The scent of cider and roasted apples hung thick in the air, but James barely noticed it. His stomach was still twisted into knots, his hands shaking at his sides. The rush of adrenaline had left him drained and exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with the day's heat.

  He sat stiffly on the bench, watching Ser Edwin wordlessly handed a few coins to the vendor. Three clay mugs of cider were set on the table, their golden contents sloshing slightly.

  "Drink," Ser Edwin said, sitting across from them, his broad arms resting on the table. His voice was gruff, taking a long pull from his own mug.

  James and Max didn't move; they just stared at Ser Edwin.

  The older man let out a long sigh and took another slow sip from his mug. The fire in his eyes was dimmer now, replaced by something James couldn't quite name.

  Regret. Resignation. Sorrow.

  Maybe all three.

  For a long moment, the only sound between them was the muffled noise of the celebration beyond—laughter, bells ringing, and the occasional clank of armor as an Imperium soldier passed by. The town celebrated the recruits they were sending away.

  James gritted his teeth, gripping the cider mug to keep his hands steady. Ser Edwin tapped his fingers against the clay, eyes flickering between the boys before settling somewhere on the horizon.

  "I wasn't always a blacksmith," he said finally.

  James knew that. Everyone did. The scars, the way he moved, the way he fought—he was a soldier once. A knight in the big city far to the west. But Ser Edwin wasn't looking at them like he was about to tell them one of his old war stories. He looked at them like this was a story that would break him.

  Max shifted uncomfortably. "Eh. We know dat."

  Edwin's jaw tensed. He exhaled heavily through his nose, swirling the cider in his cup before setting it down.

  "I came to Oakwood because I failed for the first time," he said. His voice was quiet, steady. "Because I lost when I was supposed to win."

  Ser Edwin hung his head before draining what was left in his cup.

  James' breath caught in his throat.

  Max's expression flickered. "Whatcha you mean, lost?"

  Edwin's fist slammed against the table, sending the cups bouncing, the undrunk cider spilling slightly. His knuckles went white.

  "I mean," he said, "that tomorrow won't be the first time I've fought the Master for someone's life."

  James felt the pounding in his ears, heavy and even like the forge's bellows. His mouth was so dry—he wanted to speak, but the words just lodged in his throat.

  He had done this before. And lost.

  What if he loses this time?

  "You fought him before?" The words barely left his lips, raw and hoarse. James drained half the cup of cider, thankful for the sour-sweet taste.

  Ser Edwin didn't answer right away. He just stared at his empty mug, fingers drumming against the clay like the distant echo of a forgotten war drum.

  "Ah, I did," Edwin finally said, voice low, raising a hand to order another cup of cider.

  The sounds of the celebration faded, drowned beneath the weight of those two words. Edwin ran a hand down his face, breathing slowly, the weight of those memories visible on his shoulders. "She was a runaway, like you, Max."

  Max stiffened at the mention of his name. "Like me."

  "Aye. The first one I'd seen. This was back in Arrow's Fall, the Master's first home. Before it fell back to the Wyldlanders." Ser Edwin paused for a moment, letting a teen no older than the boys drop off a fresh mug of cider. He paid the teen and let them get a good way off before continuing. "She was a small thing, twelve—maybe thirteen. I had seen her 'round town. Always smiling, always helping the littles— But something went bad. I was on patrol, rain thick as a sheet. Dere she was, barefoot in a nightgown, bloody in all the wrong places. I knew then what that monster had done."

  James froze, the air around him suddenly growing frigid. Ser Edwin took a long pull from his mug.

  He had seen the Master's punishments before.

  He had felt them.

  But no one ever ran.

  No one.

  "She stood over the river there. It's not the small thing we've got, but a big one—it runs straight through town. A dangerous one, I tell ya. People would fall all the time, and we'd find their bodies." He hiccuped, eyes gaining that slightly unfocused look. "Miles down the water, all broken and such. I knew she was gonna jump—don't know how, but I knew. So I stopped her. I pulled the broken little girl into my arms and held her. She fought at first, weak little hits, but something broke in both of us. Then she was hugging me back—the warmest little hug I have ever had. Then he showed up."

  Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  "What happened?" James's voice was barely a whisper.

  Ser Edwin's jaw clenched. He didn't answer right away. Max shifted, glancing between them, shifting uncomfortably on the bench.

  The silence stretched as another round of drinks was brought and paid for. Each of them drank deep of the amber liquid.

  Edwin's hands were shaking. An earth tremor barely contained.

  "He wanted his plaything back." Edwin downed the last of his second mug, raising his hand for another. "The girl all but hid behind me. Scared to even look at that monster."

  "What happened to her?" Max's voice was pleading.

  "She didn't make it." Edwin's eyes were far off again, the boiling anger fixed on a point on the horizon.

  James felt his stomach drop.

  The cider on his tongue turned sour.

  Max dropped his mug altogether, the clay shattering against the floor.

  "She almost did," Edwin continued, his voice quiet, distant, like he was seeing something long past. "I had the monster where I wanted him. Pinned against a wall. He wasn't nearly as strong back then. He was reckless. Cocky."

  The sneer beneath Ser Edwin's beard was a cruel thing—a monster itself.

  The boys waited, the silence growing as Edwin was caught in the memories. James tried to imagine a younger Ser Edwin fighting the Master in the rain.

  "I told her to run, to flee, and never look back."

  The air was still. The words hung there. But the boys knew—the aches in their muscles and the half-healed bruises told them what had happened before Ser Edwin spoke again.

  "She hesitated."

  Max closed his eyes, breathing deeply.

  James' fingers dug into the table's edge before downing the last of his cider.

  "She looked back," Edwin murmured. His voice barely carried over the noise of the town. "He twisted out of my grip like a damn snake and threw her into the river. He laughed the whole time. I still can see her face, the panic strewn across those little features."

  The world felt too quiet to James. Like all sound but the beating of his heart had gone. Something tickled at the back of his mind, the world's edges going pale. Before it all snapped back.

  Max was on his feet, head turning this way and that, like a deer trying to bolt. Ser Edwin was slumped, shoulders rising and falling in silent tears.

  James grabbed Max as the taller boy started to run, yanking him back and forcing him down on the bench.

  "Where the hell do you think you are going?" James' words were harsh; he knew it even before he heard them.

  "To get Miss Silvia! She can help us—maybe magic, maybe we can all escape." Max's words were pleading, genuine panic in his eyes.

  "No, boy." Ser Edwin had gathered himself, bloodshot eyes glaring at them both. "I will win tomorrow."

  "How do you know this?" The words left James' mouth before he could catch them. "You couldn't stop him last time."

  "Last time, I was fighting to stop him." Edwin stood, slamming his meaty fist into the table. The sound of snapping wood echoed through the square. The long table had snapped in two, sending James sprawling.

  "This time, I'm fighting to keep someone home."

  Everything was in pieces—the table, the peace, the future James had envisioned. He sat there in the dust, not wanting to stand. Max sat beside him, his gangly legs pulled up to his chest, fingers tapping frantically.

  Edwin was trying to explain to the guards and table owner what had happened, handing over a gold coin and apologizing too loudly. Everything was too loud. The sound was assaulting him, pushing in from every direction.

  Ser Edwin's last words sat with him like a stone at the bottom of a river of sound.

  This time, I'm fighting to keep someone home.

  "Come on," Edwin muttered, motioning for them to follow. "Let's go home."

  They walked through cheer and revelry. It seemed wrong to James.

  My world is crumbling, and they are singing, dancing, and celebrating. If time just stopped, tomorrow would never come.

  A year ago, he would have been one of them. He would have cheered, danced, and leaped at the chance to serve the Imperium.

  But now he saw something else—a glimpse of something better.

  The walk to the forge was solemn. The moonlight danced between the trees. None of them spoke. They all knew tomorrow would come too soon. And that it would change everything.

  The forge was dark, the fire that should have been roaring all but embers left to cool in the night air.

  Miss Silvia had left food, but none of them touched it. A small note was left for Ser Edwin. He threw it into the fire upon reading, storming out the door.

  James and Max just sat, staring at the kitchen fire, slowly warming their hands and souls.

  "I'mma miss you," Max said, not meeting James's eyes.

  "He's not gonna lose." James tried to force more confidence into his voice than he felt.

  "I'm gonna miss you."

  "None of that. Here." Ser Edwin had returned, two bundles in his arms. He gingerly set them on the table, unwrapping each one.

  Swords.

  Beautiful things. Simple things. Folded steel, each with a crossguard and pommel.

  "I made them for you boys, for when you completed your training."

  James gaped at the craftsmanship, gingerly lifting the blade and testing its weight and balance. It was perfect; every inch and every ounce was made for him. Ser Edwin must've put every trick he had into these blades.

  Max did the same. His was slightly longer, with a larger crossguard. The awkwardness of the practice blade was gone. The two boys shared a look, an eagerness sparking between them.

  Ser Edwin met their eyes.

  "They are not for tomorrow, but give me your word that no matter what happens, you will not interfere." The boys nodded, but James was already planning, swinging the blade in a practiced motion. "James, your word.”

  James hesitated. The blade fit his hand like it had always been meant for him. He could see it, feel it—the weight, the balance, the swing. A perfect extension of his will. Of his duty. Of his need. I can make it more than just a blade little seed. The voice crept into his mind unbidden.

  "But Ser Edwin—"

  "Your word, boy. Give me your word." There was no negotiating with that tone. "I want you boys to have these... for when I'm not around."

  James's stomach twisted.

  When I'm not around.

  The words sat between them, unspoken but heavy.

  Max placed the blade on the table, walked over to the older man, and hugged him.

  "Thank you. For all you've done." Max said.

  James came up behind Max, wrapping his arms around them both.

  "Yeah, Ser Edwin. Thank you." James said.

  Ser Edwin pushed them back, familiar wetness in his gray eyes.

  "Get some sleep," he murmured.

  The boys slowly backed away, taking their swords and climbing the ladders to their rooms.

  James sat awake long after the others had gone to bed, fingers gripping the sword's hilt.

  Ser Edwin had made him this sword. For later. For after.

  James hated the way it felt in his hands now.