The rain had softened to a drizzle by the time they left Thornveil behind. The clouds had thinned enough for the sun to cast a weak, watery light, but the world remained shadowed—more dusk than day. The road to Geldor stretched ahead, a muddy scar cutting through hills dotted with skeletal trees, their branches clawing at the gray sky like the hands of drowning men.
Yeuk led the way, nose to the ground, occasionally lifting his head to sniff the air before continuing. His paws left deep prints in the mud—prints that filled with water as quickly as they formed.
Yashin walked a few paces behind, hands in his pockets, his twin swords crossed at his back. Celine followed, her crimson cloak now dark and heavy with water, clinging to her shoulders like a second skin.
They walked in silence. For half an hour, the only sounds were boots squelching in mud, the distant caw of crows, and Yeuk's occasional grunt whenever he looked up into the trees.
Finally, Yashin spoke without turning around.
"So. The children."
Celine's step hitched—just slightly.
"What about them?"
"You said their mother was burned. A witch." He glanced back, eyes sharp. "But you risked your life—and coins—to save her children." He paused. "Most people wouldn't do that for a stranger's kids."
"She wasn't a stranger."
"Friend, then?"
"Something like that."
Yashin stopped walking and turned to face her. Yeuk stopped too, ears twitching.
"You're going to have to do better than that, Red."
Celine met his gaze, her jaw tight. "Does it matter?"
"It does if I'm walking into something that's going to get me killed." He crossed his arms. "You hired me to find children taken by the Church. The Church doesn't just take children. I know that for a fact."
Celine said nothing.
"So..." Yashin said quietly. "What were these children to you?"
For a moment, she didn't answer. Then she exhaled slowly.
"I knew their mother."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting."
Yashin studied her face. She wasn't lying—but she wasn't telling the whole truth either.
They walked for another twenty minutes in tense silence.
The hills gave way to flatter terrain—abandoned farmland. Burned-out cottages with collapsed roofs. Fields choked with weeds and wildflowers. Stone fences crumbled into nothing.
This land had thrived once, a century ago, Now it was a graveyard. A receipt of war.
"How long have you had him?" she asked, breaking the silence again and nodding toward the bear.
"Yeuk?... Since he was a cub." Yashin's voice softened—just a fraction. "Found him in a cage outside a tavern in Kaldur. Owner was going to sell him to a fighting pit. Poor little thing—covered in his own filth." He paused, then continued more briskly. "So I got drunk, started a fight, broke three ribs, and walked out with a bear."
Ahead, Yeuk grunted and stopped at a fork in the road. He sniffed the left path, then the right, circling back before huffing decisively.
"They went this way," Yashin said, boots squelching as he followed.
"You trust him completely, don't you?" Celine asked.
"More than anyone." His gaze stayed fixed on Yeuk's back.
Celine exhaled slowly—the kind of sigh that carried weight.
"Their mother was a friend," she said at last, steadier now.
"When I heard the Church was coming for her, I tried to get there as fast as I could." She swallowed hard. "But I was too late. By the time I arrived, she was already—" she gulped—"Charred. The children were being loaded into a cart. From the whispers, they were taking them to Geldor— The capital of the kingdom of Varethia."
Yashin's jaw tightened. Geldor—The heart of the Church's power.
"So you got them out."
"Barely." Her hand drifted to her cloak—she shifted slightly. She was wounded, the mark of an axe slashed through her skin.
"I took the twins and ran. We made it three days before—" Her voice cracked. "Before I lost them in a village market east of Thornveil."
Yashin studied her face. He could see the pain in her eyes.
"And now you're hiring a drunk and his bear to find them," he said dryly. "Hell of a plan, Red."
"I know you're more than that," Celine said, meeting his eyes.
"I've heard the stories. Yashin of Dravikin." She emphasized the name like it meant something. "Eleven bounty hunters without breaking a sweat. A hundred-gold bounty on your head in some towns, some even more, yet you walk around like a free man—"
"Stories are just that," Yashin cut her off with a lazy wave. "But if you're going to repeat them to anyone, at least get the facts right. It was ten men. And a full-grown Kairi."
Celine's eyes widened slightly. "A Kairi? Those things can tear through—"
"—seven strong men, yeah." Yashin smirked. "Still killed it."
Celine fell silent, reassessing him. The tension between them eased slightly; the silence that followed felt lighter, almost familiar.
Then Yeuk stopped dead. His ears went wide, and a low growl rumbled in his chest.
Yashin's hand drifted to his sword. "Yeuk? Buddy, step back." He moved ahead, scanning the trees.
"Company," he muttered.
Crows burst from the branches above them, scattering into the dull sky.
Celine's hand went to her bow. "Where?"
"Everywhere."
The attack came without warning.
A knife sliced through the air—a whisper of steel—and embedded itself in the mud inches from Celine's boot.
One moment, the road was empty. The next, figures emerged from the treeline on both sides—nine men, armed with swords, clubs, and knives. Their faces were hard and scarred.
Yeuk's growl deepened, vibrating through the ground.
Yashin's right hand hovered near his sword, eyes scanning. He counted weapons, exits, distances. Calm. Cold. Calculating.
"Afternoon, travelers," the leader said, stepping forward with a grin.
He was massive—eight feet of muscle, a crooked nose, and teeth like broken stones. A sword the height of an eleven year old hung from his belt. His eyes were dead—the kind that had seen killing and liked it.
"Lovely day for a walk, isn't it?" he rumbled.
"Depends who you ask," Yashin replied evenly, lowering his hand slightly.
"We're simple folk," the man continued, spreading his arms in mock friendliness. "Just trying to make a living. I'm sure you understand."
"I do." Yashin's eyes flicked over the group again. "But I'm not in a charitable mood today."
The leader's grin widened. "Is that so? Then maybe your lady friend here is feeling more… generous."
His eyes lingered on Celine. Hungry.
Celine's hand tightened on her bow.
"Don't," Yashin murmured without looking at her.
"We don't want trouble," the leader said, though his hand rested on his hilt. "Just your coin. Maybe a little company from the lady. Then we'll let you walk away. Simple transaction."
Yashin sighed—long, theatrical. "You really don't know when to shut up, do you?" He tilted his head, mock-thoughtful. "You know, you'd have made a decent merchant. Excellent sales pitch for a thief. I'm impressed."
"Big words," the leader growled, "for a little drunkard."
"Fair point," Yashin said with a shrug. "But here's the thing—"
His hands blurred.
Both swords flashed out in a heartbeat, catching the gray light like liquid silver.
"—I'm sober enough for this!" he sped up
The bandits charged.
The first bandit jumped from behind the leader. He swung a rusted longsword in a desperate vertical arc catching the hunter off-gaurd.
His left blade caught the strike, sparks spitting. His right followed—fast, precise—sliding between ribs and lung even before the ragged bandit landed on his feet.
The man gasped, blood bubbling on his lips.
Yashin twisted, pulled free, spun low to meet the next.
Two came at once—one high, one low.
Yashin dropped into a crouch. His left sword slashed across the lower man's shins—through leather, through bone. The man screamed, collapsing.
Yashin rose, crossed his blades to catch the second's overhead strike, twisted, redirected. The man stumbled forward, off-balance—open.
The right blade flicked out, clean and effortless. His throat opened from ear to ear.
Blood sprayed across the mud in a wide, crimson arc. Yashin stood amid the carnage, both blades extended, a devil's grin splitting his face—a silent warning: cross this line and die.
One bandit tried to flank toward Celine and Yeuk.
Big mistake.
Yeuk reared up with a roar that shook the air. His claws came down like scythes, tearing through flesh and bone. The man screamed once, then was still—his chest opened to the ribs.
The bear stood over the corpse, dripping blood, defiant.
Celine loosed an arrow, catching another attacker in the shoulder mid-throw. He fell from a branch with a sickening crack.
Four bandits left—the leader and three more.
They hesitated, eyes darting between the corpses and the man who'd made them.
Yashin stood calm, both swords dripping red, expression unreadable.
"Your turn," he said quietly.
One man dropped his weapon and fled. Another charged, screaming.
Yashin parried with his left, countered with his right—a single, clean slash across the belly. The man folded, intestines spilling into his hands before he hit the ground.
The leader roared and swung a blade the size of a door. Yashin blocked—the impact shuddered through his bones, driving him to a knee. Steel nicked his shoulder; blood welled. He pushed through the pain, twisted, dislodged the massive blade with a grunt, and used the opening. His right sword swept low and clean.
The giant froze. Then came apart.
Top half sliding one way, legs the other.
Blood poured into the mud.
Silence.
Only one man remained—a wiry thief with wild eyes, trembling.
"Wait! I surrender! Please, I—"
Yashin looked at Celine, tilting his head.
The bandit's eyes locked on her. Recognition flared.
"The crimson cloak… the bow—I know you!" His voice rose, panicked. "There's a bounty on your head! Four hundred gold coins! You're the—"
An arrow sprouted from his throat.
He gagged, blood spurting between his fingers as he clenched on the shaft- a desperate move to stop the bleeding, and fell face-first into the mud.
Yashin turned slowly.
Celine stood with her bow still raised, string humming, face cold as stone.
"Who the hell are you?" Yashin said quietly, voice edged with steel. "Celine—if that's even your name."
"He was just saying anything to save his life," she said, lowering her bow.
"He might have," Yashin replied, his voice dropping to ice. "But he might also have had information about the twins. Did that occur to you?"
"No. But he was going to die anyway—you would've killed him."
She met his gaze evenly.
"You can't be so certain... But I'm damn certain about four hundred gold pieces on that head I can easily take off with a swing" Yashin stepped closer, blades still wet. "That's not pocket change, Red. That's a fortune. The kind they put on killers. Traitors."
Celine's jaw tightened.
"People put bounties on anyone these days. It doesn't mean anything. Maybe it's because—"
"—Play dumb all you want." he cuts her off.
Yashin raised his right sword until the tip kissed her throat, drawing a bead of blood.
"So I'll ask again. Who—are—you?"
Yeuk whimpered, low and mournful.
Celine didn't flinch. Her eyes met his steadily.
"Someone..." she said softly, "trying to save two children. That's all you need to know."
The silence stretched.
Yashin studied her, then sighed. He lowered the blade and sheathed both swords with sharp, decisive movements.
"Fine," he said. "Keep your secrets."
He turned and walked off, boots squelching through blood and mud. Yeuk lingered a moment, casting one last, pitying glance before following his master.
"Yeah," Yashin muttered to the bear. "I was starting to trust her too, pal."
Celine stood alone for a long while, staring at the corpses. Blood spread like spilled wine, soaking the dirt.
He would've told him. She thought.
But she couldn't risk it. Not yet. Not until she found the twins.
Not until she stopped what was coming.
She crouched, yanked the arrow from the bandit's throat, and wiped it clean on his tunic. Still straight. Good. She'd need every arrow before this was over.
Then she followed them up the road.
They walked in silence for another two hours. Yashin occasionally whistling popular tunes.
The sun dipped low, staining the hills in amber and rust. Shadows stretched across the road. The air grew colder.
Ahead, a small village came into view—half-forgotten cottages huddled around a stone well. Smoke rose from a few chimneys. The smell of cooking meat drifted on the wind.
"They passed through here," Yashin said without looking back. "It's getting dark. We'll stop here. Rest. Ask around. See if anyone's seen the twins—or who they were with."
Celine nodded. Yeuk sniffed the air, huffing—a sound somewhere between agreement and hunger.
As they approached, Yashin glanced at her again. She was watching the horizon, one hand pressed to her wounded side. Her face unreadable—but definitely in pain.
Four hundred gold pieces. he thought grimly. Who the hell is she?
But he didn't ask. Not yet.
Some secrets, he'd learned, came out when they were ready.
Or when they got you killed.
He'd find out which, soon enough.