The land changed as they moved west.
Not in ways most men noticed.
The trees grew thinner, their roots clawing at poorer soil. Grass lost its softness. Stones appeared where earth should have been. Jin felt it in his knees before he saw it with his eyes—this was ground that resisted being crossed.
He welcomed it.
"Hard walking," Hess said behind him.
"Yes," Jin replied. "Which means fewer people choose it."
"And fewer patrols."
"Exactly."
They followed a faint animal trail for most of the morning, stepping where hooves had pressed the ground flat long before boots ever did. Jin preferred paths made by creatures that did not care about borders.
By midday, they reached a rise that overlooked a wide basin. Smoke drifted upward in thin threads—too many to be coincidence.
Hess squinted. "Settlement?"
"No," Jin said. "Temporary."
They watched from cover.
Tents, hastily erected. Wagons pulled into a loose ring. Men moved among them, some armored, some not. County colors were present—but not dominant.
"They've hired locals," Hess said.
"Yes."
"Mercenaries?"
"Or volunteers," Jin replied. "Fear convinces faster than coin."
Hess frowned. "They're spreading responsibility."
"And blame," Jin added. "So no one feels clean enough to resist."
They circled wide, avoiding the basin entirely. Jin felt the pressure of the road again even here—as if the land itself resented his refusal to follow the obvious path.
Late afternoon brought wind. Cold. The kind that crept beneath layers and made joints ache.
They stopped beneath a leaning tree to rest.
Hess broke the silence. "Eren wasn't the first."
"No," Jin said.
"And he won't be the last."
Jin nodded. "That's why they let him go."
Hess looked sharply at him. "They knew?"
"They suspected," Jin replied. "A boy alone spreads stories better than a corpse."
Hess cursed quietly.
"Fear travels faster than blood," Jin continued. "And farther."
They moved again as the light softened, angling toward familiar ground. Jin recognized the slope of the hills now, the way the land folded inward near old watercourses.
They were close to Lowpine.
Too close for comfort.
Jin slowed instinctively.
"What is it?" Hess asked.
"Something's wrong," Jin said.
They listened.
No birds.
No insects.
Even the wind felt muted.
Jin raised a hand, signaling a halt.
Then he saw it.
Tracks.
Too many.
Fresh.
Leading toward the village.
Hess's voice was tight. "They've been there."
Jin's chest tightened painfully.
"How long?" Hess asked.
Jin knelt, pressing fingers into the soil.
"Hours," he said. "Not days."
Relief and dread tangled together.
They approached Lowpine at dusk, not from the road but from the eastern fields where old fences lay collapsed and forgotten. Jin moved carefully, heart hammering harder with every step.
Smoke rose from chimneys.
That was good.
Lights glowed faintly.
Also good.
But the village felt… smaller.
Quieter.
Like something was holding its breath.
They slipped between structures until Jin saw his house.
Still standing.
Windows dark.
No guards posted.
Jin exhaled shakily.
Then—
A voice.
"Jin."
He froze.
Mira stepped out from the shadows near the well, her face pale but steady.
He crossed the distance in three strides, pulling her into his arms.
"You shouldn't be here," she whispered fiercely.
"And leave you?" he murmured.
She pulled back, gripping his arms. "They came."
"I know."
"They asked questions."
"I know."
"They took names."
Jin closed his eyes.
"Not yours," she said quickly. "Not yet."
He rested his forehead against hers.
"What about the children?"
"Inside. Quiet. Watching everything."
That hurt more than any blow.
They spoke in hushed tones inside the house. Hess remained near the door, listening outward.
"They weren't rough," Mira said. "That's what frightened people most."
"They never are at first," Jin replied.
"They said the road would be safer. That trade would increase."
"And people believed them."
Mira hesitated. "Some did."
Jin nodded slowly.
Hope was a sharper weapon than fear.
"They'll come again," Jin said.
"Yes," Mira agreed. "And next time they won't ask."
Silence fell.
Then Mira said, "Doyan wants to speak with you."
Jin turned.
His son stood in the doorway, wooden sword in hand, posture stiff with forced bravery.
"You left," Doyan said.
Jin knelt.
"Yes."
"You always say not to."
"Yes."
"Then why—"
Jin reached out, gripping his son's shoulder.
"Because some roads must be walked so others don't have to," he said quietly.
Doyan swallowed. "Are they coming for you?"
Jin met his eyes.
"Yes," he said.
"And if they take you?"
Jin hesitated.
Then answered honestly.
"Then you remember who you are," he said. "Not what they name you."
Doyan nodded slowly, absorbing something too heavy for his years.
Jin left before dawn.
Not because he wanted to.
Because staying would draw the road straight through his door.
Mira watched him from the threshold.
"How long?" she asked.
Jin didn't lie. "I don't know."
She touched his face. "Just don't disappear."
He smiled faintly. "I'm already halfway gone."
Hess waited beyond the last house.
"They'll notice you were here," Hess said.
"Yes."
"And they'll follow."
Jin nodded. "Good."
They didn't make it far before the first sign appeared.
A horn.
Distant.
Then another.
Closer.
"They moved fast," Hess muttered.
"Yes," Jin said. "Which means they were ready."
They took to the trees, moving hard and fast now, no longer hiding the fact that they were running—only shaping how.
By midday, the sounds of pursuit were unmistakable.
Boots.
Commands.
Metal.
Hess glanced at Jin. "We can't outrun this."
"No," Jin agreed. "So we break it."
He led them toward broken ground where the forest thinned into jagged rock and uneven gullies. Movement slowed. Formation faltered.
Shouts echoed.
Jin stopped suddenly, turning to face Hess.
"This is where we split," he said.
Hess stared. "No."
"You'll lead them south," Jin continued. "I'll draw the rest east."
"That's suicide."
Jin shook his head. "It's strategy."
Hess grabbed his arm. "You don't get to decide that alone."
Jin met his gaze steadily. "I already did."
A horn sounded closer now.
Hess cursed.
Then nodded sharply. "Don't die."
Jin almost smiled.
They parted without ceremony.
Jin moved east, deliberately noisy now, breaking branches, and scuffing stone. He wanted them to see him.
Wanted them to want him.
They took the bait.
By late afternoon, he could hear them clearly—three, maybe four men. Not the full force.
Good.
He led them deeper into the broken land, choosing paths that punished speed. His breath burned. His legs screamed.
But he kept moving.
Until—
A misstep.
Pain flared as his foot slid on loose stone. He fell hard, rolling, coming to rest against a tree.
He lay still.
Footsteps approached cautiously.
A shadow loomed.
"Found you," a voice said.
Jin looked up.
County colors.
Weapon raised.
Jin pushed himself upright slowly, blood in his mouth.
"Yes," he said hoarsely. "You did."