The morning sun climbed higher, its golden light filtering through the trees, casting a warm glow over the camp. The air remained still, save for the occasional crackle of the fire and the hushed murmurs of Pip's friends as they huddled near its warmth.
Irelia rested against a nearby rock, arms crossed, her gaze shifting between the halflings and the horizon. She remained silent, observing, but she could sense the weight pressing down on them—the lingering fear, the uncertainty that came after surviving something they never should have faced.
Pip sat cross-legged on the ground, his slingshot resting idly beside him. His friends gathered close, their voices low, heavy with the echoes of the previous night.
"I thought we were going to die," muttered Sam, his voice unsteady. He clutched a blanket tightly around his shoulders, his eyes locked on the flames as if searching for some kind of reassurance. "Those… things. I can still hear their growls."
"We were lucky," said Poppy, though there was no relief in her voice. The usual brightness in her tone was gone, replaced by something hollow. She absently toyed with the frayed edge of her scarf, her fingers restless. "If Irelia and Pip hadn't…" She trailed off, shaking her head. "I can't do this anymore. I'm done."
Pip's head snapped toward her, dread settling deep in his gut. First Derrin, and now Poppy? A quick glance at the others' faces told him the truth—this wasn't just the two of them.
"What do you mean?" he asked, though he already knew.
Poppy met his gaze, her expression tired but unwavering. "I'm going home, Pip," she said simply. "I don't care if I have to walk the whole way. This life… the danger, the uncertainty, it's not worth it. I thought I wanted adventure, but not like this. Not at the cost of…" Her voice caught, and she turned away.
Sam nodded, his wide eyes staring blankly into the flames. "I can't do this again. The thought of coming that close to… I just can't." His voice cracked, and he buried his face in his hands. "What's the point of risking everything if it all ends in a moment like that?"
Sophia, usually the quietest of the group, spoke up, her tone uncharacteristically sharp. "We didn't sign up for this," she said. "Trading goods, bartering at markets, sure—but beasts? Cultists? We're not warriors. We're not even adventurers. We're just merchants."
Her words settled heavily over the group, raw and undeniable. Even Pip, who had spent years dreaming of more, felt the sting of the truth behind them.
Derrin nodded. "She's right. We are merchants, not fighters. I wanted to see the world, to make something of myself, but this?" He gestured vaguely at the camp, at the remnants of their ordeal. "This isn't what I signed up for."
Sophia turned to Pip, her sharp gaze softening slightly, though her words remained firm.
"And you, Pip?" she asked. "Are you really going to stay with them? With her?"
She inclined her head toward Irelia, who sat apart from the group, arms crossed, her expression unreadable.
"She's brave, sure. But she's not like us. She lives in this world. Thrives in it. Do you?"
Pip hesitated, the weight of Sophia's question settling heavily on his shoulders. It struck deeper than he expected.
His gaze flickered toward Irelia, who sat apart from the group, lost in thought, her posture as guarded as ever. He thought back to the moment she had stood between him and certain death—her blades flashing, her presence unwavering, shielding them all without hesitation.
Then there was Nariel—calm, disciplined, a force of order amid the chaos.
They made danger look almost… manageable.
"I don't know," he admitted finally, his voice barely above a whisper.
His friends exchanged uncertain glances, their concern evident.
"You don't have to prove anything to anyone," Sophia said gently. "You're brave, Pip. But bravery doesn't mean throwing yourself into danger."
Sam nodded, his voice still trembling but insistent. "Think about what you've already done. You saved us. If it weren't for you, we'd be dead. That's enough. You've done enough."
Poppy reached out, her fingers resting lightly on Pip's arm. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
"We've known each other since we were kids," she whispered. "I don't want to lose you. Please, just come back with us."
Pip's fingers curled around the hem of his tunic, his thoughts an endless storm.
They were right, weren't they?
They weren't warriors. They weren't built for this.
And yet…
Even as Poppy's quiet plea echoed in his mind—Please, just come back with us—another voice pushed back.
Softer. Steady.
Not spoken in words, but in instinct.
His gaze drifted to Irelia once more.
And there it was—that pull, a strange and unshakable thing.
Gratitude? Guilt? Admiration?
He couldn't name it.
But whatever it was, it refused to let go.
What would Irelia do?
The thought struck Pip like a jolt, and he nearly scoffed at himself. Irelia wouldn't be caught dead sitting by a fire, second-guessing her choices. She would have already marched into those ruins—battered, bruised, and daring the world to throw more at her.
But the realization that followed hit even harder.
"I'm not Irelia."
The bitter truth settled in his chest, heavier than he expected. He wasn't fearless. He wasn't strong. He was just… Pip. A halfling merchant with a slingshot, a quick tongue, and a knack for stumbling into danger.
What right did he have to stand beside people like her? Or like Nariel—whose every movement radiated authority and purpose?
Still, something deep inside him refused to let go.
"I'm not ready to give up," he said at last, though his voice wavered. "Not yet."
Silence stretched between them. The halflings exchanged uneasy glances, their expressions a mix of worry and resignation.
Pip leaned back, his gaze drifting toward the distant ruins. The jagged stones loomed in the morning light, whispering silent promises—of danger, of discovery, of choices he wasn't sure he was ready to make.
From across the camp, Irelia's gaze flicked his way.
Their eyes met—her emerald-green, sharp and knowing.
She didn't say anything. She didn't need to.
A faint nod passed between them. Not approval. Not encouragement.
Just understanding.
The fire crackled on, but its warmth did little to dispel the lingering chill of uncertainty.
Pip tightened his grip on his slingshot and murmured, more to himself than anyone else—
"I'll figure it out. Somehow."
A few hours later, the distant sound of hooves shattered the uneasy stillness of the morning. Pip's head snapped up, his heart skipping a beat as a group of armored figures emerged from the treeline. Their banners bore the unmistakable insignia of the Morning Flame—a golden flame bordered by silver.
The knights moved with the disciplined precision of seasoned warriors, their mere presence radiating authority and reassurance.
At their lead rode a tall knight, his chiseled jaw set with quiet confidence. He dismounted in one smooth motion, his sharp blue eyes sweeping over the camp before settling on Nariel. He inclined his head slightly.
"Silver Ember Kaeryn," he greeted, his tone respectful but edged with curiosity. "We received your message."
Nariel stepped forward, her silver armor gleaming in the morning light as she returned the nod.
"Toren," she acknowledged. "Thank you for your swift response."
His gaze flickered to the huddled halflings near the fire, his expression softening. "Your message mentioned survivors." A pause. "Are they…?"
"Shaken, but alive," Nariel confirmed. She gestured toward the group. "They need safe passage back to Ignisia. Make sure they get there unharmed."
Toren straightened, his voice resolute. "You have my word. They'll be protected."
Nariel's expression softened slightly, though her posture remained rigid. "Good. They've been through enough."
As the knights busied themselves organizing the halflings for their journey, Pip lingered at the edge of the camp, caught between two worlds. His gaze flickered between the methodical efficiency of the knights and Irelia, who was quietly adjusting her gear, each movement deliberate and measured.
The image of her standing against the hellhounds—bloodied, but unyielding—flashed through his mind.
"You should come with us," Toren's voice cut through his thoughts. The knight's tone was kind, but firm. "Your injuries need time to heal. We'll ensure your safety."
Pip hesitated, his heart twisting. Safety. It sounded so simple, so logical. But when he glanced back at Irelia, at the quiet resolve etched into her features, doubt gnawed at him.
"I… I don't know," he muttered.
Irelia, noticing his turmoil, walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder. Her touch was steady, grounding.
"Pip," she said, her voice low but certain, "you've done enough. Go with the knights. Look after your friends. They need you right now."
"But what about you?" Pip asked, his voice breaking slightly. "You're still injured too. What if—"
"I'll be fine," Irelia cut in, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "This isn't my first time dealing with something like this."
Pip's chest tightened. Gratitude. Guilt. Worry. It all tangled inside him. But he knew she meant it—just as much as he knew she wouldn't change her mind.
Finally, he nodded. "Okay," he said softly. "But… be careful. Please."
Irelia's smirk softened into something real—a rare, genuine smile.
"I always am."
As the halflings and knights made their final preparations, Pip cast one last glance at the ruins. Their jagged silhouette loomed against the morning sky, stark and unyielding. A flicker of longing crossed his hazel eyes—uncertainty curling in his chest like smoke.
With a final glance back at Irelia, he turned and followed the knights into the forest.
As he walked, his thoughts drifted to Nariel. The way she had commanded the knights, her presence as steady as a shield, unwavering in the face of danger. Even Toren—a knight who radiated authority himself—had addressed her with a title that carried weight. Silver Ember Kaeryn.
Nariel didn't just survive in this world. She belonged to it.
And Irelia?
Irelia carried that same strength—rougher, sharper, an edge honed by defiance and sheer willpower. She didn't have the order and discipline of a knight, but she didn't need them. She carved her own path and dared the world to challenge her.
A pang of inadequacy settled deep in Pip's gut.
Could I ever be like them?
Would he ever have the courage to stand in the face of danger—not just for himself, but for others?
His fingers tightened around his slingshot.
It had always been a simple tool to him. A way to fend off wild animals, to handle trouble when it came too close.
But last night, it had been the only thing between him and death.
And it hadn't been enough.
He hadn't been enough.
Not yet.
As the last of the halflings disappeared into the forest with the knights, an uneasy stillness settled over the camp. The ruins loomed behind Irelia and Nariel, their jagged silhouette casting long shadows, whispering of forgotten secrets and lurking dangers.
Nariel adjusted the straps of her armor with measured precision, the faint creak of leather breaking the silence. "We should move soon," she said, her voice calm but firm. "The longer we wait, the more time we give the cult to regroup."
Irelia gave a small nod, her emerald eyes fixed on the ruins. "They won't stop," she murmured, more to herself than to Nariel. Her fingers absently brushed the faint burns along her forearm. "Cults don't know how to stop."
The campfire crackled softly, its embers flickering as they slowly faded.
Nariel parted her lips to reply, but a quiet snort broke the moment. Both women turned.
Aurelia stood nearby, her sleek chestnut coat gleaming in the morning light. She held herself with quiet dignity, her deep brown eyes steady and knowing. She stepped forward, hooves barely making a sound against the earth.
Nariel's expression softened, the sharpness in her blue eyes giving way to something almost unguarded as she approached. Without hesitation, she reached out, her gloved hand brushing along Aurelia's neck in a motion so natural it felt instinctive.
"You've taken good care of her," she said softly, an unexpected tenderness in her voice. Her fingers combed through Aurelia's mane, lingering on the familiar texture.
Irelia stood a few paces away, arms crossed, watching with a quiet intensity. "She's earned it," she said, her voice steady but tinged with gratitude. "She's saved my life more times than I care to admit."
Nariel let out a soft chuckle—lighter than Irelia expected. "She's always had a knack for that. Knowing when she's needed the most." Her hand stilled for a brief moment before she turned her gaze toward Irelia, expression unreadable. "I'm glad she found someone worthy."
Irelia raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk tugging at her lips. "Was that a compliment? From you?"
"Don't let it go to your head," Nariel replied smoothly, though a faint smile ghosted at the corners of her mouth. She turned back to Aurelia, her voice dropping to a near whisper as she ran a gloved hand along the mare's flank. "Still keeping an eye on the reckless ones, aren't you, girl?"
Aurelia let out a low nicker, leaning into Nariel's touch before stepping toward Irelia. The mare nudged her gently, warm breath brushing against her cheek—an unspoken reminder of the task ahead.
Irelia gave her a fond pat, her smirk softening into something closer to a real smile. "She's right, you know," she said, casting a glance at Nariel. "We should move. Unless you plan to stand here reminiscing all day?"
Nariel straightened, her hand dropping to the hilt of her sword as she shifted back into her usual disciplined stance.
"Let's see what secrets you've been hiding," she murmured, turning toward the ruins.
With a final glance at each other, they stepped forward.