"Wake up, Rosely. Your little brat with the broken leg's running a fever again," said the man dressed in black, his hair beginning to lose its color.
"He's not my brat, Jones. We need him as a witness to the Divergents' carnage. Out of the three villages wiped out this week, none had survivors. This kid might help us track down that filthy blood-drinker walking around with a human face."
"If you say so…" Jones shrugged.
"But I won't deny the little runt's got guts. Trying to set his leg with a bucket full of bricks? If that's not courage, I'll at least give him a few points for insanity," Jones muttered.
"Children from small, isolated villages like his grow up too fast. Especially after seeing what he saw yesterday. You don't forget something like that. I didn't," said the red-haired woman, her scarred neck catching the firelight.
Jones turned his face away to avoid her gaze, tossed a few more branches into the fire, and sighed deeply.
"These damn bloodsuckers are getting bold. Attacking so many villages near Solvigil in such a short time? Ever since they split from that insane queen of theirs, they've been getting cocky. Honestly, I've always preferred monsters without intelligence. They kill and eat like animals, not for pleasure. You don't see them hanging body parts around like some twisted display," Jones said, gripping the dagger's handle as he stirred the embers.
"None of it makes sense. Why spare the boy? Pure sadism? Leaving a child alive after slaughtering his family?" Rosely asked, squeezing her own hand until the knuckles turned white.
"He doesn't seem special, aside from insane ideas about fixing his leg. Lucky little bastard. Even if he hadn't died of thirst tied up in that well, infection from that exposed fracture would've finished him," Jones replied.
"I've never seen an injury the Holy Hunters' clerics couldn't fix. That is… if he's lucky enough to be treated by our guild. He'd probably rather lose the leg than fall into the hands of a Last Light Crusader with their barbaric methods. I almost feel guilty bringing a child this broken to Solvigil," Rosely murmured.
Their camp was nearly swallowed by the night's darkness. Only the crackle of embers and soft sounds of horses broke the silence. The boy slept with his head resting against Rosely's thigh, surprisingly free of nightmares. She clearly had a soft spot for children.
They alternated three-hour shifts, always armed. These weren't simple travelers.
Jones wielded a massive axe as easily as a troll swinging a tree. Rosely, though less bulky, had toned, defined muscles and moved with the grace of someone who fought through agility, not brute force. Her fiery red hair was short and practical. Her weapons were two long, thin daggers—too long for knives, too short for swords.
At dawn, they saddled their horses and the extra pack-horse loaded with supplies.
"Rose, we need to leave before sunrise. I want to cross the Dead Forest before the darkness settles again. I can't fight alone if blood-drinkers—or something worse—jump us in that gods-forsaken place. And you're clearly not letting go of that brat," Jones said without looking at her.
"Once he wakes up, he'll ride the pack-horse. I don't want to stay in that forest any longer than necessary," Rosely replied, squeezing the boy's cheeks lightly before settling him onto her mare.
"Then let's go. With luck we reach Solvigil in two days. We can't keep focusing on the mission while dragging this little runt around. We'll drop your brat at the headquarters," Jones said, hitting his black stallion's flank.
Rosely sighed, glanced at the boy's face, and followed.
The journey went smoothly at first. Small monsters crossed their path, but Jones split them apart with ease. Rosely guarded the boy and dispatched whatever slipped past Jones with precise dagger strikes.
At one point, a large winged frog lunged at them. Rosely cut it cleanly in half before it even touched her horse. One of her daggers gleamed—a strange black metal, now stained red.
They reached the edge of an unsettling forest. The fallen leaves were gray, as if draining color from the sky above. The barren trees twisted like dead fingers.
Jones' fear of staying past sunset made sense now. Something in that place felt wrong. The air was still. No insects. No sound. As if the world ended at that wall of twisted branches.
"Fuck, I hate this place. Can't believe they sent us here right after initiation, when we were kids," Jones muttered.
"Stop whining. At least your squad survived. Mine was hunted by a damn Whistler minutes after we entered. The bastard tore open one girl's neck and killed two others by ripping out their windpipes. They really do envy the human voice… and always attack the throat," Rosely said, scratching the scar at her neck.
"Whistlers are cunning sons of bitches. I thank the sun every day I never fought one. No one's ever killed or even seen one. You just hear that almost-human whistle… and then you're drowning in your own blood," Jones replied.
"One girl from my squad thought it'd be funny to whistle back—mocking the temple instructors who warned us about them. One second she was laughing, the next her lifeless body was slumped on her horse. I didn't see it, but I felt its fingers closing around my throat. If not for that grumpy old man, I'd have lost my entire windpipe. He cut the creature's fingertips before it finished me."
"That old bastard? Yeah… he should be the one hunting these Divergent bloodsuckers. He was an asshole… but strong as hell," Jones said.
Just before they crossed under a massive twisted oak, the boy in Rosely's arms began to stir. First slow and confused… then wild.
He threw himself off the horse, hitting the ground hard, sending dry leaves flying. The horses panicked. For a moment, the boy seemed less human than the monsters they had fought.
"Shut the fuck up, you tiny shit! Do you even know where we are?!" Jones snapped, gritting his teeth.
"Wait, Jones. Let me handle it," Rosely said firmly, dismounting.
The boy was terrified—waking up in a strange place after unimaginable trauma. But beneath the fear, Rosely saw rage. Deep, burning rage. It hurt her to see a child, so small and fragile, filled with hatred. If he had the means, she believed he would try to kill them both.
And she couldn't blame him.
Rosely extended her hand, offering a gentle smile. The firelight reflected on her neck scar.
"It's okay, little one. I know you've been through horrible things. What's your name? Don't worry, those things aren't here anymore. We treated your leg. We gave you water. You're safe with us. That guy over there looks like a frog, but he's a good person."
Jones rolled his eyes.
The boy backed away, trying to stand, leaning on the trees. Pain twisted his expression. He didn't speak, only murmured a soft "hmm," nodding faintly.
Rosely approached slowly and wrapped him in an awkward but warm embrace. He struggled, but she held him firmly. Eventually, he stopped resisting. He didn't cry. Didn't shake. Just stared into the empty forest—eyes devoid of childhood.
She placed him back on the saddle and mounted behind him, holding him close.
"It's alright. We'll get you out of here," she whispered, brushing his black hair.
"Rose, weren't you gonna put him on the other horse so you could help me keep watch in this shitty forest?"
"You'll manage, Jones. I'm not leaving him alone now."
Jones sighed but didn't argue. Beneath the rough exterior, he was a decent man.
Rosely tried asking his name every hour. Each time, all she received was the same quiet "hmm."
Jones remained tense until they finally left the Dead Forest.
A white-gold glow shimmered over the hills ahead. Jones looked both relieved and uneasy as Solvigil drew nearer. Rosely tightened her hold on the boy.
As they approached the main road, carriages began to pass—some lavish with golden decorations, others simpler, likely belonging to lesser nobles.
Even in his catatonic state, the boy watched everything, drawn to the bright horizon.
At the hilltop, they finally saw it.
Solvigil.
Massive.But not comforting.
After the suffocating terror of the forest, this sight felt… wrong in a different way.
It was no ordinary city. Two palaces—one atop the hill, another made of marble below it. The thick clouds parted only enough for sunlight to illuminate the lower palace, as if the God of Light himself ignored the rest of the city entirely.
Even the statues on the walls faced downward toward that palace, marble warriors with golden adornments, almost bowing to its sacred glow.
What is that place?The boy wondered silently, his childhood curiosity breaking through the numbness.
"Welcome to the great Solvigil, little one. Where the sacred light of our God protects us," Rosely said.
Jones let out a mocking laugh behind them.