The campfire crackled low and steady as its orange light licking at dented armour and bloodstained cloaks hung to dry on makeshift poles. The work was done. The bandits lay dead in the ravine two kilometres back, their camp put to the torch, their stolen goods reclaimed—or claimed, depending on how one chose to look at it. The request was to simply dispose of the bandit groups.
Ventren sat on a log with his helm set beside him, axe resting across his knees. His laughter was deep and unrestrained, rare even then.
"I'm telling you, bro." Richard said between mouthfuls of mead, "if I hadn't put that arrow through the bastard's throat, he'd have taken your leg clean off."
Stavross snorted, lifting his cup. "You put that arrow through something, I'll give you that. Throat is generous. Looked more like you hit the knee."
Richard playfully scoffed. "Details were unnecessary, man."
Irina sat opposite them, cross-legged on her cloak, firelight glistening her pink hair. She smiled faintly, eyes half-lidded, listening more than speaking. There was blood on her white gloves she hadn't yet bothered to clean.
Ventren chuckled and finally spoke. "You both talk too much. Stav, we both know you could easily dispatch the whole camp—if you didn't forget your brigandine. Richard, you could do the same with your bow if your ass wasn't drunk!"
"Oh, listen to him," Stavross said, raising his cup in mock reverence. "The man himself. Bandit camps quake at the sound of your footsteps, big man."
"They should," Ventren replied easily. "Saves us time."
That earned another round of laughter. It was an honest moment for the four mercenaries, alive, paid and warm.
The fire popped loudly, sending sparks into the air. Irina's smile faded just a little.
"You're quiet," Richard noted, glancing at her. "That mean you're about to scold us, or praise us?"
"Neither," she said. "Just thinking. Something feels a bit off."
"That's never good," Stavross muttered mockingly.
Ventren rose, stretching, the firelight catching the scars across his arms. "I'm turning in. Long day and I'll wake ya'll up in dawn."
Richard raised a brow. "What, tired of our charming company?"
Ventren smirked. "You reek of alcohol."
Irina looked up at him then, her gaze lingering a fraction too long.
"Wake me if something happens," he said, already moving towards his tent.
"Get some good sleep, rockhead" Stavross replied.
Ventren ducked inside, the canvas falling shut behind him. Moments later, the sounds of him settling—metal set aside and boots removed—faded into silence.
The laughter around the fire resumed albeit quieter now.
Richard leaned back, hands behind his head. "You ever think about settling down? Like this, I mean. Just contracts, coin and drinks. Could do with some wenches too, aye?"
Stavross shrugged. "Coin's coin. I'd like more women around me though."
"Alright, calm your libido, Stav!" Irina retorted with a pout.
The fire burned lower. The forest seemed to lean closer, shadows thickening at the edge of the light. "I feel like I need to check something," Irina said softly.
Richard frowned. "Now?"
"Yes."
She reached into her satchel and drew out the crystal ball. It glowed faintly, light pulsing beneath its surface like a slow and steady heartbeat.
Stavross straightened. "Irina…?"
"Mana concentrated around it, it wants me to see something." she said. She placed the crystal between them. The surface clouded, swirling with grey and black, then—
Flames.
Not campfire flames, cities burning and towers collapsing. Banners torn apart in storms of ash as screams layered upon screams. Richard sucked in a sharp breath as they see a figure stood amidst the destruction.
Tall, heavily armoured with winged horns outlined in fire. It was unmistakably Ventren.
He moved through the inferno like a god of destruction, axe cleaving through soldiers bearing the Valkraun's prince colours. The ground split beneath his feet as rivers of blood flow into streets Irina recognised too well. Following Ventren's lead were an army of Merrows and what seemed to be brigands and outlaws, mismatched uniforms and without a flag.
Facing him loomed something vast and grotesque—a presence more than a shape. Horns like crowns and wings of shadow blotting out the sky. Six predator-like eyes upon the white supernatural figure. Chains trailing from Ventren's back into the darkness, pulled taut as if he were both master and hound. It was a demon, creatures that were said to be vanquished even before the time of Matrem Myriam by heroes of old.
The crystal flared brighter.
Richard staggered back, knocking over his drink. "By Myriam, no. No, that's—this isn't real."
Irina's hands trembled but she didn't pull away. Her breath came shallow, eyes wide with horror and certainty both.
"I feel it, you ALL felt it!" she screamed. "The time-thread. This isn't a possibility. It's a convergence."
Stavross stared, face pale. "You're saying… that's him? In the future?"
The vision shifted as it shows the kingdom burning completely. The palace reduced to rubble, bodies—beheaded, broken—littered fields of dead families beyond the walls. Magic rained from the sky in violent barrages, tearing reality apart, heathenous monuments dedicated to death and Ventren stood at the centre of it all, unmoved. The crystal subsequently went dark.
Silence crashed down on them like a flanged mace's blow.
Richard shook his head, breathing hard. "This could be wrong, granted the first time it would be so but—"
"You know my affinity! Time doesn't lie to me like that... This wasn't a glimpse—it was THE future."
Stavross clenched his jaw. "Why didn't it already happen?"
"Because," she said slowly, "the trigger hasn't occurred. Whatever it may be."
They all looked instinctively towards Ventren's tent.
Richard swallowed. "He's one of us. We can't hurt him."
"He was," Irina replied. "Or he is, for now."
Stavross stood, panicking. "Fuck you mean for now? Should we just... Do something about it? I don't know, like getting rid of—"
Richard's voice cracked. "You're talking about killing him?!"
Irina closed her eyes. For a moment, she looked very tired.
"Yes."
"No… I can't bring myself to regardless…" Stavross said immediately with a pained expression.
"We should talk to him and warn him." Richard intervened.
"And tell him what?" Irina snapped. "That one day he becomes a monster serving something worse than death itself? I love him! I love Ventren, but…"
Irina opened her eyes again. They were wet with tears, but resolute. "If this vision comes to pass, it will be because we did nothing. Time magic does not show inevitability for no reason, the universe or even Matrem Myriam herself is giving us a solution."
The fire hissed as a log collapsed inward.
Irina nodded once. "If we kill him now the vision collapses and the kingdom lives."
Stavross stopped pacing. "He trusts us."
The words hung heavy.
"I know," Irina said softly. "That is why it has to be us."
Richard looked sick. "By Myriam… we just laughed with him."
"And we will again," Irina said. "Tonight. Tomorrow, perhaps until the moment comes. We must lure him somewhere far away."
Stavross exhaled slowly, then nodded. "We make it as quick as we could, that guy is one tough bastard though."
Richard hesitated, eyes darting to the tent, then back to Irina. "And what if you're wrong?"
Irina's voice broke, just slightly. "Then I will carry that sin for the rest of my life, but I highly doubt so."
The forest remained silent.
Somewhere, inside the tent, Ventren slept peacefully and unaware that his fate had been sealed beside a dying fire by the only people he had ever truly trusted.