The evening air was thick with tension, the shadows of the forest deepening around them. Garrin’s fingers tightened on the reins, his eyes narrowing as ragged figures emerged from the underbrush. The sound of rustling branches signaled their approach—something dangerous lurked ahead.

  Lucian sat at the back of the cart, still as stone, his spine prickling with an instinctive warning. The weight of danger pressed in, as if the forest itself was holding its breath.

  Garrin was the first to speak, his voice steady but edged with something darker. “You’re making a mistake, friend,” he said to the leader, a man standing at the front of the cart, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

  The bandit’s smile widened, sharpening his features into something vicious. “I know exactly who I’m dealing with,” he growled. “We’re taking everything—food, supplies, weapons. You’ve got two choices: make it easy, or make it hard. Your call.”

  Five more figures slinked from behind the trees, their bodies hunched like predators. The low murmur of their voices nearly drowned in the oppressive silence. Lucian’s pulse quickened. His breath shallowed as he registered the danger ahead, senses sharpening. These were men. Not monsters.

  Flesh and blood. But that only made them more dangerous. He wasn’t sure how he felt about hurting them—yet something in his gut told him he would have to. His Ascen flared instinctively, responding to the tension in the air, surging within him, ready.

  Garrin didn’t flinch. “You’re outnumbered,” he said, his voice colder now, edged with quiet menace. “You sure you want to make this harder than it needs to be?”

  The leader’s gaze swept over them, dismissive and scornful. “You’ve got a smart mouth for an old man,” he sneered. “But I don’t care how many of you there are. We’re taking your stuff, and you’re walking away—one way or another.”

  Garrin’s fingers brushed the crossbow at his side—a subtle motion, but Lucian caught it. The older man flicked him a glance, brief but telling. He was ready. He needed Lucian to be ready, too.

  “I hope you know how to fight, lad,” Garrin muttered under his breath, gaze locked on the bandits.

  Lucian’s throat went dry. He wasn’t prepared for this—the way his body tensed at the weight of impending violence, the coil of dread in his gut. The forest had been his home, a place where beasts roamed, not men. He’d never had to face something like this.

  But there was no time to hesitate.

  Garrin moved like lightning, crossbow snapping up in a fluid motion. A bolt flew through the air, striking a bandit square in the chest. The man let out a ragged gasp before crumpling to the ground.

  For a moment, the world stood still. The remaining bandits froze, shock flickering in their eyes. The air crackled with the aftershock of sudden violence.

  Lucian’s heart hammered. He stared at the fallen man, his mind spinning. It wasn’t real. This wasn’t how he imagined battle. Someone had just died—and he hadn’t even seen it coming. A cold weight settled in his chest.

  But there was no time to process it. No time to mourn.

  A bandit lunged, a gleaming knife raised high. Lucian’s body reacted before his mind caught up. He sidestepped, but not fast enough—the blade scraped his arm, tearing through his sleeve, sending a sharp sting through his nerves. He gritted his teeth, shoving the pain aside. No room for hesitation.

  He surged forward, his fist driving into the bandit’s chest. The man staggered, gasping for air, but didn’t fall. Lucian wasn’t done. He swung again, his knuckles cracking against the bandit’s jaw. The blow sent him sprawling, dazed but conscious.

  The metallic scent of blood tinged the air. Lucian’s hand trembled, but he forced himself to stay focused. This wasn’t just about him anymore. He couldn’t let them take everything.

  Garrin fired again, his bolt sinking into another bandit’s leg. The man howled, crumpling to the dirt, clutching his wound.

  Lucian’s gaze locked onto the leader. He felt the weight of those calculating eyes, the power behind them. The leader’s Ascen flared again, stronger this time, rippling through the air like an oncoming storm. It pressed against Lucian, suffocating in its presence. This wasn’t just a bandit. This was someone who wielded power with precision.

  “Not bad,” the leader said, voice dripping with condescension. “But I’ve seen better. Let’s see how long you last.”

  Lucian’s chest tightened. His muscles burned, his breaths shallow. The leader’s power wasn’t just strong—it was honed, controlled. It crashed against him in waves, relentless.

  The bandits closed in, their Ascen flaring—less refined than their leader’s, but still a threat. Lucian dodged the next charge, narrowly avoiding a blade at his throat. He sidestepped, using the bandit’s momentum to slam a fist into his ribs, sending him stumbling backward.

  Exhaustion gnawed at Lucian’s limbs, but he forced himself forward. Stopping wasn’t an option.

  The leader’s power surged again, heavier this time. Lucian’s Ascen strained against it. He wasn’t just fighting these men—he was fighting the weight of this world, the power threatening to crush him.

  But he wasn’t backing down. His body was primed for battle, his mind sharpened by the need to survive.

  And he wasn’t going to let them take everything.

  ------------------------------------------------

  Lucian stood his ground, heart pounding as the bandits closed in around him. His muscles burned from the constant fighting, his body screaming for respite, but he couldn’t stop now—not when the bandit leader’s Ascen pressed down on him like a suffocating weight.

  The leader stepped forward, eyes glinting with amusement. “You’ve got spirit, kid,” he sneered, his voice low and dangerous. “But it’s not enough. Not against me.”

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  Lucian could feel the raw power radiating from the leader—his Ascen was like a storm, a violent force that cracked through the air with every step. This wasn’t a typical thug wielding some crude power. This was a man who had honed his skills, a predator who knew exactly how to unleash his energy with precision.

  Lucian’s hand drifted to his belt, fingers brushing against the dagger Garrin had given him. It was small compared to the leader’s weapon, but size wasn’t everything. He gripped it tightly, feeling the weight of it, the reassurance of steel in his grasp.

  The leader lunged, his Ascen flaring as he swung his blade. Lucian reacted instinctively, sidestepping just in time to avoid the deadly strike. But the leader was faster—his speed and control unparalleled—and the blade came down in a smooth arc, slashing toward Lucian’s chest.

  Lucian barely twisted away, the blade slicing through his sleeve and drawing a thin line of blood. He stumbled back, breath hitching. The leader didn’t give him time to recover—he pressed forward, his strikes coming in relentless waves. Lucian dodged, parried where he could, but the gap in skill was undeniable. He couldn’t win in a contest of raw power.

  He needed to outthink him.

  Lucian focused on his surroundings. The uneven ground, the loose stones, the lingering shadows of the trees. He feigned another retreat, baiting the leader into overcommitting. The bandit stepped in for the kill, blade thrusting forward with deadly precision. But this time, Lucian twisted at the last moment, guiding the leader’s momentum past him. The bandit’s footing wavered—just enough.

  Lucian struck. He drove his elbow into the leader’s ribs, forcing a grunt of pain. The moment of weakness was brief, but Lucian capitalized. He pivoted, dropping low, and in one swift motion, he drew the dagger Garrin had given him. With precise intent, he drove it into the leader’s side, slipping it between the gaps in his armor.

  The leader choked out a gasp, eyes wide in shock. He staggered, his weapon slipping from his grasp as the strength drained from his body. Lucian pulled the dagger free, breath unsteady, as the bandit collapsed to his knees before him.

  Lucian didn’t hesitate. He surged forward, slamming his fist into the leader’s jaw with every ounce of strength left in him. The impact was brutal. The leader’s head snapped back, his body going limp as consciousness slipped away. Lucian staggered back, gasping for breath, his limbs trembling. He’d won—but not through strength alone. He had fought smart, adapting in the face of overwhelming force.

  The bandit leader gasped for breath, disbelief in his eyes. “You... You’re not like the others,” he wheezed. “Who are you, really?”

  Lucian stood over him, chest heaving, trying to catch his breath. The weight of the leader’s words hung in the air, but Lucian didn’t answer. He turned and walked away, heading back to the cart, the bandits already retreating into the woods.

  Lucian stood silently as the sounds of the battle faded into the distance. His limbs felt like lead, exhaustion tugging at him, but there was something deeper gnawing at his mind. He looked down at his hands, blood staining his fingers. The reality of what had just happened crashed over him.

  He’d killed a man.

  His stomach churned, and his breath came in shallow gasps as he tried to process it. The leader’s death had been necessary—he was a real, immediate threat. But the weight of taking a life sat heavily in his chest.

  Garrin approached, his expression somber but unreadable. “You did good,” he said quietly, offering what little comfort he could. “But you’ve got to learn not to hesitate, boy. In this world, hesitation gets you killed.”

  Lucian didn’t reply. His mind was still reeling, the images of the fight flashing behind his eyes. He wasn’t sure he could keep doing this. Was he prepared for what this path required? But then he remembered Father Aldric’s words—the duty, the responsibility. His path had already been set, whether he was ready for it or not. If he wanted to survive, he would have to grow. And that meant moving forward, no matter the cost.

  The forest around them felt suffocating in its silence, the weight of the aftermath settling in. They couldn’t stay here—not with the sounds of the fight still echoing in the woods. More bandits were sure to be nearby, waiting for a chance to strike. Lucian looked over at Garrin, who was already securing the cart.

  “We need to move,” Garrin said, his tone firm. “Let’s get you some rest at the next village. We can’t afford to linger here.”

  Lucian nodded wordlessly, climbing into the cart. His thoughts were a storm, but one thing was certain: he couldn’t stop. Not yet. As they continued down the winding road, the air growing colder with each passing mile, Garrin spoke again, his voice low and almost conspiratorial.

  “You handled yourself well back there,” Garrin said, eyes now gleaming with a sharpness Lucian hadn’t noticed before. “But I’d be careful, if I were you. You’ve got something special—something that draws attention.”

  Lucian glanced at him, frowning. “What do you mean?”

  Garrin smiled faintly, his gaze shifting toward the road ahead. “You’ve got an Ascen, don’t you? A rare one, if I’m guessing right."

  Lucian stiffened. The merchant had been observing him more closely than he realized.

  “I don’t talk about my past,” Lucian said, his voice steady, though a hint of unease crept in. “And I’m not interested in talking about my Ascen.”

  Garrin raised a hand in mock surrender. “Fair enough. But let me offer you a piece of advice: the world is more dangerous than you realize. There are factions out there—old ones, new ones—who deal in power, and they watch people like you.”

  Lucian’s heart skipped a beat. “What are you talking about?”

  Garrin’s expression grew serious. “There are powers in the world that most people never even hear about. Some are far more dangerous than you think. The people who hold such power have their own goals and will use anyone they can to get what they want. People like you? You’re not just another soldier. You’ve got something they’ll want.”

  Lucian’s mind raced as he processed the words. “What’s the next step?” he asked, cautious but needing to know more.

  Garrin smiled faintly, his eyes gleaming with knowing. “You’re about to find out. Whether you’re ready or not.”

  -----------------------------------

  As the cart rattled along the dirt path, the dense forest around them gradually thinned, giving way to open fields bathed in the pale light of the setting sun. The distant silhouette of the village loomed ahead, a sign that their journey would soon reach a brief respite.

  Garrin cast a glance at Lucian, who sat beside him, his gaze fixed on the road ahead but unfocused, lost in thought. His grip on the dagger was tight, his knuckles white. The young warrior hadn’t spoken much since the fight, and the weight of what had happened still lingered in his eyes.

  With a sigh, Garrin nudged him lightly. “You’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?”

  Lucian blinked, as if pulled from a deep fog. He didn’t answer at first, but after a moment, he exhaled and nodded. “I didn’t think it would feel like this,” he admitted quietly. “I knew it was him or me, but… it doesn’t change what I did.”

  Garrin rubbed his chin thoughtfully before responding. “It never does, boy. First time’s always the hardest. You’ll carry it with you, whether you like it or not.” He glanced up at the sky, his voice growing softer. “But it’s not about what you’ve done—it’s about what you do next.”

  Lucian let those words settle, but the storm inside him didn’t wane. Garrin could see it plainly. The boy wasn’t ready to accept that truth just yet.

  After a few moments of silence, Garrin gave a light chuckle and patted Lucian’s shoulder. “I’m not great with words, but listen—beating yourself up over this won’t change a damn thing. Get some rest. The worst is behind us, and this stretch of road isn’t dangerous.”

  Lucian hesitated, his body tense. “What if—”

  “No ‘what ifs,’” Garrin interrupted firmly. “I’ve been on this road more times than I can count. Nothing but quiet fields from here to the village. You need to let yourself breathe, kid.”

  Lucian hesitated a moment longer, but Garrin’s tone was steady, reassuring. Slowly, he exhaled and nodded. “…Alright.”

  “Good. Close your eyes. I’ll keep watch.”

  Lucian finally leaned back against the cart, exhaustion settling into his limbs. His eyes fluttered shut, though his mind still raced. The rumbling of the wheels against the road, the rhythmic sway of the cart—it was enough to slowly, finally, pull him into uneasy rest.

  Garrin kept his eyes on the road ahead, his expression unreadable. He had done what he could. The rest was up to Lucian