The trio huddled inside the small hut Nadrin had lent them for the night. Rain drummed a steady rhythm against the thatched roof, a soft hiss that mingled with the scent of wet earth. Above them, West climbed onto the roof, crouching beneath a stretched, threadbare canopy. A mortar and bowl rested between his knees, herbs grinding into a dark, steaming paste, bitter fumes curling into the air.

  Tyrus and Omni exchanged uncertain glances, their eyes tracking every motion of the stranger ritual unfolding above.

  Omni’s voice finally broke the silence, sharp and horrified. “You plan to poison this man?”

  “That’s one part of the plan” West looked up.

  Tyrus leaned forward, peering into the mixture. “Have you no shame! Where is your honor?” His fingers twitched at his side.

  West didn’t look up. He gave the holstered Red Dragon a casual shake. “Around my waist.”

  Tyrus spat on the ground. “You have no claim to that.”

  In one fluid motion, West rose, unholstered the blade, and extended it hilt-first toward Tyrus. “Then claim what’s yours.”

  Tyrus turned his head sharply, jaw tight, refusing even a glance.

  West shrugged, sliding the sword back into its sheath. “Save the honor shit for my eulogy. Until then, my only concern is walking away tomorrow in one piece.”

  Tyrus’s eyes narrowed, certainty hardening his voice. “You do not understand honor… or duty.”

  Omni looked closer into what West was making, the herbs, plants and chicken bones he was mixing into the pot were beginning to produce a foul smell. “Some kind of Elkspire lard” Omni, placed his fingers to his chin. “It’s a shaky plan West”

  “Yes and we should probably not stand near it” West put a lid on the pot

  Tyrus still did not fully understand West plan, “Lard? Is your big plan to cook for him? Did you forget it was a fight?

  West’s lips curved faintly, just enough to mock the tension. “Then teach me how the mighty Ura fights.”

  Tyrus blinked, caught off guard. “There is no time. We couldn’t even complete the seven cycles of moon defense before dawn.”

  West hopped lightly from the smaller roof, landing with a muted thud on the wet mud below. He rolled his shoulders, loosening stiff joints, eyes already scanning the cleared space in front of the hut. “I don’t need a lecture about the moon. Just the fundamentals.”

  Tyrus followed curiously. “Show me your stance.”

  West planted one leg forward, lowering his center of gravity. Hands loose, eyes sharp.

  Tyrus squinted. “That’s your stance?”

  “It’s a good stance.” West smirked.

  Tyrus angled a foot toward West’s knee. “I’d break your leg right here.”

  West slid his foot back in a quick, controlled sweep, testing rhythm. “I doubt it. I'm too fast, but give it a try.”

  “West, stop!” Omni shouted, panic in his voice.

  “Listen to him,” Tyrus warned, eyes locked on the leg.

  West grinned like a feral cat daring a larger beast.

  Tyrus kicked, but West was faster, retracting before sweeping behind him in a tripping attempt. Tyrus recovered mid-motion, raising his foot just in time. West spun a roundhouse kick with his other foot; Tyrus stumbled in the mud, rolling to regain balance effortlessly. He landed, stance firm, but West had already disengaged.

  “West!” Omni barked, exasperated.

  Tyrus raised a hand. “It was fair. He got me.” He advanced with a grin. “I should not have underestimated the legendary West.”

  West extended his leg again. “Still a bad stance,” Tyrus shot back, then hooked behind West, tripping him with ease. Tyrus pounced lightly, pressing West’s wrists down. Tyrus only needed one hand to subdue West. Using his other hand he began swinging and mimed punches without contact.

  “Alright, alright! Get off me!” West struggled, laughing through the mud.

  Tyrus rose, still smiling. “I told you it was a bad stance.”

  West shook mud from his shoulders and mimicked Tyrus’ stance. This one might actually work…

  “That’s not bad.” Tyrus scanned him, then rushed, wrapping an arm around West’s waist. West held fast, unyielding. Tyrus planted a foot behind West, drove him down, right knee collapsed into the mud. Tyrus slipped from his grip, wrapped his arms fully around West, and flipped him over. West hit the ground with a splash, laughing despite the sting.

  Tyrus rose, circling, eyes gleaming. “Come on, get up, West. I know you’ve got more in you.”

  West pressed a hand to his back. “That one hurt. I might’ve landed on a rock.”

  “Protect your core, do not allow your opponent to get his hands around your waist” Tyrus brushed some mud away from his face.

  “If you two are going to keep rolling around in the mud, I’ll wait inside where it’s warm,” Omni called, retreating into the hut.

  The two continued for a little while longer, until West could no longer get himself up.

  Tyrus offered a hand. West took it, standing, mud dripping from his hair.

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  “Are you nervous?” Tyrus asked, gaze sharp.

  “Nadrin says Beiru’s nothing to worry about,” West replied, trying to mask the tension.

  “Nadrin isn’t the one facing death tomorrow,” Tyrus said, tone steady. “You’ve chosen a noble path. I don’t know if your plan will work, but your bravery earns respect.” He clasped West’s hand in the warrior’s grip.

  West grinned, smearing mud off his palms. “Really? I’m still going to cheat, you know.”

  “It doesn’t lessen the risk, nor the reason you took it.” Tyrus released his grip, gesturing toward the mud. “Shall we continue?”

  “Tyrus… theres something you need to know.” West’s voice was low, stripped of its usual humor. He let the words hang, heavy as the rain dripped from the roof. “Beiru is Dresdi’s son. One of many. Dozens scattered across the south.”

  Tyrus’s jaw tightened. His fists clenched at his sides. “How can this be…?”

  “It makes sense,” West said evenly. “Dresdi’s armies burned through the southern kingdoms for decades. Their terror wasn’t limited to battlefields.” He stepped closer, eyes locked on Tyrus’s. “How long have you been away from home?”

  Tyrus exhaled sharply, but the words wouldn’t come. His chest rose and fell under the weight of memories he’d tried to bury.

  West took another careful step, bridging the space between them. “I don’t mean to anger you,” he said, voice steady. “But you have not been completely honest with me and Master Omni. We’re past that now.” His gaze didn’t falter. “After all, we're friends now… aren’t we?”

  Tyrus’s mind wrestled with the truth. Anger flared at the reminder of his past, yet beneath it lurked a cold fear, the kind only memory and shame could conjure. He said nothing, but the tremor in his fingers betrayed him.

  Tyrus stiffened, shoulders tight under the damp night air. “I am not hiding anything.”

  West closed the distance, boots squelching in the mud. “Then tell me…how did you survive the massacre?”

  “My father sent me away,” Tyrus said instantly, too sharp, too quick. His hands clenched at his sides, knuckles white. “Before the battle.”

  West nodded slowly, letting the rain tap against his hair. “You’re a stranger here, reliant on Omni for guidance through your peoples' ancient lands..” His voice sharpened, cutting through the hush of the soaked village. “You seem oblivious to the scale of Dresdis destruction…”

  Tyrus spun, voice rising, trembling with suppressed heat. “What are you trying to say? Choose your next words carefully.”

  West’s eyes remained calm, steady, as he asked, “How many years has it been…since you last saw your sister?”

  The words struck like ice. Tyrus’s chest constricted. Not rage, but cold, hollow fear. The memory of an empty home, the cries of a village lost to fire, clawed at him.

  “Eight years,” he said finally, voice rough and broken. “Eight years…”

  West’s voice softened, almost a whisper against the patter of rain. “Nadrin says the only Ura left are cowards and traitors.”

  Tyrus’s body moved before his mind could catch up. He grabbed West by the front of his shirt and lifted him clean off the ground. Rain plastered his hair to his forehead, his muscles taut. “I am neither!” he roared, voice raw. “I am no coward. I am no traitor! He does not know me!”

  West didn’t struggle. Didn’t flinch. His feet dangled inches above the mud, the rain dripping from his sleeves.

  “Then what are you?” West asked quietly, deliberately, eyes level with Tyrus’s raging storm.

  The lack of fear made Tyrus’s anger flare hotter, burning in the hollow of his chest. “I told you to stop treating this like a joke!”

  West pressed a hand to Tyrus’s chest; not to shove, but to steady, to anchor. “This isn’t a challenge to your courage.” His gaze drifted upward, past the ragged clouds toward the hidden stars. “There’s a chance I won’t see those stars tomorrow. And if that happens… I need to know Master Omni won’t be left wandering these lands alone.”

  Tyrus froze, the heat in his chest cooling to a slow, hard ache. Anger ebbed, replaced by a quiet weight. Slowly, he lowered West back into the mud, each drop splashing cold around them.

  “I see how much he means to you,” Tyrus murmured, voice tight but steady. “I swear…I will escort him back to his people if you fall tomorrow.” He bowed his head, rain soaking the ends of his hair. “You have my word.”

  “That old dog means the world to me,” West said, a grin breaking across his mud-smeared face. He clapped a hand onto Tyrus’s shoulder. “Which is why I want you to take the Red Dragon as well.”

  Tyrus blinked, a pause hanging between them.

  “And I want you,” West added with a mischievous tilt, “to shove it up your ass.”

  For a heartbeat, Tyrus stared. Then barked out a laugh, shoving West harder than intended. West hit the mud with a splash, laughing immediately.

  “My apologies,” Tyrus said, still chuckling, offering a hand. “Truly.”

  West took it, muddy and smiling, and hauled himself up. “So,” he said, wiping rain from his face, “now that we’re done circling each other…”

  Their eyes met, electric and intense.

  “Stop bullshitting me around. Tell me your story.”

  Tyrus no longer felt anger. Only the raw, gnawing weight of shame pressed into his chest.

  “My father was a well regarded Captain in our village, he sent me away eight years ago…to a colony on the western Zeruhana coast. At the time the Evokians under Dresdi had a plan: kill every Ura man, no matter his age. So I was sent away to train…among future generals, masters, commanders…for the war against Dresdi.” His gaze lifted to the parting clouds, wind whipping rain across his hair and slicked shoulders.

  “It was supposed to be until we came of age, until we could fight alongside our fathers and brothers. But every year I watched my peers get called to the frontlines; by their fathers, their captains, and I just waited. Then the priests brought word of the Crying River. One last, futile stand…for glory…for honor, all the warriors of the Ura, despite their age, experience or skill was summoned” His hands clenched, jaw tight, veins straining as he fought to keep his emotions contained.

  “My father sent three men to bring me home for the battle,” Tyrus continued, voice low, almost swallowed by the rain. “But once again…he denied me. They weren’t soldiers sent for me. They were slaves, they took me further west toward Zarkana. Away from the battle. I tried to turn back… but it was too late… then the Evokians caught me.” His dark ruby eyes glimmered blood-red at the edges, streaked with the effort of restraint. “My father always believed I lacked the spirit of our people”, Tyrus bit down hard on the words.

  “And the slaves?” West’s voice cut carefully through the damp night, careful not to push.

  Tyrus didn’t answer. His expression said it all.

  “You should get some rest,” Tyrus muttered finally, turning away, the wet mud squelching beneath his sandals.

  “I still need to finish cooking up there,” West called toward the roof, voice teasing, gesturing to the crude canopy above.

  Tyrus glanced back. “What’s the plan for tomorrow?”

  West smirked, wiping rain from his hands. “Mm…best you don’t know. If I die, I want you to give that eulogy about my honor.” He disappeared up onto the roof, leaving the hut and the rain-soaked silence behind.

  Tyrus stepped into the cool, damp night, inhaling the sharp scent of wet earth and smoke from distant hearths. Worry settled deep in his chest, knotting around a fear he could not admit, even to himself. West’s duel awaited at dawn. The weight of it pressed against every hollow breath, every heartbeat, tightening his gut like steel.

  From the warm glow of the hut, Omni watched quietly, the firelight flickering across his face. He had heard everything; every confession, every vow, and marveled at what West had achieved. Not through raw strength alone, but through courage that forced even a warrior like Tyrus to confront the ghosts of his past.

  The wind stirred across the wet roof, rattling the canopy. The stars were still hidden behind thick clouds, but Tyrus could feel them, waiting. Silently watching. And tomorrow, at first light, the reckoning would come.

  A chill ran down his spine. He tightened his grip until his knuckles turned white, as the night pressed in. Every choice, every misstep, every stolen second…could be the difference between survival and death.

  And West? Tyrus’s chest tightened again, a knot of worry twisting through him.

  The duel loomed. And nothing, no skill, no courage, no luck, would make it anything less than a dangerous storm.