They did not leave immediately.
Kael insisted on moving at dawn, not because of tradition or superstition, but because wounds behave differently in morning light. Aarinen slept only in fragments, drifting in and out of shallow unconsciousness while the camp prepared quietly around him.
When he woke fully, the sky was pale and cloudless, the air sharp with early cold. His body felt… rearranged. Pain was still there, but it had changed texture—less explosive, more grinding.
Manageable.
Kael stood over him, tightening the straps of her pack.
"You can walk?" she asked.
"Yes."
She waited.
Aarinen exhaled.
"I can walk," he corrected.
"That's what I asked," she replied.
They broke camp efficiently. No fires left burning. No trash behind. Even footprints were brushed over where possible. Kael's people moved like a unit that had learned to exist without being remembered.
They headed north.
Not on roads.
Through them.
Paths used once and abandoned. Riverbanks. Old boundary lines where patrols rarely bothered. Aarinen did not ask how Kael knew these routes.
He could tell by the way she watched the horizon.
This was someone who had run before.
By midday, they reached higher ground. The land flattened, stretching outward into wind-scoured plains broken by occasional stone outcroppings. The sense of exposure grew with every step.
Aarinen felt it keenly.
"This is where people notice," he said.
Kael nodded.
"And where they decide whether you matter," she replied.
They stopped briefly near a line of standing stones half-buried in the earth. Old markers, worn smooth by time and weather. Aarinen paused, a faint unease stirring in his chest.
"You feel something?" Kael asked.
"Yes."
She smiled thinly.
"Good," she said. "That means you're paying attention."
As they moved on, a rider appeared on the horizon.
One rider.
No banners.
No hurry.
He approached openly, hands visible, posture relaxed. A scout, not an attack.
Kael signaled her people to hold.
The rider stopped a respectful distance away.
"My name is Soren Vale," he called. "I speak for those who prefer conversations to funerals."
Kael snorted softly.
"Then you're lost," she said. "We specialize in neither."
Soren smiled.
"I was told you were practical," he said. "Not hostile."
He looked at Aarinen.
"And I was told you were… changing."
Aarinen met his gaze.
"Yes."
Soren dismounted slowly.
"I represent a consortium of northern interests," he said. "Cities, academies, houses that don't always agree—but do share concerns."
"About him?" Kael asked.
"About what follows him," Soren replied.
He took a breath.
"There are orders moving," he said. "Not Merrowen's. Older. Quieter."
"The Concord," Aarinen said.
Soren nodded.
"They don't hunt quickly," he said. "They rewrite conditions until resistance collapses."
Kael crossed her arms.
"And you're here to offer what?" she asked.
"Distance," Soren said. "Information. Temporary protection."
Aarinen laughed softly, then winced.
"Nothing is temporary with people like you," he said.
Soren did not deny it.
"No," he agreed. "But neither is extinction."
Kael looked at Aarinen.
"This is your call," she said.
Aarinen studied Soren carefully.
"What do you want in return?" he asked.
Soren hesitated.
"Observation," he said. "And access. When the time comes."
Aarinen nodded slowly.
"Then no," he said.
Soren blinked.
"Explain," he said.
"You want me intact," Aarinen continued. "Predictable. Available."
"Yes."
"I'm done being managed," Aarinen said.
Soren sighed.
"That makes things harder."
"Yes."
He remounted his horse.
"Then understand this," Soren said. "If you continue north without alignment, you will be treated as a destabilizing force by default."
Aarinen met his gaze steadily.
"I already am," he said.
Soren studied him one last time, then nodded.
"Fair," he said, and rode away.
Kael watched him go.
"You just refused the least dangerous option," she said.
"Yes."
She smiled faintly.
"That's consistent."
They continued north.
By evening, the air grew colder, the land more structured. Fences reappeared. Roads grew straighter. Watchtowers dotted distant hills.
The world of cities was approaching.
Aarinen felt the tension settle deeper in his bones.
That night, as they camped beneath a stand of twisted trees, he felt something stir inside him again.
Not laughter.
Not yet.
But a pressure. A gathering.
Like breath held too long.
He clenched his fists, riding the sensation without releasing it.
Kael watched him from across the fire.
"You alright?" she asked.
"I don't know," he said honestly.
She nodded.
"That's usually when things get interesting," she said.
Aarinen looked north.
The stars there seemed sharper somehow, colder.
Cities waited.
Systems waited.
And somewhere beyond them, the Concord was already adjusting threads.
North was not a direction.
It was a decision to walk straight into attention.
And Aarinen had already chosen.