Rohan watched the pale light of dawn break through the canopy. His eyes stung from the lack of sleep, but he remained absolutely still, not wanting to wake the little girl curled against him. Around him, the other children were stirring, stretching sore limbs after a night spent on rough ground.

  His thoughts shifted to the days ahead. The Iron Talons wouldn’t stay ignorant of his recent actions forever. If word of the outpost’s destruction hadn’t reached them yet, it soon would. And once it did, they’d be combing the roads, searching for the one responsible.

  Now, three young lives depended on him, lives he had no intention of abandoning. He’d seen enough children left to die.

  As the girl on his lap moved, letting out a soft murmur, Rohan gently adjusted his position. He felt the ache of every muscle protest, though his training under the old man had hardened him to pain, it did nothing for exhaustion.

  The little girl opened her eyes, blinking up at him. For a moment, she looked confused, then she remembered where she was. She scrambled upright, face flushing with embarrassment.

  “S-sorry.”

  She mumbled, hugging her blanket tight.

  “It’s fine. Did you sleep okay?”

  She nodded once, shy and uncertain. A moment later, her brother and sister approached, the boy eyeing Rohan with that same mix of distrust and reluctant acceptance. He tightened his grip on his makeshift knife.

  “We need to get going, the sooner we get to the town, the safer you’ll be.”

  The children exchanged glances. The eldest girl took the younger by the hand while the boy lingered, eyebrows pinched, before he finally gave a stiff nod.

  Rohan packed up the camp, scattering the ashes of the fire, re-securing the small cart to the horse. The children settled into the carriage, nibbling on whatever scraps remained from their last meal.

  Before leaving, Rohan scanned the clearing one last time, his well-honed senses attuned for any sign of threat. Nothing. Only rustling leaves and the distant call of birds.

  He clicked his tongue, urging the horse forward. The small caravan rumbled onto the dirt road, heading east.

  The hours passed under a cloudless sky. The children spoke little, and when they did, it was in hushed whispers. Rohan kept an ear out, but he didn’t pry. Trust wouldn’t come overnight.

  Every so often, the boy would glance up from the carriage, eyes narrowed on Rohan’s back. It reminded Rohan of how he’d once looked at the old man, cautious, waiting for betrayal.

  He couldn’t blame him. The world had taught them to expect the worst from anyone stronger.

  Rohan urged the horse onward, pressing for distance. The Iron Talons might not know exactly where he was, but it wouldn’t take a genius to guess he’d head for more populated areas. He needed to move fast.

  By late afternoon, they spotted smoke rising from chimneys on the horizon, a small settlement, not on most maps but known to travelers willing to go off the main roads.

  Rohan steered toward it, mind made up. They needed supplies, real supplies. Blankets, proper food, maybe even a second horse if he could afford it. His coin was limited, though. Most of what he had came from scrounging leftover purses in the outpost.

  But these kids needed more than he could give them alone. At the very least, he’d see if someone would take them in. That had been the original plan, hadn’t it? To deliver them somewhere safe, like he’d done for Talia?

  Talia…

  His stomach twisted at the memory. He’d left her in a town once, to spare her from his fight. Had it saved her, or just delayed the danger? He wasn’t sure.

  Now, three more children stood behind him in a similar predicament. For a moment, a feeling of doubt gnawed at him, was he repeating a cycle, leaving them vulnerable somewhere just because he didn’t want to risk taking them into battle?

  No, he told himself. They deserve a real life. One without constant fear, without the smell of blood in every corner. He exhaled and directed the horse into the settlement.

  A modest sign labeled the place “Stonecreek.” Most of the buildings were wooden, some half-stone, likely built around a small stream that trickled through the center. A few townsfolk paused to stare, at the cart, at the children, at the imposing figure that was Rohan.

  He guided the horse to a stop near what looked like an inn. No stable was immediately visible, but a thatched barn stood behind the building. That’d do for the horse.

  The children climbed down nervously, bunching up close. Rohan patted the horse, murmuring a reassurance before turning to the group.

  “Stay with the cart, I’ll see if we can get a room or two.”

  The boy opened his mouth, maybe to protest, but ended up just nodding. The eldest girl tightened her hold on the youngest’s hand.

  Rohan walked into the inn, braced for questions. He had a story ready, traveling caretaker, kids orphaned by raiders, no permanent home yet. A partial truth at best, but likely enough.

  Rohan stepped into the inn’s main room and was immediately assaulted by the smell of ale, sweat, and cooking stew. Several patrons glanced up from their mugs, eyes flicking to his cloak and the faint red stains that refused to wash out. He kept his hood low, ignoring their stares as he approached the counter.

  A stout woman, presumably the innkeeper, wiped her hands on her apron and sized him up.

  “You needin’ a room?”

  Rohan nodded.

  “Something with enough space for me and…three children.”

  He felt the weight of her scrutiny as soon as the words left his mouth.

  Her brow arched.

  “Yours?”

  She asked bluntly, voice skeptical.

  Rohan exhaled through his nose, keeping his posture calm.

  “Orphans, I’m just looking after them.”

  She studied him for a long moment, as if trying to see past the dirt and weariness or perhaps measure the truth of his words. Finally, with a grunt, she reached for a key hanging on the back wall.

  “One room left upstairs. Cozy, not big.”

  She eyed him again.

  “But I expect payment in coin, not trouble. Understood?”

  Rohan placed a small pouch on the counter.

  “I don’t plan on making trouble.”

  “Mmph.”

  She weighed the pouch in her hand. Satisfied, she jerked her head toward the stairs.

  “Go on, then. You’ll find it at the end of the hall. Barn out back if you’ve got a horse. No extra charge if you find your own stall.”

  Rohan dipped his head in thanks, collecting the key with a careful hand. He turned to leave, but paused when the woman spoke again.

  “Dinner’s extra, and…if them children are hungry, I’ll fix something special. No cost for that.”

  Her gaze had softened a fraction, maybe she wasn’t as hard as she wanted everyone to believe.

  Rohan gave a nod.

  “Thank you.”

  He said quietly, then left to retrieve the kids.

  He found the three huddled beside the cart, heads turning at every passing villager. The boy tensed when Rohan approached, but his grip on that small dagger had eased a little.

  “We got a room, come on.”

  The eldest girl rose, helping the younger one along. The little girl still clutched a tattered blanket, the only thing she seemed to have left from her old life.

  Inside, the inn was modest but warm. The children crowded close behind Rohan, wary eyes flitting from corner to corner. A few drinkers glanced up from their tables, curiosity briefly lighting their faces before returning to their conversations.

  Rohan led them upstairs, ignoring the creaking steps underfoot, until they reached the door at the end of the hall. It was indeed small, with just a single bed, a rickety table, and a single window offering a view of the dusty road outside.

  “You can take the bed.”

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  Rohan said, nodding at the children. He gestured to the corner.

  “I’ll sleep on the floor there.”

  No one spoke for a moment. The quiet was heavy, filled with the unspoken memories of what they’d all been through. Eventually, the eldest girl managed a small smile, trembling but genuine, and murmured.

  “Thank you.”

  Rohan bowed his head.

  “Rest if you can. I’ll go see about some food.”

  Before he left, he made sure to lock the door from the outside. He knew it was more symbolic than secure, a determined threat could easily bash it in, but it would at least slow anyone who might come snooping.

  Downstairs, the innkeeper was by the kitchen, stirring a large pot. She glanced up, meeting Rohan’s gaze.

  “Supper’ll be served soon. Told you, I’ll fix a plate for them little ones if you want.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  She squinted at him.

  “How’d you come across orphans out here, anyway?”

  He considered his words. A full lie might be more suspicious than the truth.

  “Their village was attacked by raiders. I found them hiding.”

  “Figures, world’s gone mad these past few years. Bandits, mercenaries, all think they can take what they want.”

  Rohan nodded slightly, choosing not to elaborate. Part of him wanted to ask if she’d heard any recent news, if the Talons had ventured this way, or if rumors of a massacre at an outpost had spread. But he decided to keep quiet for now, each question might lead to more of her own.

  “Could I buy any supplies? Blankets, a bit of food to travel with?”

  “Talk to Samuel at the general store across the way. He should have what you need.”

  “Thank you.”

  After securing a promise of dinner plates for himself and the kids, Rohan stepped outside to the still-fading light. He carefully walked around to the back, verifying the barn was indeed a safe enough place for the horse and makeshift cart. Everything was in order, so he headed to the general store.

  Even a small stop like this was a luxury compared to the wilderness. If the Talons had passed through, they might have taken supplies by force, but so far, all seemed calm. He wondered how long that would last.

  The general store was a small wooden structure, its shelves stocked with basic provisions, dried meats, grains, lantern oil, and simple tools. A stocky man with graying hair sat behind the counter, inspecting a ledger. He barely looked up when Rohan entered.

  “Need somethin?”

  The man grunted, flipping a page.

  Rohan scanned the shelves.

  “Blankets, food for travel, maybe some medicine.”

  “That for you or someone else?”

  Rohan held his gaze.

  “Does it matter?”

  The man gave a slow shrug.

  “Depends. If you got mouths to feed, I’ll pack the food better so it don’t spoil. If it’s just you, I got dried rations.”

  Rohan wasn’t sure if the man was being helpful or trying to dig for information. Either way, he decided on partial honesty.

  “Got three kids with me. Orphans.”

  “Lot of that goin’ around these days, you’ll want softer bread and dried fruit for ‘em, then. Harder rations ain’t good for little ones.”

  As he waited, his eyes flicked to the side of the counter, where a stack of papers lay scattered. Some were inventory records, but one stood out, a crude, black-and-white sketch of a face.

  His face.

  He moved carefully, leaning against the counter to get a better look without drawing suspicion. The bounty wasn’t directly from the Talons, it was issued under Lord Belvane’s name. A reward for information leading to the capture of a dangerous fugitive.

  No name, no detailed crimes listed, just a number.

  A large one.

  He filed that information away. If the bounty had spread this far, others would be looking for him. Not just the Talons.

  The shopkeeper turned, setting a bundle of supplies on the counter.

  “This should do. Bread, dried meat, some root vegetables. Got a few bandages in there too, in case any of ‘em got wounds.”

  Rohan pulled out a few coins, careful not to reveal the full weight of his pouch.

  “That enough?”

  The shopkeeper counted them, then nodded.

  “Fair enough trade.”

  Rohan wrapped the supplies, tucking them under his arm. When he returned, the children were still huddled in their room. The eldest girl was half-asleep, curled into the youngest, while the boy remained awake, sitting by the door like a sentry.

  Rohan set the supplies down.

  “Got food for tomorrow. Some medicine too.”

  The boy eyed him warily but didn’t object.

  “You should sleep, I’ll keep watch.”

  The boy hesitated, as if debating whether or not to trust him, but exhaustion won. He slumped beside his sisters, dagger still clutched in his small hands.

  Rohan sat by the window, watching the dark streets below.

  He knew this peace wouldn’t last. But for tonight, he let the quiet settle. For tonight, they were safe.

  Rohan hadn’t slept.

  The weight of exhaustion clung to him, his limbs heavy, his eyes burning. But he was used to it.

  The moment the first light of dawn trickled through the wooden slats of the window, he moved. The children stirred awake with quiet groans, rubbing sleep from their hollow eyes.

  “We’re leaving.”

  He said simply.

  They didn’t argue.

  The boy, as always, made sure his sisters were secured before they followed Rohan downstairs.

  That was when he saw them, six men.

  Dressed in full armor, sitting comfortably at the tables. Their weapons were close, too close for casual drinkers.

  One carried a bow, two bore tower shields, thick enough to withstand a siege. Two others gripped long spears, polished and sharpened.

  And at the center, his presence was unmistakable, a leader clad in a dark breastplate, a longsword at his hip, his cloak bearing no insignia.

  His cold blue eyes locked onto Rohan immediately.

  And then, he smiled.

  “Rohan.”

  The name cut through the room like a blade. The inn’s patrons froze, the air turned heavy. The barkeep’s fingers tensed around a mug, her face blank.

  The soldiers didn’t rise yet, they didn’t need to. The leader’s smirk widened, tapping the hilt of his sword.

  “That bounty’s looking real nice right about now.”

  His eyes flicked to the three children.

  “And you brought company.”

  Rohan’s heart slowed. His breath steadied. He wasn’t trapped yet, but he had six well-armed hunters in his way.

  The children didn’t move. The boy gripped his small dagger tightly.

  Rohan barely glanced at the boy as he pressed the key into his small hands.

  “Run.”

  His voice was quiet but sharp.

  “Lock the door and don’t open it until I come back.”

  The boy’s fingers clenched around the key. He didn’t want to run. Rohan could see it in his eyes.

  “Go.”

  The boy hesitated for only a second longer, then turned and pulled his sisters away. They disappeared up the stairs.

  Rohan turned back to the bounty hunters.

  He moved fast, low, and deadly. Yet the leader was ready.

  With a swift kick, he slammed a wooden chair into Rohan’s path. The unexpected impact sent Rohan tumbling. His balance faltered, boots skidding across the wooden floor.

  By the time he hit the ground, they had already stood. The shield bearers stepped forward, towering walls of steel. Their heavy plates blocked his view of the others.

  Then, a spear lunged forward. Rohan twisted at the last second, narrowly dodging. But before he could counter, an arrow sliced through the air.

  His dagger snapped up instinctively, deflecting the arrow just inches from his face. The impact rattled his arm.

  Another spear came from his blind spot. The blade grazing his arm, a hot streak of pain searing through his skin. Blood trickled down his sleeve.

  Rohan jumped back, breath steady, feet sliding into a defensive stance. This wasn’t going to be easy. His enemies weren’t undisciplined thugs.

  They were trained. Coordinated. They knew how to fight as one unit. Which meant he had to break them apart.

  The shield bearers were the biggest threat. They forced him into a kill zone, keeping him pinned while the others struck.

  The spearmen kept him on the move, giving him no time to counter. The archer controlled the range.

  They were trying to exhaust him first. Rohan exhaled slowly, centering himself. His heart slowed. His thoughts sharpened.

  He could already see it, a crack in their formation, a weakness. They thought they had him pinned, trapped like an animal, they were wrong.

  His hand shot out, grabbing the nearest wooden chair. With a feral burst of speed, he sprinted forward and hurled it straight at one of the shield bearers.

  The shield shot up instinctively, blocking the impact. That was the mistake.

  The moment the chair made contact, Rohan was already sliding low, slipping past the man’s defense like a blade through silk.

  His dagger flashed, the steel sank deep into the back of the man’s knee. A scream tore from his throat, the shield bearer staggered, dropping his defense.

  A spearman lunged, taking advantage of Rohan’s low position. His hand shot up, grabbing the wooden shaft before the blade could reach him.

  With one savage yank, he pulled the spearman off balance, and before the man could react, Rohan lunged forward and sank his teeth into his throat.

  Blood gushed into Rohan’s mouth, hot and metallic. The man thrashed, gurgled, then went still.

  Rohan tilted his head, licking the blood from his lips.

  Then, he smiled, the archer tensed, the shield bearers tightened their grips, and the leader finally drew his longsword.

  "Kill him."

  The order had barely left the leader’s lips before Rohan moved. His legs burned from exhaustion, his body ached from his wounds, but none of it mattered. Pain didn’t exist in this moment. Only the hunt.

  The archer was the biggest threat. If he stayed back, picking his shots, it would only be a matter of time before Rohan’s body failed him.

  The moment Rohan launched forward, the archer’s eyes widened. He fumbled for another arrow, hands shaking just slightly.

  Rohan’s feet barely touched the ground as he weaved through the shield bearers, his movements erratic and unpredictable.

  One of them tried to bring his shield around to block him, but Rohan twisted mid-step, dodging just outside the range.

  The second shield bearer lunged to intercept. Rohan ducked low, rolling between the space where the two shields didn’t fully meet. A spear came stabbing for his back.

  He kicked off the ground, lunging forward. The archer’s arrow finally released but Rohan was already too close.

  The arrow sliced across his shoulder, tearing flesh but not stopping. The archer gasped, stumbling back, trying to reach for another arrow.

  Rohan grabbed him by the wrist and twisted. The bow fell from his grasp.

  The archer opened his mouth to scream, Rohan shoved his dagger straight through it. The blade pierced through the back of his skull, silencing him instantly.

  One of the shield bearers roared and charged, raising his massive tower shield. Rohan spun away, flipping a table into his path. The shield smashed through it, sending splinters flying, but Rohan was already moving to his blind spot.

  The leader was watching, waiting for an opening. His longsword hovered, perfectly steady. The remaining spearman adjusted his grip, changing his stance. They were more cautious now.

  Rohan smirked, blood dripping from his lips.

  “Come on, then.”

  Rohan exploded towards the leader. That’s who they expected him to go for. That’s who they wanted him to fight. So that’s exactly what he pretended to do.

  His boots pounded against the wooden floor, dagger glinting in the firelight. The leader’s longsword shifted slightly, preparing for the clash.

  Rohan vanished at the last second, he cut to the side, baiting the spearman into striking first.

  The fool took it, he lunged forward, thrusting with all his might, and missed. Rohan was already inside his guard.

  His dagger plunged into the man’s neck, slicing through muscle, arteries, bone. The spearman choked, eyes bulging as blood poured from the wound. Rohan ripped the blade free, stepping aside as the body collapsed.

  The two shield bearers roared, charging together. They moved like a wall, a massive force meant to crush him. He had already chosen his next target.

  The wounded one, his knee was still shaking, still weak from the earlier cut. Rohan snapped forward, driving his boot hard into the injured man's shield.

  The man lost his balance, Rohan used the falling shield as leverage, planting a foot on its edge and launching himself over the second shield bearer. The man’s eyes widened in shock, unable to react in time.

  Rohan’s dagger slashed out, slicing straight across the man’s eyes. A wet, ugly scream tore from his throat. The shield clattered to the ground as he stumbled back, clutching his ruined face.

  The leader swung, aiming to cleave Rohan in two, but Rohan was faster. He sidestepped effortlessly, grabbing the leader’s wrist with crushing force.

  Before the man could react, Rohan twisted hard. The leader’s arm bent at an unnatural angle. A scream tore from his throat and the longsword clattered to the ground.

  Rohan didn’t let go. He drove his fist into the man’s gut, then his elbow into his jaw.

  The leader stumbled, dazed, wiping blood from his eyes. Rohan grabbed him by the throat and slammed him onto the ground. The tavern shook with the impact.

  The leader gasped, choking on his own breath, struggling to push Rohan off. But Rohan’s knees pinned his arms down.

  His dagger flashed. The first stab pierced his chest. The second, his stomach. The third, his ribs, over and over.

  The leader screamed, thrashed, then gurgled as blood filled his mouth. The tavern was silent except for the wet, sickening sound of blade meeting flesh.

  By the time Rohan stopped, the leader was unrecognizable. His lifeless eyes stared up at the ceiling. The fight was over in seconds. Rohan hadn’t been touched.

  The fight was done, but Rohan knew more would come and next time, he’d be ready.