NOVPUBHis back ached in the way it always did after sleeping upright. The stone wall behind him hadn't softened overnight.
Across the room, Ardan was already up. He stood near the entrance, cloak over his shoulder, brushing frost from the seams with one hand. Eyes clear. He'd been awake longer than anyone.
Meren groaned and flopped back over. The blanket someone had thrown over him was tangled around one foot like it had tried to escape in the night.
Ren was already moving. She sat by the fire now, tossing a twig between her fingers. Her coat was still fastened. No visible pillow. No sign she had slept at all.
Lira stood beside the window slit, one arm across her chest, gaze on the grey outside. Her posture hadn't changed.
Lindarion blinked once.
'She really doesn't sleep, huh.'
He didn't speak right away. Just breathed in. The air was cold, sharper than it had been. The kind of cold that got into the joints first, then moved toward the lungs.
Lira turned her head slightly. Not quite facing him. But close enough.
"You slept."
It wasn't a question.
He nodded.
Ren looked over from the fire. "He didn't snore. That's already one more point than Meren."
"Hey," Meren mumbled. "I was dying."
"You were snoring."
"Same thing."
Lindarion pushed himself upright, careful with the movement. Nothing stabbed. Nothing cracked. Just stiff.
He glanced toward the doorway.
"Did anyone keep watch?"
"I did," Ardan said.
Ren smiled. "We all did. In shifts."
Lira didn't speak. But the faintest flicker of her eye said she hadn't trusted shifts. She'd stayed up longer than she should have.
Lindarion stretched his legs out. Boots hit the stone with a dull scrape. The cold clung to the soles like it wanted him to remember it.
'Time to move again.'
But no one rushed. Not yet.
Meren sat up properly now. His hair was a mess. His eyes weren't quite open all the way. But his grin was there.
"Morning, royalty."
Lindarion didn't rise to it.
Ren tossed a dry root into the ashes. The fire gave a soft pop.
"We have dried rations. Enough for a morning meal."
Ardan raised an eyebrow. "Dried what?"
"Roots. Saltleaf. Maybe an old apricot."
Meren made a face. "That's not breakfast. That's regret."
Lira finally stepped away from the wall.
"You want warm food, go back to the cities."
Ardan muttered, "We'll pass."
Lindarion took the offered pouch from Ren without a word. Inside were flat slices of something hard and sharp-smelling. He bit into one without looking at it.
It wasn't terrible.
No one said much for a while. The sound of chewing filled the gaps. The fire caught again with a few coaxing breaths from Ren and one spark from Lira's fingertip.
Lindarion watched it for a moment.
'Same fire. Same cold. But something's different now.'
His hands didn't shake.
His chest didn't tighten.
And no one looked at him like they were waiting for him to speak first.
That was worth something.
They'd move soon. He could feel it. The weight behind Ardan's steps. The glance Lira gave the horizon. The way Ren kept checking her coat, like it needed to be perfect before walking into trouble. 𝙣𝒐𝒗𝒑𝒖𝒃.𝙘𝙤𝒎
But for now, the fire stayed lit.
And no one had asked him to leave.
—
The warmth didn't last.
It never did. Not really. The embers dimmed to a steady red. No crackle, no smoke. Just heat stored in stone and ash.
Lindarion sat with the half-chewed root in his hand. He didn't feel like finishing it. Not because it was bad. Just because it was too dry to mean anything.
Across from him, Lira opened the storage chest.
It wasn't much. Low and wide, made of old wood, dark with age and carved in a style he didn't recognize. The hinges didn't creak when she lifted the lid.
She moved slow. Careful. Like she knew exactly what was inside, and exactly how heavy each choice might be.
Ardan stepped closer. Not invading. Just watching.
Lira reached in and pulled something wrapped in cloth. Long. Thin. Wrapped tight.
She didn't speak. Just turned, walked the few steps toward Lindarion, and held it out.
He blinked once.
"…what is it?"
"A sword," she said, like that should have been obvious.
Ren perked up slightly. Meren stopped chewing halfway through another regret-leaf.
Lira didn't smile. Didn't look proud or dramatic. Just waited.
Lindarion set the root down beside him. Then stood.
The cloth was worn but clean. It smelled like dust and iron. When he took it in both hands, it felt heavier than it looked. Not clunky. Just dense. Like it had been waiting too long to be held again.
He unwrapped it slowly.
The steel was dull at first glance. Not polished to a shine. But it caught light in strange ways. Pale blue along the fuller. The crossguard was narrow, shaped like a crescent pressed flat. The grip was wrapped in dark leather, aged but not cracked.
Lindarion ran a thumb along the flat of the blade. It hummed faintly.
"I forged it myself," Lira said, quiet. "Years ago."
He glanced at her. "For who?"
"No one."
He looked back down at the weapon.
It wasn't flashy. No etchings. No runes. No obvious enchantments. Just clean work, old steel, and a sharpness that lived deep in the edge instead of showing off.
'This isn't a gift. It's a responsibility.'
"Why give it to me?"
"Because you'll need it."
He tested the balance. It responded like it knew his hands already. Not perfectly. But close enough.
"Thank you."
Lira nodded once. Nothing else.
Ren tilted her head. "I didn't think you could use an actual sword."
"I can," Lindarion said.
Meren leaned over. "It's very stabby."
"That's the point," Ardan muttered.
Lindarion held the sword a moment longer. Then sheathed it in the plain leather scabbard tucked beneath the wrappings. It didn't click. Just slid into place like it belonged.
He didn't ask what it was called. If it had a name, it would speak it when it needed to.
Lira walked back to the chest. Closed it. Her hand stayed on the lid a moment longer than necessary.
Then she looked at him again.
"Don't lose it."
"I won't."
She gave a single nod.
Meren whispered to Ren, "I think he should've gotten a cape too."
Ren whispered back, "He'd trip on it."
"I would not," Lindarion said flatly.
Ardan almost smiled.
The fire popped once behind them.
Outside, the wind picked up. Cold, sharp. Morning pushing toward something harder.
They would move soon.
But for now, the sword rested at his side. And his hands felt steady.
