd brought hope to the village, only to leave that hope to shrivel and die like a rose in the desert.

Every step back to the village made him wince. He saw himself standing before them all, trying to justify himself.

What could he say? "Well, I was going to do something, but then I didn't. Sorry about that."

If Chris was lucky, no one would be outside when he got back. He could slip into the woodshed, get up the next morning and leave - head back to Kerdon where he belonged. He could find himself an easy job, away from death and fighting, the path that he should've taken long ago. The poor village wouldn't ever have to see or hear from him again.

Or you could stay, a small part of him whispered. Where had that come from? No - it couldn't happen. Staying in the village would just remind him of what he wasn't capable of. The shame of his mistake would always live in that village. As long as he remained, it would haunt him.

And it did, as soon as he approached it. He stood in the same place that he'd been when he saw the bandit - at the edge of the forest, looking over the small town. Dim lights still shone from inside a few houses. The atmosphere was dull and inactive, but not calm. Traumatized. It was the same feeling as a small child that had witnessed an unspeakable tragedy. One that Chris could've prevented.

He stepped out from the edge of the forest, walking apprehensively towards the small cluster of houses. As he passed the first few, he suddenly became aware of the lack of sound coming from them. The past few days, the village had seemed small, but cheerful and carefree. Now, the atmosphere was simply solemn. Silent and unmoving, but still alive.

He neared the Riven household. Chris could see light coming from inside, and on the front steps…

Sylvia. She was just sitting there, her head angled to the ground. As Chris slowly continued forward, she looked up towards him, seeming to notice his approach. She was crying.

Chris stopped, a seemingly infinite path of snow separating them. He didn't want to keep walking. He wanted to just turn around, to continue running from his problems. How could he face her? She was just looking at him, tears falling down the sides of her face.

You ran away once, he reminded himself. Don't do it again.

Chris took another step forward, slowly drawing nearer. He stopped right in front of her, hesitating to speak.

"...Sylvia?" He said finally.

She still didn't speak. The look on her face, however, communicated more than any words would have.

"What happened?" He asked softly.

Her eyes broke away from his. She was so hesitant to say anything, as if she was working to find the right words.

"Chris…" She began. Her voice quivered. "Jacob's dead."

Chris made no movement, but his heart bounced up into his throat.

My fault, he thought. It's all my fault.

"Those monsters killed him," Sylvia continued, struggling to talk through her tears. "He was just trying to protect that innocent old man!"

Chris stepped forward, sitting down on the steps beside her. He didn't speak - nothing he had to say would be of any comfort.

They sat in silence for what seemed like minutes. Chris stared into the darkness that enveloped the village, thoughts swimming through his head. He could have done something. He had been there. Yet, doing nothing seemed to be what he was best at. He'd watched Jacob tackle that man, and done nothing. He was sitting here on these steps, doing nothing. If that wasn't enough, he was planning to leave the village, return home to Kerdon, and do nothing.

"...Where were you?" The words were but a whisper from Sylvia's lips.

Chris had anticipated that question. He'd been contemplating how to answer it for hours.

Again, he wanted to just stand up and leave. It would be so much easier than telling the truth out loud.

...But when he left, he'd be abandoning everyone. Nobody would know why.

He met Sylvia's red-rimmed, tear-stained eyes. They were filled with such undeserved anguish. He could feel her grief just by looking at her. He remembered what she'd told him - that she wasn't worried for her own life, but for her family. This was honestly Sylvia's worst fear coming true. He couldn't leave them - her - without first explaining himself. She deserved that much.

"I was here," he began.

Just tell her everything, he convinced himself. Don't dance around it.

"But I couldn't do anything. I tried, but I couldn't. I just ran away." That last statement was like throwing up the pit of a giant fruit.

Sylvia held his gaze silently, as if she expected him to continue.

"I realized something then," he said. "That I've been here this whole time thinking I was a real soldier. The truth is, I'm really not."

"But you tried," she responded. "Was that not enough?"

Chris looked at her, taken aback. She still believed in him. Even when he'd completely failed and run away like a coward, she showed no sign of hatred towards him.

"Sylvia," he said. "Jacob died because of me. He could still be here if only I'd done something, but I just ran. How can you not hate me for that?"

She eyed him, emotions laid out on her face like colors on a white canvas. No hatred, no contempt. Just sorrow, as if she was struggling to hold her own soul together. Like she had been shattered so ruthlessly that she didn't know how to keep going.

"I feel like I should," she replied, "but I can't hold the burden of bitterness, Chris. I don't have the strength to hate you. I just… Forgive you."

How? How did she do it?

Now she'd nearly brought him to tears. There he was, the one person who could've saved her brother but didn't, and she forgave him unhesitantly. He was the type of person that ran to save himself, and she was the type that gave herself up completely, let go of hatred, and forgave.

He didn't even feel worthy to be sitting next to her. So he stood up, looking away from her and up into the night sky.

"I'm not going to stay," he said. He didn't look, but he felt the last bits of Sylvia's hope disintegrate.

A long pause.

"...Why?" She asked.

Because I'll end up dead if I do, he thought.

Chris turned back around, meeting her eyes again. The sorrow had deepened.

"I never should have been sent here in the first place," he said. "I'm too afraid to be of any help."

Sylvia began to stand up. "But you have been helpful," she said, her voice picking up volume. "You've given us hope."

"False hope," he responded. "It's not much use making everybody feel good if I get myself killed when it really matters."

...That had come out colder than he intended.

Fresh teardrops began to form in Sylvia's pleading eyes.

"You can't leave," she said. "You've made a difference here."

Chris shook his head. "Not for the better."

"Since when did you lose such confidence in yourself?" Her voice strained, as if desperately trying to sway him back. "You seemed so sure, like everything was going to be okay."

"Sylvia, I'm sorry. I tried to fight back, but I'm too scared. If I stay, it'll happen again. I'll keep running away, or worse - I'll die. Either way, I just can't protect you."

Chris turned, heading towards the shed, hoping to simply end the conversation. He stopped himself, expecting to hear one last effort from Sylvia.

"Remember yesterday," she said, "when we hid in those bushes from the bandits?" Her voice trembled as she spoke.

Chris fought the urge to turn around and look at her again. Of course he remembered that moment.

"Yeah," he simply replied.

"I felt safe then," she said. "Completely secure, like I was untouchable, because you were looking out for me."

Chris remembered the way she'd stared at him, like she was communicating something emotional. She had felt something. She'd felt safe.

"Sylvia," he said, giving in to the the urge to turn his head back. She was looking at him with complete desperation. "if I could change myself, I would. I don't want to leave. I'm leaving because it's best for everyone here."

"But-"

"You don't need me to feel safe. My platoon's going to arrive tomorrow, remember?" He tried to give her a reassuring smile. "They'll look after you and your family."

Her shattered expression made no change. Chris's soul yearned to comfort her somehow. He just didn't know how.

He turned, walking back into the shed. She didn't follow him. He laid down in the darkness, trying to block out memory of the things he'd just said to her.

It's all my fault your brother died.

Leaving you and your family is a better option than staying and dying.

Any sense of hope I ever gave you was a lie.

Despite all of these painful truths running through his mind, he fell asleep.

10: Chapter 10

Sylvia stepped out the door, the breeze immediately greeting her with a frozen bite. Like most nights, it had snowed lightly. The ground was a beautifully clean white sheet of ice, and the sky…

...The sky was dreary and colorless. It didn't help her mood any. She'd hoped to wake up this morning renewed and refreshed, but memories of Jacob still swirled in her mind.

She still couldn't accept that he was gone. She had talked to him just yesterday. He'd walked off with Lucia, casually stating that they could be gone for hours. She remembered all the times they'd quarreled with each other, sometimes lightly, others not.

...And it was all gone. Snapped up like a bird snatching a crumb of bread.

She stepped down the small stairs, slowly walking to the shed, where the smallest bit of her hoped Chris would be. As she rounded the corner, she found the mat empty. As she suspected, he'd gotten up and left early. It was most likely so that he could get to the city before midday.

Or because he didn't want to see you again before he left.

The way he'd spoken to her the night before had scared her. To be honest, she'd already been scared and heartbroken - and she still was. But Chris had talked as if he had suddenly lost all optimism. She remembered him being more relaxed and pleasant - but he'd acted so bleak, as if any feeling inside of him had withered and died.

She felt it within herself as well. Things had been looking up - Chris had arrived with news of protection from the bandits, and they'd gotten along so well. She'd really been growing to like him, and then it all dissipated like a leaf in a fire. One of the two people that had made her feel safe and hopeful had been slaughtered, and the other had run away.

Now she had to fight and claw just to keep her soul from being smothered.

Just as she made her way back to the front door, it opened. Sylvia's mother stepped out, eyes scanning the village frantically.

"...Mom?" Sylvia asked.

"Oh, Sylvia," she responded, not having realized that Sylvia was there. "Your father and I were searching the house this morning, and… We can't find Lucia."

"...She left the house?" Sylvia asked, wanting clarification. "Alone?"

"She must have," her mother replied. "She's not here anywhere."

She can't be walking in the forest alone. There could be bandits out there.

"I'll go look towards the river," Sylvia said. "Someone should stay here in case she gets back."

"I'll tell your father to look in the other direction."

At that, Sylvia turned, walking briskly towards the path that led to the river. Panic slowly began to swell within her body. She couldn't stand for anything to happen to Lucia. She couldn't.

...Lucia, where have you gone?

Her walk turned to a run.

---

The platoon walked at a quick march. Klein moved at the front, setting a brisk, fast pace in order to reach the village on time. He'd told Chris that they'd make it just after dawn on this day - and that's when he intended to arrive.

"Pick up the pace," he ordered briskly, as he began to increase speed.

"Don't you think we'll make it at the speed we're going," Evan called from the back of the line, "oh fearless leader?"

Klein glanced back, shooting him a glare. Evan didn't mean to be directly insubordinate, he was just more casual with his superiors than most would be. The truth was, they probably would make it on time. Klein just refused to take the risk of being late. Of course, he didn't need to say it out loud.

Behind him, the platoon chattered easily.

"How do you think Chris has fit in?" Joshua, their dark haired spearman, asked offhandedly.

"I'll bet the people are licking his feet," Evan responded loudly.

Klein refrained from making a snappy comment at that.

"Not likely," Cameron responded. Cameron was their archer - short, with unkempt dusty-blonde hair. "I'd assume he found lodging with some relatively kind family, and has been exploring the area since then." He had such a logical mind that any joke seemed to miss its mark with him.

"Yeah, whatever," Evan snorted. At first, Evan had seemed to Klein as simply outgoing. When left unchecked, however, he could be a bit obnoxious.

Klein spotted the river ahead, on the horizon. Apparently, so did the rest of the platoon.

"See? We are making good time," Joshua exclaimed. "How long did you say it was from the river, Klein? Only one or two miles, right?"

"That's my estimate," Klein responded. As they approached the river, however, Klein's brow furrowed.

"Hey," Evan blurted from the back of the line, "where's the bridge?"

---

Chris's boots crunched through the snow as he walked at a slow pace, matching his attitude. This morning seemed more dismal than most. Snow had landed the night before, making the blanketed ground as beautiful as ever, but the sky was drained of any color, and almost no birds flew through the trees. It was like every living thing in the forest knew what had happened in the village…

...And knew it was his fault. Now, he was leaving.

He remembered what Sylvia had said the previous night - that he had made a difference, and that he'd brought hope. Part of him wanted to believe it. Part of him wanted to stay, to continue on despite how powerless he was.

She'd said such positive things about him so readily, despite her state of complete suffering. He remembered the look of absolute sorrow on her face when she begged him not to leave, and it haunted him.

She didn't want you to leave, he reminded himself, but it's still better this way.

He couldn't have changed anything by staying, so it was better to go back to Kerdon and start over.

Chris continued on in silence for a long stretch of time. He tried to clear his head, listening to the soft wind, momentarily forgetting the problems that plagued his mind.

The forest was unnaturally quiet. Every time he walked to the river, Chris had felt relaxed and soothed. Now, no birds chirped. Bushes didn't rustle. Nothing scurried along the edges of the path. The aura that resulted unsettled Chris greatly, making him nervously alert.

The feeling began to dim as he reached the river, which murmured along with its usual sound. At least it was the way it was supposed to be - flowing calmly, with the wooden bridge stretching across its width. As he approached it, he remembered how hard it had been to find it when he first made his way-

A scream. Chris's thoughts snapped and he frantically glanced in every direction, looking for the source. The scream was high pitched, like it had been a young person -

There. There, across the river, around the corner of the path thick with leaves and branches, came little Lucia, running for her very life. Behind her were three broad, muscular, enraged men with weapons.

Chris stopped breathing. He stood at the front of the bridge and didn't move. Lucia kept running, gasping in exasperated panic, as Chris glanced at her, trying to signal for her to run to him. It didn't make much difference, as she was already sprinting in his direction.

"Chris!" Lucia screamed. She reached him, hurriedly scampering to take shelter behind him. She latched onto his leg, whimpering fearfully.

The bandits approached.

Chris's instincts screamed for him to run, but he worked with every ounce of will he had to stay put. These men were after Lucia - and he was the only one between her and them.

Chris held out his hand warningly, gesturing for the men to stop. Surprisingly, they slowed down as they reached him, lowering their weapons and leering at him dangerously. The man on the left was the grisly one he'd encountered at the village. The man on the right was notably muscular, with no beard and curly hair. Chris didn't recognize him. The man in the middle…

...He was their leader. The one who'd killed Jacob. Tall and lean, yet strong - with a large sword hefted across his shoulder.

Chris's hand began to tremble.

"Look," Chris began hesitantly, "I don't want any trouble."

"Good," said the leader. He gave Chris an aggressive scowl. "So step aside."

Chris turned his head back. Lucia was still there, violently gripping his leg and quivering with fear. The poor girl was terrified.

"What could she possibly have done to you?" Chris asked, turning back to face the bandits. Adrenaline pumped through his body.

They've killed before, he thought. They'll kill again.

"She trespassed into our territory," the leader answered. "Now-"
"She's just a child!"

"Step. Aside."

"She's done nothing to harm you," Chris said, his voice wavering. "please, just leave her alone."

"Or what?" The leader sneered, stepping forward. He was a whole head taller than Chris, making the man even more intimidating.

Chris slowly moved his hand to the hilt of his sword.

Just run, his instinct screamed. They'll let you go.

Lucia was still holding on to him.

"Nothing," the bandit on the left exclaimed. "I've seen this one before, boss. He's got no bite - just ran away from me without putting up any kind of fight."

"Is that so?" The leader growled. "Well then, kid. Now we that we both know there's nothing in you, you'd better step aside like I said!"

"Lucia," Chris said quietly, eyeing the leader warily. "Run."

"...Hm?" She mumbled, sniffling timidly.

"Run," he said louder. "Run back and find your family - they're probably looking for you."

Lucia hesitated.

"Run! Now!"

If you fight them, he thought to himself, they'll kill you.

...But Chris couldn't bear to think of the alternative.

Lucia turned and ran, scampering as quickly as she could down the path. The leader of the bandits watched her go, grinning. He leaned to the grisly bandit on the left.

"Get her."

...No.

The bandit lifted his axe, ignoring Chris and running after Lucia.

"No!" Chris drew his sword in one swift motion, swinging to catch the bandit's legs. The blade connected with a painful crack, and the bandit tumbled to the ground with an agonized scream.

He won't be getting back up.

The other two were on him in an instant. Chris abruptly threw himself backwards, narrowly avoiding a wide sweep from the leader's sword and stumbling onto his back. The second bandit followed him, raising an axe to bring down on his head.

With no time to think about his actions, Chris awkwardly rolled to the side as the bandit's weapon cleaved fluffy snow. He began to scramble to his feet, frantically searching for a moment to recompose himself. The bandits were determined not to give it to him, and the leader charged forward with another sweeping strike. Chris flung his sword up recklessly, just scarcely warding off the attack. He stepped back, desperately trying to distance himself from the two as the second bandit rushed towards him once again.

Time slowed. Chris barely had time to breathe as he dealt with his two enemies. As hard as he struggled to survive, he was no match for two brawny killers such as these. Yet, still…

His grandfather's voice sounded in his head.

"He's comin' at you! Stop his advance!"

The bandit was charging him.

Keep your feet solid.

Chris ducked as the axe passed mere inches over his head. The bandit, still charging, stumbled forward.

An opening. Chris quickly sprang up, setting his feet into proper combat stance. The leader was approaching him now, sword forward.

Chris struck out with a passion he'd never thought himself capable of, forcing his attacker to bring up his weapon in sudden defence. The two steel blades rang out in conflict, and Chris continued his furious assault - connecting his attacks in a sequence, with each strike occurring within fractions of a second. The leader heatedly blocked each stroke as it came, slowly becoming more confused and flustered.

He couldn't continue, however, as he noticed the second bandit coming up behind him yet again. Every bit of Chris's body worked by instinct.

He spun wildly, shifting his attack to the enemy behind him.

The bandit's eyes grew wide as Chris's sword narrowly whiffed by his face.

Keep them reeling.

Chris didn't relent, throwing his sword over his head to bring down on the bewildered ruffian. The bandit had fallen to his feet in order to avoid Chris's last attack, and couldn't block the next.

Chris's sword fell deep into the man's chest, resulting in a final howl of pain.

Chris felt the leader approaching from behind. Again, he twisted, his sword violently connecting with his enemy's. The leader had apparently anticipated Chris's attack, and was now moving to begin his own assault. Chris jumped to his left, avoiding the first strike and attempting to move around his attacker. He quickly danced backwards, giving himself time to breathe.

The leader turned, not making an immediate move to follow. Instead, he held his sword outward, breathing heavily as condensed steam rose from his mouth.

Chris continued backwards, stepping onto the wooden bridge. He held his sword sideways, anticipating a sudden charge from the bandit leader.

This was the scenario his grandfather had prepared him for.

The leader ran forward, holding his sword low as to not leave himself open. He swung it in an arc towards Chris's right, hoping to catch him in the arm.

Chris's pulse beat frantically.

Steady.

He threw his sword in front of the leader's, blocking the sudden strike that had been thrown out. The bandit raised his sword again, continuing the attack.

Chris was forced backwards, his only option to protect himself from the never ending slew of strikes. As the combat locked pair reached the middle of the bridge, Chris felt his composure slowly slipping.

"Spin!" His grandfather yelled. "Sit too still and your opponent will take your head clean off!"

Chris pivoted his feet, spinning backwards to give the appearance that he was trying to escape. Seeing the opening, the bandit brought his sword in to lunge at Chris's chest. Chris suddenly stepped back up, putting his back to the railing and flicking his blade to catch the bandit's.

Bad idea.

As the bandit saw Chris re-approach, he made a sudden twist. Striding forward, he wrapped his sword around Chris's and tore it from his hands, disarming him.

The sword flew through the air, spinning and splashing harmlessly into the river behind the leader.

Chris pressed his back against the railing, his chest heaving and sweat dripping down his face. He had to move. He had to move or die.

Darting to the left, Chris attempted to pass by his opponent in the hopes that he wouldn't strike quickly enough.

He did. The bandit swept in with a backhanded strike, and Chris desperately leapt to the side as the blade grazed across his chest. His upper body burned in searing pain as he fell over and rolled onto the ground. He moaned as he tried to withstand the pain. He could feel the blood quickly draining from the wound.

Get up.

Chris rose, working in a feverish daze to steady himself as the leader levelled his sword again. His legs shook as he stood, one hand gripping the railing to keep himself up, while the other held his chest in a useless attempt at containing his injury.

The bandit raised his sword, running at Chris for an overhead strike.

Chris's legs forced themselves to the side, and his chest strained in protest. The blade narrowly clipped by his body... and embedded itself into the wooden guard rail. The weapon was stuck. This was Chris's only chance of survival.

Chris desperately pushed himself forward, weakly wrapping his arms around the bandit leader, trying to separate him from his weapon. The leader responded, stepping backwards and gripping Chris's shirt with both hands.

Before he could think; before he could move - the bandit lifted and tossed Chris over his head - and over the railing of the bridge.

He soared through the air, completely limp. He was met with cold shock as he plunged into the icy river.

11: Chapter 11

The snow gave way beneath Sylvia's feet as she ran, every one of her breaths leaving her lungs as hot vapor.

You've only been looking for a few minutes, she told herself. Lucia's probably fine. ...She just got lost.

She didn't believe herself. Lucia almost never left the house alone. She ran faster as the panic within her swelled.

"Lucia!" She called, cupping her hands to her mouth. "Lucy, where are you?"

No response. The only sounds Sylvia heard were the wind whipping through the trees and her own rapid breathing.

Sylvia attempted to console herself again. At least she hadn't run into any trouble. She'd been worried that bandits would be walking up and down the path, but it didn't seem to be so.

She heard footsteps running towards her. She stopped, listening as they came around the corner of the snowy path.

Lucia ran around the bend - and Sylvia let out a thankful sigh of relief. ...Except that Lucia was whimpering and sobbing like the world was about to end.

"Syl!" Lucia called, racing towards her older sister.

Sylvia knelt down onto the snow, arms outstretched as Lucia ran straight into them.

"Lucy!" Sylvia exclaimed, wrapping her arms protectively around her quivering sister. "Thank the heavens you're okay!" She stayed silent for a moment after that, feeling a wave of immense relief that nothing terrible had happened.

...But why was Lucia so upset? Sylvia released her, simply holding her by the arms and looking her in the eye.

"Where did you go?" She asked. "What happened?"

"B-b-bandits…" Lucia stuttered, rubbing her tear-laden eyes.

Sylvia's feeling of relief suddenly vanished like an object being dropped down a dark chasm.

"Where? Are they chasing you?" She asked hurriedly. Lucia shook her head, sniffling.

"...How did you get away?"

"...I-It was Chris..."

Sylvia's heart stopped beating.

Chris.

"...Lucia," Sylvia said pointedly, "tell me everything."

---

The bridge should've been there, Klein said to himself as the platoon marched along the river. Was I wrong about it?

Hopefully, deciding to continue west along the river was the right direction. He didn't want the platoon to be stuck out in the forest all night.

"Don't you think," Cameron began from behind, "that we would've run across the bridge by now if it were this way?"

"Hey," Evan snapped mockingly, "no one questions great leader. He's always right."

Klein had been putting up with Evan for the entire journey, and he finally let himself go.

"And better with a bow than you," Klein retorted, turning his head. "I doubt any one of us would care if you suddenly disappeared one morning."

Evan simply smiled back, seeming to take the hint.

Where was that bridge? Klein had second guessed himself many times already, but he trusted himself in this direction.

"There," Joshua piped up. "I see it!"

Klein narrowed his eyes. ...Was that it? They were far enough away that it only looked to him like a small brown dot. As they neared, it also seemed as if there were someone crossing it.

...No, two people. Two people fighting.

Klein outstretched his hand, giving the signal for everybody behind him to halt.

There are bandits in the area, he reminded himself. If someone needs help, don't hesitate to give it.

"There's some sort of conflict going on up there," he said. Looking back, he gestured to Evan. "Evan, with me. Everybody else, follow more slowly."

Evan nodded, lifting his axe off of his back and following as Klein ran on ahead, efficiently hopping over logs and branches that littered the ground.

...There were two people fighting, all right. As he got nearer to the conflict, he could make out the size difference between the two. One was much larger, with long black hair and a large sword, while the other was much smaller, with blonde hair and wearing a standard military unif-

...Uniform? Klein ran faster, quickly closing the gap between himself and the two combatants, slinging his bow off of his back. As he got close enough to see, his suspicion was confirmed.

"Evan!" he exclaimed. "That's Chris!"

"I see that," Evan replied, quickly running alongside.

The battle unfolded as Klein ran closer - just a few more meters and he'd be in shooting range.

Chris was on the ground. The bandit had his sword leveled as Chris tried with apparent difficulty to stand. He must have been wounded.

Klein sprinted. Just hang on.

The bandit swung at Chris, who just barely avoided the attack and tackled him in response. The bandit took hold of Chris - and tossed him into the river.

"Evan!" Klein yelled, pointing to the spot where Chris had been thrown.

Evan responded, quickly breaking away to run towards the river.

"I'll get him!"

Klein slowed to a stop, now within an acceptable range of the bandit, who was fortunately now distracted by Evan wading into the river. He quickly snatched an arrow from his quiver, drawing back steadily as his gaze centered in on the bandit's neck.

He was noticed. The bandit jerked to the side just as Klein let loose his arrow, which planted itself directly into his shoulder.

The bandit bellowed, grabbing the wound in pain. Klein reached for another arrow, smoothly drawing back.

The bandit seemed flustered, as he ran to the railing of the bridge to retrieve his sword. After prying it loose, he began to run towards Klein - which just made him an easier target.

Klein let loose his second shot - which flew directly into the bandit's heart with a thump. The bandit screamed a second time, falling to the ground and rolling to a halt.

That's one problem taken care of.

Klein turned, looking to the river. Evan was in waste deep, but appeared to be dragging something back to shore, giving Klein a thumbs up gesture.

---

Chris's mind buzzed on the edge of consciousness, unable to register any feeling other than his throbbing chest wound.

Surely he was dead. All he could see was white light after all, and… Voices? No. He was drowning. How could he be hearing voic-

Something heaved on his chest, causing him to hack up the pools of water that had collected in his lungs. His eyes shot open, blinded by the sudden intake of sunlight.

"...Aha, See? I told you to get the water out of his lungs in the first place."

"He was losing blood. We had to wrap his wound first."

Chris's vision focused, allowing him to see his surroundings. Evan and Klein were standing there, staring at him.

"What…" Chris croaked, then cleared his throat. His chest still throbbed. "What happened?"

"What do you mean, what happened?" Evan replied. "That bandit nearly took your head off! Lucky for you, he just chucked you into the river. And I dragged you out. You can thank me later."

Chris just groaned, attempting to sit upright. His head pounded like there was a

steel hammer repeatedly beating the inside of his skull.

His hand moved to his wound, feeling the soft padding that had been wrapped

over it. Surprisingly, touching it wasn't too painful.

"That cut wasn't very deep, actually," Klein remarked. "Still, it'll be a few days

before you should be moving too much."

A small wave of silence took Chris as he gathered himself. Memory of what had just happened flooded back to him as he looked across the river - where his other

platoon members were crossing over the bridge.

"…Did you see a young girl?" Chris asked. "Orange hair? She'd only look about

four."

Klein shook his head. "It was just you and the bandit. Why? Were you looking for her?"

Chris heaved a sigh of relief. If they hadn't seen Lucia, she must have gotten away.

"No," Chris replied, shaking his head. "Those bandits were chasing her down - I only ran across them by chance."

"Chance?" Klein asked, confused. "Then what were you doing out here?"

The rest of the soldiers made their way to Chris, circling him and listening in on

the conversation.

"I was… Actually on my way back to Kerdon," he said.

The entire platoon shot him confused looks. Klein kept his face straight, hinting

for Chris to go on.

"Some of the bandits attacked the town yesterday while I was there," he

continued. "There were too many for me to handle, so I had to run."

"Well," Klein began, "you don't, now that we're here. Come on, let's get to the

village." He stuck out his hand, offering to help Chris up. The rest of the platoon walked

off in the direction of the village, following the path.

Chris gripped Klein's hand, letting himself be pulled up by the arm. As he stood, cold water dripped from his soaked uniform. Klein started off, following the rest of the group.

Chris quickly followed, fighting the pain that suddenly flared in his chest. Klein turned his head back as Chris approached.

"Tell, me, Chris," he began. He spoke quietly, as not to let the rest of the platoon hear. "After running away, what caused you to decide to return to Kerdon?"

Chris didn't answer right away. He could put it many ways, but it was best to say it the way it was.

"I was too afraid," he said. "I thought that any time I had to fight, I would just run away again."

"You thought your fear rendered you ineffective," Klein clarified.

"Well, yes," Chris said. That was exactly what he'd thought.

"Judging by what you just did, though, I'd say that you were wrong about yourself."

"That wasn't the same," Chris replied. "Someone was in immediate danger."

It was the same, he told himself. Jacob was in immediate danger.

"When they made me the leader of our platoon," Klein began, "I was warned that some soldiers may try to run away."

Chris looked back up at him, wondering where he was going with this.

"Correct me if I'm wrong Chris, but when you first ran, you were afraid for your life, correct?"

"Yeah," Chris said.

"Just now, were you still afraid?"

"I was terrified."

"Yet you still fought," Klein continued, looking to his feet as he walked. "What were you afraid of, if not losing your own life?"

Chris realized Klein's point. If he had really been that scared, he would've run again. ...So why hadn't he?

"I was afraid of dying," Chris admitted, "but I was more afraid of what would happen to Lucia otherwise."

Klein nodded. "That's what it means to be a soldier, Chris. You should be afraid - of losing those you're meant to protect. Don't try to avoid your fear, but let it drive you to accomplish your task." He turned, meeting Chris's eyes. "You got that?"

Chris nodded. "...Yeah. I understand now. Thanks, Klein."

For the rest of the march back, Klein asked Chris questions about the village and the surrounding area. Chris proceeded to tell Klein everything he knew - the village's structure, the paths around the village, and the people that lived there. He also informed Klein of the way the villagers supported themselves - with each household producing a necessary resource.

"It sounds as if it works like a commune," Klein observed as the group neared the edge of the forest.

"It would be difficult for them to support all eight of us," Chris added, "so we should probably contribute to their daily workload to compensate."

"Possibly," Klein stated.

Ahead, Evan was at the front of the group.

"Hey Chris!" He called, pointing ahead to the small village. "Is that it?"

"That's it," Chris called back.

"It's… Tiny," Evan observed, squinting his eyes as they scanned the buildings.

"With a big bandit problem," Klein added. "That's why we're here. Soldiers, fall in."

12: Chapter 12

Returning to the village came with a warmer welcome than Chris had expected. An entire group of soldiers waltzing into town obviously wasn't a normal occurrence. Slowly, people trickled out of their houses, curious to see what was going on.

Chris and the rest of the platoon just stood there, unsure of what they should be doing.

"Isn't there anyone in charge that we should be speaking with?" Klein whispered to Chris as villagers gathered around them.

"There really isn't," Chris replied. "There's essentially no system of authority. You're the leader, aren't you? Why don't you just tell everybody who we are?"

"Because they should already know you," Klein answered. "Aren't you familiar with everybody here?"

"Some of them, yes, but-"

Before Chris could finish, an older man stepped up to him out of the murmuring crowd.

"Hey, I know you! You're that soldier that turned up last week!"

"Well, yes," Chris began, "that's..." Then, suddenly, he realized who this man was. It was the same person who the bandits had been attacking when Jacob died. Chris's demeanor suddenly changed.

"You," Chris continued, stammering, "you're the one that they were attacking yesterday. How did you survive?"

The old man shrugged.

"Old brutes just forgot about me, I guess. Still, no reason for me to be happy. 'Specially considering what happened to that younger man."

Chris worked to find words, looking for some satisfactory apology. Before he spoke, Klein approached the old man from behind Chris.

"We're a platoon sent from Kerdon's military," he began. "We've orders to protect this village from any bandits or marauders that come across it."

"Rumor's been spreading that we'd be getting soldiers soon," he said. "I was skeptical it'd ever happen, but it looks like I've been proven dead wrong!"

Chris broke away from the conversation, noticing that the rest of the platoon had engaged in conversations with the other villagers. Scanning through the small crowd, he spotted a certain familiar face - a beautiful red-haired, green eyed woman, pushing her way towards him. She was almost running.

He owed her an apology. A profuse one.

Sylvia said nothing as she approached. Instead she hugged him tightly, wrapping her arms around him and resting her head on his shoulder.

Chris's chest wound throbbed at the sudden contact, causing him to wince. As the pain slowly subsided, he gradually put his arms around her as well. He could sense that she wasn't going to let go of him very soon.

"You came back," she whispered in his ear.

"Sylvia," Chris began softly, "I'm so sorry. I had everything wrong… Everything I said last night was a mistake."

She didn't seem to respond, still constraining him with her warm embrace.

"I thought I was too afraid to help anybody," he continued, "but I understand now. I have to be more afraid of losing others than I am of dying."

"I'm still afraid of you dying," she said. "Lucia told me what happened - I thought you'd been killed."

"I almost was," Chris replied as Sylvia finally released him. Her face had an expression of warmth written across it, and Chris just stared - like the moment he'd first seen her.

"Don't you ever leave us again," a wide grin spread across her face as she said it. "ever."

"I'm stationed here, Sylvia," he replied. "I'm not going to be deserting the village anytime soon."

He winced a little inside as the words came out. Why should she trust him? He ran away once already.

"Promise me," she asked.

Why the sudden intensity on the prospect of him staying?

"I told you," he answered, "it was a mistake to leave in the first place. I swear I won't leave again."

There was a short pause as she stared into his eyes. Then she leaned in and kissed him.

Chris had not been prepared for that.

His eyes widened, his muscles tensed, and his heart soared higher than he'd ever felt it fly before.

Sylvia held a surprisingly firm grip on the front of his shirt as he relaxed and slowly let his eyes drift closed. It lasted for only a couple seconds at most - yet those seconds seemed to extend into an infinity.

"Chris!" a loud voice snapped his mind back to reality as Sylvia quickly released him.

Evan approached the two, his arms outstretched in a questioning manner.

Sylvia still looked at Chris, giving him one last bright smile before turning and walking back towards her house. The smile, however, meant something completely different than it would have previously.

"Chris," Evan exclaimed, laying his arm around Chris's shoulders.

"Watch it," Chris gasped, recoiling.

"Right, chest wound. Sorry. Anyway, I was wondering how you were spending your time over here - looks like now I know! Where did you find her?"

"I… I really didn't," Chris answered awkwardly. "She actually found me."

"No one gets that lucky. Not even me. Seriously, how did you manage it?"

"I didn't do anything," Chris replied. "In fact, I thought I'd done more to hurt the relationship than to help it."

"Lies!"

"Were you going to tell me something important?" Chris asked, growing irritated, "Or did you just want to ask me embarrassing questions?"

Evan scratched the back of his head.

"I was gonna say something…"

"What you were going to say," Klein said, seeming to suddenly appear behind Evan, "was that Chris should be getting some rest."

Evan leaped out of his own skin as he noticed Klein behind him.

"Seeing as we just got here, Evan," Klein said, "I want you to look over the perimeter. Our arrival could provoke bandits to want to investigate the village. If you see anything , I want to know about it."

"On it." Evan nodded, moving off towards the forest.

As Evan left, Klein turned back to Chris.

"I don't want to hear from you again until that wound is healed up."

"Yes, sir. Thank you." Klein had spoken with such a commanding tone that Chris couldn't help but answer in an obedient one.

As Klein turned away, Chris made his way back to the nearby Riven household.

...Where the whole family was standing by the front steps. Chris slowed as he approached them, looking over his shoulder as if to assume they were waiting for someone else.

Lucia, as usual, darted to him and tackled his leg, squealing.

"Uh, I can still sleep here, right?" he asked, awkwardly pointing to himself.

The whole family laughed. The joke hadn't even been that funny.

"Chris," Mr. Riven began, "after what you did, I'd be willing to give you more than a mat in the shed."

"What I did?" Chris asked. Lucia still clung to his leg, reminding him of the way she'd hidden behind him from the bandits. Now, she did it with much more joy and less terror.

"She's more important to us than anything else," Mrs. Riven said, gesturing to Lucia.

"But I-" Chris almost mentioned Jacob.

They don't need to be reminded, he thought. They remember.

"We just wanted to thank you personally," Sylvia said, stepping forward. "That's all."

"...I think you've thanked me enough," Chris said specifically back to her. "For now, I think I could just use some sleep."

"You're welcome to it, then," Mr. Riven said. With that, the rest of the family turned to go back indoors.

Chris glanced down, noticing Lucia still gripped to his leg like some kind of arm brace.

"Okay, Lucia," he said, "you should be getting back inside."

She reluctantly let go of him, sitting upright in the snow.
"Chris, are you my new big brother?"

The sentence was like a cold, steely knife ruthlessly twisting into his stomach. He stopped as the biting pain diluted itself throughout the rest of his body. He took just a second - the longest second he'd ever felt, and looked down at her.

She'd asked the question innocently. She had no idea what kind of implication she'd just made. It was as if she'd had no idea that the cold knife could pierce so easily. He just knelt down, crouching beside her and meeting her eyes at her own level.
"...Do you need me to be?" He asked simply.
This time, she took the long second to answer. Her eyes looked as if they were full of much more thought than a four year old should be capable of.
"M-hm," she mumbled, nodding.
Chris gave her a warm smile, stretching out his hand and ruffling her hair.
"I can't replace anybody, Lucy - but I'll see what I can do."
The both of them stood up, and Lucia turned to run back inside. Chris slowly made his way to the woodshed, where his mat was in its usual place. Crouching down, he carefully laid across it without producing any pain from his chest wound.

As he exhaled, his breath a cloud of vapor, a wave of relief and relaxation washed over him, as if a weight had been lifted that he hadn't known he was carrying.

Feeling light as the air itself, he drifted to sleep within seconds.