They were guided to a shadowed side alcove with ancient stone benches, their surfaces polished smooth through centuries of use by those waiting. Overhead, a weathered board displayed active contracts, with threat zones delineated in chalk and ink, while flesh-eater sightings were boldly circled in crimson.
Michael leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed. "Report goes upstairs," he announced with a hint of indifference, more to fill the silence than to clarify. "The council will scrutinize the region. Might close near the trail. Might not."
"Might not?" Eden repeated.
"Resources are thin," he replied, "Routes matter more than people." No one voiced disagreement. Ansar hadn't spoken since they arrived; his posture stiff as he stood near the edge of the shadowy alcove. His gaze flicked methodically through the hall, seeing who carried weapons, who avoided the flickering light, and who lingered too long near the dilapidated wooden boards. The guild wasn't safe; it was merely a fragile structure, and that structure was what kept things predictable in a world that constantly threatened chaos.
Ansar finally turned to face his team, his voice steady but commanding as he addressed them clearly. "Formation changes are in effect," he announced, his tone leaving no room for disagreement. "We're rotating watch assignments. Eden stays at the center, where her heightened senses are most effective. Michael takes rear, keeping watch on the path behind us."
Eden stiffened at the announcement, her voice sharp with concern. "You can't—" she began, but Ansar held up a hand to cut her off.
"I can," Ansar interrupted gently but firmly, his gaze steady. "Because I won't lose anyone else after today's losses."
Michael met Ansar's gaze with a resigned nod, silently agreeing to the new arrangement. Eden glanced between them, her jaw clenched tightly as if biting back an objection, then looked away with a determined expression. "Next time, I'll be faster," she promised herself.
Ansar didn't argue. "Next time, we'll be closer," he assured them, making the vow more than words, an unspoken promise rooted in their shared commitment.
Within the depths of the guild's hidden chambers, a silent understanding passed between them, a trust forged in uncertainty. After a moment's pause, Ansar turned back toward the hall. "Rest now," he instructed. "We move again at dawn."
Without ceremony or farewell, they followed his lead, each lost in their own thoughts about the looming dangers ahead.
Ansar finally turned to face them, his voice steady but commanding. "Formation changes are in effect," he announced. "We're rotating watch assignments. Eden stays at the center. Michael takes the rear."
Eden stiffened, her voice sharp. "You can't—"
"I can," Ansar interrupted gently but firmly. "Because I won't lose anyone else after today."
Michael met Ansar's gaze and nodded once in silent agreement. Eden glanced between them, her jaw clenched, then looked away. "Next time, I'll be faster."
Ansar didn't argue. "Next time, we'll be closer."
It wasn't just reassurance, it was a vow. Deep within the guild, a silent understanding passed between them, just a moment longer before Ansar turned back toward the hall. "Rest now," he said. "We will move again tomorrow."
Without ceremony, without farewell, they followed his lead.
They dispersed gradually. Michael was the first to turn away, boots echoing softly as he moved toward the barracks without a word, shoulders already settling back into the familiar rhythm of routine. Eden hesitated, her gaze fixed on Ansar as if she wanted to say something, anything, but exhaustion overtook her. She nodded sharply, restrained yet decisive, then followed the corridor's curve until she disappeared from view.
Ansar lingered. The alcove around him emptied out, the low hum of the guild flowing back into its usual murmur, as if nothing had happened. Nearby, metal clinked, paper rustled, a clerk's soft laugh broke the silence over some trivial matter, and life continued around him.
He leaned against the wall, hands loosely at his sides, eyes locked on the contract board. Yet, he didn't need to read the postings. His gaze fixed on the red circles — overlapping, smeared, some half-erased and redrawn — that marked Flesh Eater activity across the region. Too many. He absently brushed his fingers along the faint scar on his jaw, where the dormant flame-shaped mark lay unlit. The heat had faded after the fight, leaving only a dull ache, a reminder not of injury, but of loss. He replayed it in his mind: the timing, the distance, the half-second too late. Alexei's name was gone from the board, never meant to be there in the first place. Losses didn't get space, only threats did. Ansar exhaled slowly, pushing off the wall.
He checked his gear strap, eyed the edge of his blade out of habit more than need, then turned toward the deeper corridor of the guild — toward quiet rooms, narrow beds, and hopefully, a few hours of rest — if rest was possible. Tomorrow's move was inevitable. Tomorrow, he would walk point again. And next time, they'd be closer. The weight of that thought settled heavily within him. He stepped into the shadows, allowing the guild to swallow him whole.
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