"Get out of the way!"

  A rough hand yanked James backward just as the Cyclops' fist crashed into the mud where he'd been standing. The impact sent a shockwave through the ground, spraying water and debris into the air. James stumbled, his breath catching as he turned to see the Imperium officer, her short ruby-red hair plastered to her forehead, sky-blue eyes sharp and locked onto him.

  She had pulled him out of the way.

  "Good job, boy." Ser Edwin's voice bellowed over the chaos. James barely had time to turn before the older man hefted Bow-Breaker, the massive War-Maul flashing in the stormlight. With a sound like mountains colliding, the hammer struck the Cyclops' knee. A deafening smack echoed through the rain. The monster howled, staggering, mud churning beneath its weight.

  But it did not fall.

  The Cyclops snarled, its one massive eye narrowing in rage. It reached for Ser Edwin, its thick fingers stretching to seize him. Ser Edwin cursed, slipping back into the mud, barely dodging the grasping hand. James' pulse pounded in his ears, everything in his screaming to move.

  No—

  "Here! Here!" His voice carried through the storm, raw and desperate.

  James ripped his sword free swiftly, steel catching the flickering lantern light. In his other hand, the torch blazed, flame dancing wildly against the downpour. The Cyclops hesitated, and slowly, its gaze shifted. The single red eye locked onto him. James swore there was more than hunger there.

  "You sure about this?" the officer asked, stepping beside him. Doubt laced her words, but there was something else, too—calculated readiness.

  "Not even a little." James breathlessly exhaled.

  "Good." A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.

  She unslung her shield and spear, the wicked-looking weapon gleaming in the storm. The crest of the Imperium was emblazoned on both, bright even in the rain.

  "Here, beast!" James swung the torch wide, the embers sparking in the wind. His grip tightened on his sword.

  The Cyclops let out a guttural snarl, muscles tensing beneath its thick hide. Then, with a lumbering step, it charged. James barely had time to move before the officer grabbed him again, shoving him sideways as a tree-sized fist slammed into the ground where he had just been standing.

  "Try not to get crushed, yeah?" she called, twisting away from another wild swing.

  James caught his balance, mud slick beneath his boots.

  "Not trying to, thanks." He shot her a glare, but she only grinned.

  She's not much older than me, maybe a year or two at most. Isn't she too young to be wearing an officer's crest or barking orders?

  But there was no hesitation in how she moved—just confidence, sharpened like a blade. Attacking the Cyclops ankle with a series of jabs. Each one left only a tiny cut that didn't bleed. She retreated, breath misting the air, looking at James. "Plan?"

  The Cyclops bellowed, shaking the ground.

  James swung the torch again, forcing the creature's eye onto him.

  "Come on, ugly! You want me? Come get me!" James bellowed.

  "Bold strategy," the officer muttered, planting her feet, spear at the ready.

  "It's working, isn't it?"

  The beast growled and stomped forward, favoring its wounded knee. Ser Edwin had done damage, but it wasn't enough to stop it. It reached for James, who ducked out of the way and came up into a defensive stance. Another lumbering, awkward step toward James sent mudding flying; the soldiers poked at the Cyclops from behind, trying to push it closer to James to the river.

  "Alright, any brilliant ideas?" James shifted his stance, rolling his shoulders.

  "Yeah," the officer said, flipping her spear in a practiced motion. "Don't die."

  "Real helpful." James huffed.

  "Relax, farm boy." She smirked, adjusting her grip. "I've got your back."

  "Name's James." He clenched his jaw.

  "Sofia." She said, smacking her spear against her shield.

  Another crash of thunder. Rain pounded against the mud. The Cyclops roared and charged again. James dashed to the side, out of its path. Sofia was right there beside him.

  The Cyclops turned and lumbered toward them, each step sinking deeper into the rain-soaked earth. The river churned just beyond, dangerous and wild, its surface a swirling mass of debris and whitewater.

  "We need to get it to the river," James shouted, shifting his stance as the beast roared.

  "No shit." Sofia spun her spear, blue eyes flicking between the monster and the mud pooling near the river's edge. "How do you feel about playing bait again?"

  "Starting to think you just like watching me almost die." James let out with a sigh.

  "Maybe," she said, grinning. "You do it well."

  James didn't have time to fire back. The Cyclops lunged again, a massive fist crashing between them, sending mud flying. They split apart, dodging in opposite directions. Think mud coated his left side as he came up with the river to his back.

  James could feel the river behind him now; its pull was strong even from here.

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  "Now or never!" he called.

  Sofia didn't hesitate. She moved fast, sweeping in low, her spear flashing as she slashed across the beast's bad knee. It bellowed in pain, The attack cutting deep into the wounded flesh. Staggering, its foot slipping in the thick mud.

  James took his chance. He threw himself forward, ducking beneath a wild backhand, his sword slicing across the back Cyclops' ankle. The wound wasn't deep, but it was enough, the leg started shaking uncontrollably.

  The beast wobbled.

  Sofia planted her feet and drove her spear straight under the kneecap. This time, something snapped, and the knee buckled.

  The Cyclops roared in pain, stumbling back—its foot sank deep into the mud and churning water, and suddenly, there was nothing beneath that foot but the hungry pull of the flooded river.

  The massive creature tried to correct itself, clawing for purchase, but the ground betrayed it.

  "Bye-bye," Sofia muttered, taking a step back.

  With a final, deafening roar, the Cyclops tipped backward, its bulk crashing into the raging waters.

  James barely had time to move before the river sucked it under, the beast's massive form vanishing beneath the churning current.

  Then it was gone.

  Only the wind and the rain remained, howling through the trees.

  James exhaled, sword still raised, heart still hammering.

  "Not bad, farm boy." Sofia let out a slow whistle, rolling her shoulders.

  "You did alright, too, Imperium girl." James snorted, wiping rain from his face.

  She smirked, flicking mud from her spear. "Come on. I think your old man's about to keel over."

  James turned.

  Ser Edwin stood a few paces away, Bow-Breaker resting casually against his shoulder, his stance solid despite the rain-slicked mud. His expression was unreadable for a moment, and then he huffed a small, approving laugh.

  "Keel over?" Edwin arched a brow, shifting his grip on the hammer. "Girl, I could keep going another hour. You two are the ones standing around catching your breath."

  "Yeah, yeah. Don't go pulling anything, Blacksmith." Sofia scoffed.

  James shook his head, sheathing his sword. Despite the ache settling into his limbs, he couldn't help but smile.

  "You alright?"

  "Aye. More worried about what the hell that thing was doing here." Edwin rolled his shoulder. His gaze drifted to the river, where the last ripples faded beneath the dark water. Before flicking back to James, "Beasts like that don't wander this far north. Not without reason."

  James swallowed. The same unease crawled up his spine.

  "Well, if you two are done staring at each other, I'm cold, I'm hungry, and I've traveled a long way," Sofia cut in, voice dry but edged with exhaustion. "Let's get what's left of the men back to the Kettle."

  Her eyes were grave now, the easy smirk from before replaced by something more problematic. The weight of command.

  "Michealson," she barked, turning to one of the soldiers, "gather the dead and get Smith to set up the wounded in the town hall. The mayor's given us permission to use it while we're here. Once that's done, get everyone fed. Officers are meeting me at the Kettle. Got it?"

  Michealson saluted, already peeling off to relay orders. The remaining soldiers moved quickly, some dragging bodies from the mud, others helping their wounded brothers to their feet. The storm had lessened to a steady drizzle, but the weight of the fight still clung to them all.

  James' stomach twisted as he stepped past one of the bodies—a young recruit, barely older than himself, lying motionless in the mud. The crushed remnants of a lantern still clutched in his fingers.

  Sofia caught his glance, her expression unreadable.

  "Don't dwell on it," she murmured, just loud enough for him to hear. "They knew what they signed up for."

  James wasn't sure if that was supposed to be comforting. It wasn't.

  "Come on, boy. Warmth, food, and strong drink await." Ser Edwin clapped him on the back, shaking him from his thoughts.

  James didn't argue. His legs ached, his ribs throbbed, and the rain had seeped into every layer of his clothes. The thought of the Rusty Kettle, of firelight and warmth, was enough to make him pick up his pace.

  Sebastian had outdone himself.

  The tavern was packed, soldiers and townsfolk alike crammed inside, shaking off the cold and the attack, clinging to steaming mugs of cider or bowls of thick stew. The scent of roasted venison, fresh bread, and spiced mead filled the air, wrapping around James like a blanket.

  Sebastian stood behind the bar, sleeves rolled up. The night robe was gone, and a flowing purple top and green pants were in place. His Gold beard glinted in the firelight as he filled tankards with effortless speed.

  "Look what the storm dragged in!" he bellowed, eyes twinkling. "Bunch of drowned rats, the lot of you. Get in, get dry—Melody's got food waiting."

  Sofia barely had time to shrug off her cloak before one of her officers pulled her aside.

  "Later," she muttered to James, giving him a pointed look with those blue eyes before disappearing into the throng.

  James didn't have time to dwell on it. Ser Edwin was already moving toward the bar, Bow-Breaker slung across his back like it weighed nothing.

  Sebastian's eyes flicked to the weapon, his grin widening.

  "Ah. There's the old girl. How'd she do?"

  Ser Edwin grunted, setting the massive hammer down against the counter with a heavy thud.

  "Nearly took my shoulder off, but she did the job." He pushed the weapon toward Sebastian. "Here. She's yours."

  Sebastian didn't move to take it. He just tilted his head, considering Edwin with that same knowing twinkle.

  "Now, now. No take-backsies. You needed her. You used her. What makes you think you're done needing her?" Sebastian wiggled his pointer finger in front of his face.

  "She belongs here. Over your fireplace, where she won't damn near dislocate my arm." Edwin scowled.

  "That arm of yours is still plenty strong. Besides, Bow-Breaker doesn't belong to me." Sebastian laughed, the sound warm and rich.

  "Then who does she belong to?" James frowned.

  Sebastian's gaze flickered toward the firelight, shadows dancing in his orange eyes.

  "The one who needs her most."

  James wasn't sure he liked how the innkeeper looked at Edwin. Like he already knew something, the rest of them didn't.

  "You always talk in riddles?" Edwin huffed, shaking his head.

  "Only when I'm drinking." Sebastian grinned.

  "Then get me a damn drink," Edwin muttered, rubbing his temple.

  Sebastian laughed again, already reaching for a bottle.

  "Aye, aye, coming right up."

  James shook his head, letting the warmth of the tavern soak into his bones.

  James moved off, wanting a moment alone with his thoughts.

  They were all here because of me. Why?

  The power stirred, glowing like a moonbeam beneath the branches of a large tree. A whisper, soft as the wind, curled around his mind.

  "It's because of me, little-seed. My power in you draws them like moths to a flame. I wake a little more each day. Soon, you will need to make a choice."

  Then, as quickly as it came, it was gone. Slumbering once more.

  James shivered. Not from the wet clothes clinging to his skin nor the damp chill that rushed in each time another soldier pushed open the tavern door. This was something more profound. A cold that settled in his bones coiled around his heart.

  His fingers tightened around the mug, knuckles paling. It couldn't be a coincidence. None of this just happened.

  Across the room, Ser Edwin threw his head back in laughter, the sound deep and booming, his broad hand slamming against the bar as Sebastian shook his head, grinning. They were deep in some joke or story, the weight of battle already shrugged from their shoulders, lost in drink and firelight.

  James wanted to call him over. Wanted to say something. Anything. But what could he say? That the Satyr had looked disappointed when James hadn't gone with them? That the Cyclops had ignored everything else just to come for him?

  "Heya, new me." The voice snapped James from his thoughts.

  A broad-shouldered man loomed in his field of vision, face familiar despite the dark beard and the jagged scar running from forehead to lip. His eyes—keen, knowing—hadn't changed.

  James blinked.

  No. It couldn't be.

  "Kurt?"

  A heartbeat. Then James shot up, slamming into him with a hug.

  They both laughed, deep, hearty sounds that shook off the weight of the last day, if only for a moment. The tension, the fear, the questions—gone. Just for now.

  "Ser Edwin will be so happy to see you," James said, pulling back, grinning wide.

  Kurt smirked, ruffling James' damp hair like he used to when James was smaller.

  "Then what are we waitin' for?"