The man stared up at him, breath hitching in the cold air. His eyes darted across Kael's face—searching, desperate, failing to settle on any feature that might tell him who this was.
"I— I don't know," he stammered, voice trembling. "Who are you?"
His confusion seemed genuine. Or perhaps fear had simply wiped his memory clean.
Kael studied him in silence for a long moment.
"Three months ago. That knight. That man in the iron shell—the 'deer.'"
"You really don't remember?"
The man's eyes widened, genuine confusion flooding his face. "I—I don't know what you're talking about! I swear, sir, I don't—"
His reaction didn't look fake. The fear was real. The confusion was real.
Kael watched him carefully.
"Do you have a twin brother?"
"No! No, I'm an only child, I—"
"Then tell me," Kael said, his voice quiet, "why would a farmer go so deep into the forest? Why not stay near the edge where it's safe?"
The man's breath came in ragged gasps. "I was... I was starving. There's nothing left out there. Nothing. I had to—"
"You went in with a hand axe."
"My long axe!" The man's voice cracked. "It was stolen! Bandits took it two weeks ago, I only had the small one left, I—"
Kael held his gaze.
The man stared back, trembling, desperate.
Kael leaned in slightly, breathing in.
The smell was still there—sour sweat, damp wool, heavy earth and pig manure. The same scent as before. The red nose was still there too, running in the cold.
Nothing had changed.
But that feeling. That unnerving stillness beneath the surface, like deep water hiding something twisted underneath.
It was gone. Completely gone.
He looked at the man one more time.
"You really don't remember me, do you?"
"I don't!" The man's voice broke. "I swear, my lord, I truly don't know you! Please... please just let me go..."
Kael straightened slowly.
"Silas. Tie him up."
Silas moved forward without a word. His hands worked quickly, efficiently—rope appearing from his pack as if he'd done this a hundred times before.
As he bound the man's wrists, his fingers brushed along the woodcutter's belt, checking for hidden pockets. A moment later, a small skinning knife appeared in Silas's hand—tucked inside the inner lining of the man's coat, easy to miss in a quick search.
He pocketed it without a word.
Kael watched in silence.
*This guy...*
No wonder he had the nerve to steal from a mage right under their nose.
---
They started back the way they came.
The sun hung directly overhead, cold and white through the skeletal canopy. It gave light without warmth. Long shadows stretched across the snow, sharp and black, cutting the forest floor into jagged patterns of white and dark.
The only sounds were the crunch of boots on snow and the occasional whimper from the bound man stumbling between them.
Griggs walked alongside Silas, his breath misting in the frigid air. His gaze dropped to the farmer's hands.
They were purple.
"Was that really necessary?" Griggs muttered, nodding toward the ropes. "Look at his hands. You've wrapped him like a damn corpse for burial."
Silas glanced at him, then looked toward Kael.
Kael said nothing. He walked ahead, eyes fixed on the path, his shadow stretching long behind him.
Silas muttered something under his breath—something about "softness" and "mercy getting people killed"—but he stopped walking. He yanked the farmer to a halt and began loosening the ropes with sharp, irritated movements.
"There. Happy?"
The man gasped as blood flow returned to his hands. His fingers twitched, flexing slowly.
Griggs shook his head and kept walking.
Kogan took the rope from Silas without a word, looping it once around his fist. The prisoner stumbled as the slack was pulled taut.
---
The prisoner stumbled along behind them, head down, breathing raggedly.
For a while, there was only the sound of boots on snow.
Then, slowly, the sobbing stopped.
The silence that replaced it felt wrong.
Kael's steps slowed, though he didn't know why. Something in the air had shifted. The forest seemed to hold its breath. Even the faint whisper of wind through bare branches had died.
Behind him, a voice began to whisper.
"One..."
It was barely audible. Flat. Rhythmic.
Kogan's head snapped around. He frowned, yanking the rope. "Shut up."
"Two... three..."
The trembling was gone. The fear was gone. The voice was mechanical now. Lifeless. Like a child reciting numbers by rote.
"Four... five..."
Kael stopped.
The hair on the back of his neck stood up.
He turned around slowly.
The prisoner had stopped walking. He lifted his head. The tears were gone. His face was slack, empty—eyes wide and unblinking, staring at nothing. At everything.
"Six."
The word hung in the cold air, clear and sharp.
Then, a sound leaked from his throat. A high, wet giggle.
"Heh... heh."
Silas's hand went to his dagger. Griggs took a step back, his grip tightening on the spear shaft.
Kogan's grip tightened on the rope. "What the—"
The rope behind the man's back went taut.
CRACK.
The wet, sickening pop of a joint dislocating.
The man pulled. He yanked his right hand straight out of the tight loops. The rough hemp stripped the skin from his wrist and hand in a bloody sleeve, tearing flesh from his knuckles as the hand came free. Blood dripped onto the snow in fat, dark drops.
His arm hung at a grotesque angle, the shoulder wrenched from its socket.
Kogan stumbled backward. "Holy—"
With a sickening crunch, the man slammed his shoulder against his own jaw, snapping the joint back into place.
He rolled his shoulder once. Twice.
Then he smiled.
It was the same smile. The same empty, broken thing Kael had seen three months ago.
The stillness was back.
And beneath it, something twisted writhed.
Kael's hand moved to his sword.
"Everyone back. Now."
The man's head tilted slowly, like a puppet testing new strings. His eyes swept across them—Kael, Kogan, Silas, Griggs, Jarek, Bren.
His smile widened.
"Seven."