A rough hand shook Eric awake.
"Wake up, kid. We're leaving."
He blinked against the pale morning light leaking through the cracks in the wooden hut. The fire had burned down to black ash, and his body felt heavier than it had the night before.
Robert was already half-armored, strapping on his sword. "Sergeant says we move out now," he said. "We're heading back to our town."
Eric rubbed his eyes. "Back… to your town?"
"That's right," Robert replied. "We've got to report the troll attack, forest conditions, the outpost, and—" he made a vague gesture, "—figure out what to do with you."
Outside, Sergeant Dalen's voice cut through the thin air, low and firm as he gave orders. Rook muttered something sharp under his breath, earning a bark of laughter from Bron. Tenn was already checking their packs, methodical and silent.
Eric stepped outside. The forest beyond the fence was dim, fog curling low to the ground. Gary's faint outline drifted near him, almost blending with the mist. None of the soldiers seemed to notice.
"Will I come with you?" Eric asked.
Dalen looked at him, face unreadable beneath his beard. "You'll come. The Commander will want to hear how you got there in the first place—and what happened to your village."
That didn't sound like a choice.
Robert grinned. "Don't worry. We'll vouch you didn't bite."
Rook snorted. "Yet."
Dalen shot him a look that shut him up. "Eat something if you haven't. We leave in ten minutes."
Eric glanced around the outpost, trying to figure out where—or what—to eat.
The place looked smaller in daylight: four huts, a leaning watchtower, and a line of wooden stakes half-rotted by rain. Smoke trailed from a cooking pit, the smell of burnt grain hanging in the air.
A few soldiers sat near the embers, chewing on hard bread and dried meat, their armor clinking softly whenever they shifted.
Eric hesitated before stepping closer. One of them, a tired-looking man with mud on his boots, wordlessly tossed him a chunk of bread. It was stale enough to crack a tooth, but he took it anyway.
Rook passed by, spear resting on his shoulder. "Don't eat too slow," he said without looking at him. "Dalen hates waiting."
Eric chewed in silence, eyes drifting to the mist where Gary's shape had faded. For a moment, he thought he saw the faint shimmer of movement—then nothing.
By the time he finished eating, the soldiers were already packing up their stuff.
The road wound out of the forest in a slow descent, the trees thinning until the ground opened into rolling hills and muddy paths.
Eric walked beside Robert's, keeping his head down. The soldiers didn't speak much — only the occasional order from Dalen or a muttered curse from Rook when the trail turned rough. Bron hummed under his breath, low and tuneless, while Tenn kept a quiet watch at the rear.
It took hours before the trees gave way entirely, and the smell of smoke and iron began to drift in from ahead. A river cut across their path, its bridge nothing more than old planks bound with rope. Beyond it, walls rose — tall wooden barricades, patched and scarred from weather and time.
The town gates were open, but only barely. A pair of guards leaned on their spears, their armor dull with rust. They straightened when they saw Dalen's group approach.
"Sergeant Dalen," one of them called. "Back from the outpost already? We thought—" He stopped when his eyes landed on Eric. "Who's the kid?"
Dalen swung off his horse, boots sinking into the mud. "Found him near the ruins of a village past the bridge. Says it was attacked. He's coming with us to the Commander."
The guard frowned. "Outsider?"
Robert shrugged. "Looks that way. Just Eric, no other name."
The other guard exchanged a look with his partner. "Then keep your eyes open. people in the town have been nervous about strangers lately."
Rook chuckled under his breath. "When aren't they?"
The gates creaked wider as they entered.
Inside, the town was alive but worn — narrow streets lined with thatched roofs, smoke curling from chimneys, market stalls half-empty. Children darted through puddles. Women carried buckets from the well. Everyone paused for just a second when they saw Eric, then went back to what they were doing, though not without a few quiet whispers.
Robert leaned down from his saddle. "Welcome to woodstar," he said. "Not much, but it's home."
Eric nodded slowly. The air smelled of damp earth and cooked meat. Somewhere far off, a bell rang — a flat, tired sound.
"What happens now?" he asked.
Dalen didn't turn as he answered. "Now, we report. And you tell your story to the Commander. "After that we'll see what becomes of you."
Eric swallowed hard, the sound almost lost under the creak of leather and hooves. The closer they drew to the heart of the town, the heavier the air seemed — not dangerous, just thick with eyes that lingered too long. He didn't know what kind of man this Commander was, or what sort of truth they wanted from him.
He only knew that every step toward the barracks felt like walking deeper into someone else's story — one he wasn't sure he wanted to be part of.