The warmth of the campfire flickered against the cold night air, but Gale could feel the chill seeping deeper into his bones, the weight of exhaustion pressing harder with every breath. He had survived, but he wasn’t out of danger yet. The bandits had left him with more than just bruises—his body ached in ways he hadn’t felt before, his injuries deep and unforgiving.
Through the haze of pain, he could hear movement, the sound of leather rustling, the scrape of a blade being sharpened. The man who had pulled him from the fight was working, methodical and quick, his movements efficient as he checked Gale’s wounds.
“Hold still,” the man’s voice cut through the fog, low but commanding. Gale barely managed a nod, his eyes half-lidded as the world seemed to tilt.
The rescuer—tall, with a rugged face hidden beneath a dark hood—pulled Gale’s cloak aside and examined the wound on his shoulder. It was deep, the crossbow bolt still lodged in his flesh, a reminder of how close he had come to not making it back. The other cuts on his arm and chest were just as severe, but nothing compared to the agony of the bolt.
“Not much time,” the man muttered to himself. “If I don’t get this out soon, it’ll fester. You’ll bleed out before morning.”
Gale didn’t have the energy to respond, but he felt the rough hands on his shoulder as the man gripped the crossbow bolt and gave a sharp tug. Gale gasped, his vision flickering as pain shot through his body, but somehow, he remained conscious.
The man wasted no time. He reached for a small vial of antiseptic and poured it over the wound, the sting making Gale flinch despite himself. The man’s hands were steady, moving with the kind of precision born from experience.
“You’re lucky,” the man said, his voice softer now. “Luck’s been on your side tonight.”
Gale, barely able to lift his head, let out a weak laugh. "Doesn’t feel like it."
The man didn’t respond, continuing his work. He dressed the wounds swiftly, tightening the bandages around Gale’s shoulder and chest. Gale’s breathing steadied, though the fatigue still gnawed at him. His thoughts kept slipping, hazy, but he felt a strange sense of gratitude toward this stranger who had saved him.
“You could’ve left me,” Gale managed, his voice hoarse from pain and exhaustion.
The man paused for a moment, as if considering the words. Then, without meeting his eyes, he said, “No one deserves to die out here alone. Not like that.”
Gale closed his eyes for a moment, his mind drifting. It felt good to hear something that wasn’t about survival. The weight of the world had been pressing down on him for so long—his past, his purpose, the constant need to be ready for the next fight. It was rare to hear something that reminded him he wasn’t just a weapon or a target. For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to rest, to hope.
But the night wasn’t over yet.
Suddenly, the crackling of the fire grew louder, and Gale's eyes snapped open. He tensed, instinctively reaching for his dagger, but the stranger was already standing, his hand on the hilt of his own blade, eyes scanning the darkness beyond the camp.
“Stay down,” the man said, his voice tight. “We’re not alone anymore.”
Gale’s heart pounded in his chest. More? Already?
There was no time to process it. The sound of footsteps on the soft earth echoed through the clearing, slow and deliberate, but too many to be a simple wanderer. The man beside the fire, still crouched low, readied himself for a fight.
A dark figure emerged from the trees, a silhouette against the fading light. Gale's heart skipped a beat. His vision was still blurry from the injuries, but the figure’s presence was unmistakable. One of the bandits from earlier.
The man stepped forward, his eyes locking with Gale’s for a brief, painful moment. “I should’ve finished you earlier,” the bandit hissed, a malicious grin forming beneath his hood. His voice was raspy, filled with venom.
Before Gale could react, the bandit moved, a crossbow aimed straight at him. He felt his heart skip, his body frozen in place. He was too slow—too beaten. But just as the bolt was released, the stranger lunged from the shadows, moving with terrifying speed.
The bandit barely had time to register the shift before the stranger was upon him, his blade cutting through the air with a deadly swiftness. The man’s strike was clean, precise, and the bandit crumpled to the ground with a grunt, blood seeping out from the wound in his side.
The stranger didn’t wait for the body to fall. With a sharp kick, he sent the crossbow flying out of the bandit’s hand and quickly checked the surrounding area, his posture tense as if expecting more to follow.
Gale's vision swam again, dizziness hitting him harder now. He could hear the stranger’s voice, distant, as if from underwater.
“We can’t stay here,” the man said, sounding urgent. “You’ve been too long in the fight. I’m not letting you die here.”
But Gale couldn’t respond. His thoughts were scattered, and his body was shutting down, each breath more labored than the last. He could feel the blood still seeping from his wounds, the pain dulling everything else, until everything became dark.
Gale woke to the sound of the wind rustling the trees, the air cooler than before. His body felt sore, aching, but he was lying on something soft now. A bedroll. His injuries were bandaged, his limbs wrapped in cloth to keep him warm. His camp, the fire, the stranger—all distant memories.
He tried to sit up, but a hand pushed him back down gently.
“Easy,” the man said, his voice more familiar now. “You’re still healing.”
Gale blinked, the world coming back into focus slowly. He saw the stranger sitting by the fire, his back to him. A small pot bubbled over the flames, and the scent of something cooking filled the air. It was quiet, peaceful—strangely so.
"Where..." Gale started, his voice hoarse.
"You’re safe for now," the stranger replied. "We’re in the hills, not far from Iekburgg. You needed time."
Gale closed his eyes, feeling the exhaustion wash over him. He had survived—barely. But there was still a long road ahead.
And in that silence, with only the crackling fire to keep them company, Gale realized that despite everything—the blood, the pain, the fight—he was still alive.
The night was falling over the large camp, its vast expanse stretching out under the pale light of the moon. Gale’s camp had never been small—more a collection of tents, campfires, and people than a single homestead. It was a place that had grown over the years, a haven of sorts for those who sought refuge or had nowhere else to go. Gale had spent his whole life here, learning to survive in a world that always seemed on the brink of chaos.
Sage sat by the fire, sharpening his blade with the ease of someone who had done it a thousand times. His presence was always a comfort—steady, unbothered, and always ready with a quip. Gale, though exhausted, had finally made it back to camp after their ordeal with the bandits. His injuries were still fresh, the weight of battle having left him drained, but the familiar sight of the camp—his home—made it easier to breathe.
“Did you bring the whole forest with you?” Sage teased, tossing a glance over at Gale, who was settling by the fire. “You’re covered in dirt and blood. Again.”
Gale didn’t respond at first, his hands trembling slightly as he adjusted his cloak, the rough fabric irritating the raw skin from his wounds. The dull ache in his side reminded him just how close he had come to not making it back. But the familiar sound of the camp—voices calling out in the distance, the crackle of distant fires, the hum of life—was enough to push that thought away. For now, at least.
“I’m fine,” Gale muttered, his voice hoarse, though there was an underlying gratitude in it. “I made it, didn’t I?”
Sage didn’t seem convinced, though he didn’t press the issue. Instead, he continued to work on his blade, his movements as smooth as ever. “You always make it back, somehow. You’ve got more lives than a damn cat.”
Gale allowed a small chuckle to escape him, though it quickly turned into a grimace as his side protested the movement. His laughter faded, but the smile remained, albeit a faint one.
“I don’t know how,” Gale said, the fatigue in his voice more evident now. “It feels like every time I come back, there’s always something more waiting.”
“That’s the way it goes,” Sage replied, his voice light but knowing. “You’ve got a knack for finding trouble. But that’s why I’m here.”
Gale glanced over at him, his eyes narrowing slightly in mock suspicion. “And you’re not sick of it by now?”
Sage smirked, wiping the blade with a cloth and sheathing it. “Nah. Someone has to keep you alive. Besides, you’d probably get yourself killed without me.”
“True,” Gale muttered, half-smiling again. “I owe you one.”
Sage stretched and leaned back, glancing up at the stars that were beginning to emerge in the sky above. He took a deep breath, the quiet sounds of the camp enveloping them both.
“Don’t worry about it,” Sage said after a beat. “You’ve always had my back, too. It’s not about debts, it’s just...what we do.”
Gale’s gaze drifted across the camp, his eyes scanning the familiar faces—the soldiers, the traders, the wanderers who had settled here just like he had. He knew every person by name, had fought alongside many of them, shared meals and stories, had watched as others came and went. It wasn’t a perfect place, but it was home. For better or worse, this camp was where Gale had grown up, where he had learned to fight, to survive. It was where he had learned the hardest lessons of all—the ones that didn’t come from books or from teachings, but from experience.
As he let his gaze wander, his mind wandered as well, his thoughts circling back to the bandits from earlier. He knew that his path wasn’t just about survival anymore. There was something bigger out there, something he was meant to do. But for now, the camp, and Sage, were enough.
“I can’t stay here forever,” Gale said quietly, more to himself than to Sage. “I’ve always known that.”
Sage raised an eyebrow, looking over at him. “You planning on leaving? Again?”
Gale shrugged, his fingers absently brushing over the worn leather of his quiver. “I don’t know. Maybe. I feel like there’s more out there. Something I need to find.”
Sage didn’t respond right away, just watching Gale with a thoughtful expression. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable; it was just a pause, a moment where neither of them had the answers they needed.
“Then we’ll figure it out,” Sage finally said, his voice steady, unwavering. “Whatever it is. I’ve got your back, always.”
Gale met his friend’s gaze, the weight of their bond settling between them. There were few people Gale could truly trust, but Sage was one of them. A best friend who had been through it all with him—the losses, the victories, the moments when it seemed like they wouldn’t make it. The kind of person you could depend on without question.
For a moment, Gale allowed himself to relax. Just a little. He wasn’t alone in this fight. And that made all the difference.
Sunny
