The bandits were far behind them now.

  Rohan wasn’t sure how long they had been walking, but every step sent pain through his ribs. His breath was shallow, his limbs heavy. The cold gnawed at his skin, and his body screamed for rest, but he forced himself to keep going.

  Beside him, Talia trudged forward in silence, arms wrapped tightly around herself. She had said nothing since they fled the camp, but Rohan could hear her stomach growling in the quiet. She was just as hungry as he was.

  The last thing he had eaten was the thin soup she made. That had been… yesterday? No, maybe longer. His mind was slipping.

  “We… we have to stop.”

  Talia whispered.

  Rohan’s legs were shaking. He wanted to tell her no. That they had to keep moving. That danger was never far.

  But when he tried to take another step, his body failed him.

  His knees buckled, and he began to fall over. But before he hit the ground Talia was at his side in an instant.

  “Rohan!”

  His vision faded. He hated this feeling, weak, helpless. He had fought so hard, survived so much, only to be undone by something as simple as hunger and exhaustion.

  “Come on.”

  Talia muttered, looping an arm under his shoulders, trying to lift him. She was too small and thin, but she refused to let go.

  Somehow, she managed to half-carry, half-drag him toward a group of trees. Not shelter, but enough cover to disappear.

  Rohan groaned as she lowered him onto the cold earth. He pressed a hand to his side, feeling warmth spread beneath his fingers. Blood. His wounds had reopened.

  Talia was already digging through the stolen supplies, pulling out scraps of cloth.

  “You’re bleeding again.”

  Rohan tried to sit up, but she shoved him back down.

  “Stay still.”

  He didn’t argue.

  The cold pressed in around them. His stomach twisted with hunger. His body ached from the fight, the running, the sheer weight of everything he carried.

  As Talia worked to stop the bleeding, he closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. As he laid against the tree he lost consciousness, Talia followed soon after.

  Afew hours had passed and Rohan awoke to the sound of laughter.

  His heart pounded. The bandits.

  They had found them.

  His body protested as he forced himself upright, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his dagger. His vision giving out as his breath came in ragged gasps. He had to strike first. He had to.

  He stumbled forward, emerging from the trees with a killer gaze.

  The laughter stopped.

  A woman and a young girl stood before him, baskets in hand, their eyes wide with terror.

  Rohan barely had time to register his mistake before his knees buckled. The dagger slipped from his grasp as he collapsed into the dirt.

  He tried to move, tried to speak, but his limbs refused to obey. Through the haze, he saw the woman grab the girl’s hand, and whisper something hurriedly before turning and running.

  His lips parted, his hand reaching weakly toward them. The forest swallowed their retreating figures.

  Rohan exhaled a shaky breath. The cold pressed in, numbing his fingers and thought's. He was too tired to move, and too weak to fight it.

  Darkness took him again.

  The next time he woke, he wasn’t in the forest.

  A low wooden ceiling loomed above him, the scent of herbs and burning firewood thick in the air. Warmth. A real bed. Soft blankets. The weight of exhaustion still clung to him, but the biting cold was gone.

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  He shifted slightly, only to feel a small hand pressing against his shoulder.

  "Don’t move too much."

  Talia whispered.

  Rohan turned his head. She sat beside him on the bed, her eyes filled with relief. In her hands, she held a small clay cup, steam flowed from its surface.

  "Drink."

  She said, carefully bringing it to his lips.

  Rohan tried to take the cup himself, but his hands trembled too much.

  Talia tilted the cup gently, letting the warm liquid touch his lips. The taste was bitter, but the warmth spread through him, easing the ache in his limbs.

  The door creaked open.

  The woman from before stepped inside, this time with a more composed expression. Her sleeves were rolled up, and her hands carried a bundle of fresh bandages.

  "You’re awake."

  She said.

  "I’m the village doctor."

  She studied him with a sharp gaze.

  "You were barely alive when I found you. Had to get someone to carry you back before you bled out."

  The woman crossed her arms.

  "Are you going to tell me what a half-dead boy was doing bleeding out in the woods?”

  Rohan’s mind raced for an answer. He had no idea who these people were or whether they could be trusted. If they knew the truth that him and Talia were being chased they might be turned away.

  So he lied.

  “She’s my sister.”

  He said, his voice hoarse.

  “We were traveling… got attacked.”

  Talia stiffened beside him, but she didn’t correct him.

  The doctor’s sharp gaze flickered between the two of them.

  “We got separated from our family.”

  The woman studied him for a long moment. He could feel her weighing his words, searching for the cracks.

  Before she could press further, a deep voice called from outside the room.

  “You've done enough questioning, let the boy breathe.”

  A heavy-set man stepped through the doorway, his presence filling the small space. His broad shoulders and weathered face spoke of years spent leading others. The village chief.

  The doctor huffed but stepped aside.

  “He’s not out of the woods yet, Joren,”

  She muttered.

  Joren nodded, then turned his gaze to Rohan.

  “You fought off an attack and survived this injured?”

  His tone wasn’t accusing, but there was an edge of curiosity.

  Rohan swallowed.

  “Got lucky.”

  The chief’s eyes narrowed slightly, then drifted to Talia.

  "And you? Are you hurt, girl?"

  Talia shook her head.

  "I took care of him."

  She said, her voice quiet but firm.

  Joren considered this, then let out a grunt.

  “Brave of you.”

  He turned back to Rohan.

  “You’re in my village now. Rest, eat, and when you’re strong enough, we’ll talk about what comes next.”

  Rohan wasn’t sure if that was kindness or a warning.

  The chief turned to leave, but before stepping through the door, he added.

  “If you bring trouble here, boy, I’ll know.”

  The room fell silent after he left.

  The doctor sighed and reached for the fresh bandages.

  “You’ll need to stay off your feet for a few days.”

  The next few days passed in a haze of pain, exhaustion, and the bitter taste of herbal medicine.

  Rohan drifted in and out of sleep, his body too weak to do much else. Each time he woke, Talia was there helping him drink, changing his bandages under the doctor’s watchful eye, or simply sitting nearby, keeping him from being alone with his thoughts.

  He learned the doctor’s name Elara. She was strict, but her hands were steady, her treatments effective. She asked a few questions, but Rohan could tell she was still watching, still piecing together the truth he hadn’t told her.

  The village was cautious but not unkind. Some people peeked into the room when they brought food, curious about the injured stranger and the girl who never left his side.

  By the third day, Rohan could sit up without his vision blurring.

  By the fifth, he could move to a chair by the fire.

  By the seventh, he was restless.

  "You’re healing fast."

  Elara said as she checked his stitches, her tone unreadable.

  "But you’re not ready to run off just yet.”

  Rohan gritted his teeth. He hated feeling weak, and hated relying on others. He had spent months surviving on his own and now he was trapped, waiting, recovering while the world outside moved on without him.

  "You’ll be on your feet soon.”

  Talia reassured him one night as she stirred the small bowl of soup she had insisted on making herself.

  Rohan sighed, staring at the soup she held.

  "Not soon enough..."

  The night air was cold against his skin, but Rohan barely felt it. His steps were slow, unsteady, but he forced himself forward, biting down against the dull ache in his ribs.

  Talia had fallen asleep in the corner of the room. Now was his chance.

  His boots barely made a sound as he slipped out the door, his breath misting in the air. He didn’t belong here. The village was quiet, lanterns flickering behind shuttered windows. If he moved quickly, he could be past the outer fields before anyone noticed.

  Before he could make out of the gate a figure stepped out of the shadows.

  “You’re in a hurry.”

  Rohan froze.

  Joren stood before him, arms crossed, eyes unreadable beneath the torchlight.

  Rohan tensed, shifting his weight onto his good leg, preparing to run.

  “I don’t plan on staying where I’m not wanted.”

  The chief didn’t move.

  “And where exactly do you plan on going?”

  Rohan clenched his jaw. He didn’t owe this man an explanation.

  “That’s my problem.”

  Joren let out a slow breath and shook his head.

  “No, boy. Your problem is that you’re trying to run off without repaying your debt.”

  Rohan stiffened.

  “Debt?”

  “You were half-dead when we found you.”

  “Elara worked day and night to keep you breathing. My people carried you here, fed you, gave you a roof over your head.”

  His voice hardened.

  “And now you think you can just walk away?”

  Rohan’s fists clenched.

  “I didn’t ask for their help.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  Joren agreed.

  “But you took it all the same.”

  Rohan had no argument for that.

  The chief took a step forward, his voice quiet but firm.

  “You’re strong enough to stand. That means you’re strong enough to work.”

  Rohan narrowed his eyes.

  “And if I refuse?”

  Joren shrugged.

  “You can try running. But I don’t think you’ll get far before I drag you back myself.”

  Silence stretched between them.

  Rohan ground his teeth. He hated feeling trapped. Hated the idea of being told what to do. But he knew Joren wasn’t bluffing.

  “Fine.”

  He muttered.

  “I’ll work.”

  Joren smirked.

  “Good. Get some sleep. You start in the morning.”

  With that, the chief turned and walked away, leaving Rohan standing alone in the cold night air.