The darkness was suffocating. Wade peered out into the night as his father rummaged through their small bag of belongings. The road stretched out endlessly in either direction, framed by towering trees and thick shrubbery. Dark clouds choked the sky, cutting off what little light the moon provided. A freezing gust of wind blew down the road, kicking up a cloud of dust.

"Here," his father said, offering Wade a flask of water. Wade drank deeply and passed it back, keeping an eye on the empty road. It was both exposed and constricted, guarded on each side by the forest but open for miles ahead and behind.

His father withdrew a small loaf of bread from the bag and tore it in two. Wade accepted his half and ate silently. It wasn't often he had nothing to say, but his mind had become curiously blank as they walked that day. A continual sense of unease and worry twisted in his stomach, but that was nothing new.

"What's wrong, Wade?" his father asked suddenly. His deep voice sounded much louder in the dense silence of the woods, where the trees sucked up and muffled every noise. "You've been awfully quiet."

Wade took a moment to answer. "I suppose I'm still trying to make sense of everything. It all happened so quickly . . ." He sighed and reached into his pocket, brushing his fingers against the necklace curled up inside. It was slightly warm to the touch; he could imagine the gold gleaming in the darkness. He was lucky it had survived the fire: like the ring on his father's hand, it was irreplaceable. "And now we're headed to Norstarn. I've never been this far from Aleran." He paused, then mustered a weak smile. "I have always wanted to see the ocean."

His father let out a short laugh and ruffled his hair. "Peter told me it roars and gnaws at the land like a hungry beast."

"I heard it's so flat you can see the end of the world if you stand at the shore." Wade cocked his head, trying to imagine it. A part of the stifling sadness welling up inside his chest fell away, leaving his head clearer and his heart lighter. "And it's a vast thing, longer and wider than all of Eldernia."

His father put a hand on his shoulder. His eyes were sad and tired, but glinted with a fierce determination. "It'll be okay, son."

Wade hesitated for a moment. Their house was in shambles, his friend was being hunted by a Valkir, and he and his father could very well be wanted men. It was hard to believe that anything about their situation would turn out well, but looking at his father right then, Wade felt a flicker of hope. He clenched his jaw and nodded.

His father released him and looked up at the sky. "We should settle down for the night," he said. "Try to get some sleep."

"I'll take the first watch," Wade said quickly. "You've been staying up longer than you should."

"I'm perfectly fine."

"Father," Wade said, careful to maintain a respectful tone, "you look like a raccoon with those circles under your eyes."

His father grunted and thought for a moment. "Alright," he finally said. "But wake me if you see anything strange."

"I will."

They moved to the side of the road, out of sight from any travelers or bandits. Wade positioned himself atop a low branch on one of the trees, where he could keep an eye on the road. His father laid down under a wide-leafed oak, casting a final glance at Wade before turning onto his side. In minutes, his breathing had slowed and deepened. Wade felt a smile tug at his lips before turning his attention back to the road. The soft chirping of crickets threatened to lull him to sleep, but he resisted the urge.

Wade drew the sword sheathed at his side, resting it across his knees. His sword, now: he'd taken it from the forge before they left Aleran for the final time. He fingered the rough leather hilt absentmindedly. He'd practiced with it a few times against Asher. Each time, he'd ended up sprawled in the dirt, Asher's sword pointed at his chest. The boy knew how to fight, that much was certain.

Wade sighed. The truth had been so obvious, now that he thought about it. Ever since he met Asher some months before at the market, he'd been so very quiet about his past. And when they'd met the Valkir, his terror had been palpable, hanging over him like a shroud for the entire day. Wade had known something was wrong, but a magic-user . . . if he hadn't seen it himself, Wade wouldn't have believed it.

He shook his head. King Soren had said magic-users were wild, evil. Wade knew he was a terrible man, but he had thought the king had had at least some reason for the massacre of so many. Now he saw how stupid he'd been. Asher had saved his father's life, even though he'd looked ready to keel over at the time. He was hardly sixteen--what had he seen in his life? How had he survived? Asher had told Wade his parents were killed by bandits. Was that true, or had it been a Valkir who left him an orphan?

Wade wondered what Asher was doing now, and if he was alright. When they'd split up, he'd looked awful--with those dark circles under his eyes, blood splattered across his clothes, and a pronounced limp, it was hard to believe his friend could outrun a child, let alone a trained assassin.

A wave of guilt threatened to crush Wade's chest. He knew he and his father would only slow him down, but the fact remained that he'd left Asher to fend for himself, knowing full well that a Valkir--a Valkir--would be hunting his friend down. Wade felt like a miserable coward every time he thought about it.

The minutes bled together; without the moon or stars above, Wade lost track of the time. At some point, he stood and began to pace, trying to shake away the weariness dragging at his limbs. His sword glinted in his hand, a bright silver line in the darkness. It felt strange, openly carrying such a weapon. He could never have done that in Aleran.

Perhaps an hour after he'd begun his watch, a spark of light in the distance caught Wade's eye. He stiffened and crept to the edge of the road, the hairs on the back of his neck rising. It flashed in and out of sight, but he could see the flickering orange light of a torch coming toward them.

Tightening his grip on his sword, Wade kneeled next to his father and shook the smith's shoulder.

"Wha--what is it?" he groaned, sitting up and pressing a hand to his head.

"Someone's coming, sir."

His father sat up, all fatigue forgotten, and looked around. "Where?"

"Up the road, from the north."

"How close?"

"Not very. I could only just make out a torch."

A short pause. "Alright. Let's stay quiet and let them pass. So long as they don't notice us, we should be fine."

"Right." Wade moved back to his tree, crouching out of sight behind a large bush. His father moved out of sight as well, his hand drifting toward the hammer at his belt. He'd refused to take a sword, saying that it'd be worse than useless in his hands. Better to use what he knew.

Wade understood his reasoning, but it bothered him to know he held the only real weapon they had.

A few tense minutes passed, and the torch bobbed closer. By its weak light, Wade made out two figures. One was limping, leaning against the other for support. Wade glanced at his father, who shook his head. Not yet, he mouthed. Wade nodded and looked back at the approaching people. It could be some sort of trap.

Even closer, and he was able to see the two's faces. A man with flinty eyes held the torch with one hand. His other arm was wrapped around the woman next to him, who was limping badly. Her face was white, and there was a bloody gash along the man's cheek.

Wade was truly concerned now. He looked back at his father, who nodded after a brief hesitation. When the couple was about ten yards away, Wade stepped out from the cover of the trees. They halted; two sets of wary eyes rested on his face.

"Do you need help?" Wade asked, sheathing his sword. His father stepped next to him, worry etched across his face.

"I--Who are you?" the man demanded.

"Just travelers," Wade's father said softly.

"Please, my wife . . ."

"I told you, Elijah, I'm fine," the woman said. Her breathing was labored, and there was a trickle of blood running down her temple.

"We have some bandages," Wade said. "I'll go get them." He ran back into the trees and found the bag, crumpled at the base of a tree. He rummaged through it and withdrew a roll of clean white cloth, slightly burned around the edges but still usable. He also took out their water and ran back, dragging the bag behind him.

When he returned, his father was helping Elijah lean the woman against a tree. The man pushed the hem of her skirt up, revealing a jagged cut in her calf.

"Here," Wade said, kneeling next to them. Elijah cast the torch aside, gratefully took the supplies, and began to wash the wound. The woman hissed through her teeth but kept still, gazing up at the cloudy sky with a pained expression. It was clear Elijah was experienced with such things: in moments, the task was done.

When they'd finished, Wade's father tore off a small section of the remaining bandages and handed it to Elijah, who pressed it against his cheek with a quiet thanks.

"Thank you," the woman said after a moment, touching her leg.

"What happened?" Wade's father asked.

"Bandits," Elijah said heavily. "I should've listened to my sister; she warned us this road was dangerous. They attacked us while we were sleeping and took everything we had." He paused, his face pensive. When he spoke again, there was a slight edge in his voice. "How far are we from the nearest town?"

"About two days travel," Wade said.

". . . I see." Elijah's voice was laced with dismay. He looked at his wife and took her hand in his own.

"We have some extra food," Wade's father said. He reached into their bag and produced a loaf of bread and a lump of cold cheese. "It's not much, but perhaps it can help you get there."

"No, we couldn't," Elijah protested.

"I insist."

The man hesitated, and then accepted the food. "I cannot thank you enough," he said vehemently. "What are your names?"

". . . Heath. This is my son, Ryan."

"I'm Elijah."

"And I'm Rachel," the woman said with a soft smile. "We're lucky to have met you both. I do not know what we would've done otherwise." She glanced up at the sky. "We could've stopped, but I was so scared they'd come back . . ."

"You can stay with us for tonight, if you believe it would help. Ryan here has sharp eyes: he can keep an eye on the road." Wade nodded along, as if he hadn't already been doing that.

Elijah bit his lip and glanced at his wife. She looked back at him with lidded eyes and gently squeezed his hand. He looked up at the blacksmith. "You are too kind, stranger."

"There's a tree you could shelter under here . . ." Wade's father moved off to show Elijah where they'd been resting.

Wade made to stand, but Rachel reached out and grasped his wrist. Her eyes were fixed on the sword at his side: her voice was low enough so that only he could hear her.

"You have a weapon."

"I do," Wade said self-consciously. "It's as you said--this road is dangerous." Not to mention we may have a Valkir after us, if we're important enough for that. Which we probably aren't.

"Yes, but . . ." Rachel lowered her voice. "Don't let any soldiers see you with it. It could be seen as rebellion."

"Soldiers? Rebellion?" King Soren had an army, but it wasn't very large. It didn't need to be; he had the Valkir. There were only a few soldiers in Aleran, and they kept mostly to themselves.

Rachel nodded gravely. Wade opened his mouth to ask another question, but Elijah was helping her get up, carrying her to a nearby tree.

"May I ask where you are headed?" Elijah asked.

"Oldham," Wade said. "It's rather far north; you probably haven't heard of it."

"No, I have not."

I should hope not, since it doesn't exist. "What about you?"

"Crisea."

"The capital?"

"Yes. Our home is no longer as safe as it was; there are many bandits further north. Entire villages have been attacked." Elijah sat down with Rachel. She rested her head against his chest and closed her eyes with a soft sigh.

"I don't think I'll be able to sleep after what happened," Elijah said. "But it is good to be able to rest. Thank you." His initial wariness had resurfaced: he seemed slightly uncomfortable at the prospect of trusting Wade to protect them.

Wade's father nodded, then pulled his son aside. "I didn't know you were such a skilled liar," he whispered. "You were quick to mention . . . ah, Oldham."

Wade simply gave the blacksmith a vague grin. He'd lied plenty of times, but he wasn't about to admit that.

"Anyways," his father continued, "Should I take the watch?" He looked at the sky. "How long was I asleep?"

Wade laughed. "No more than an hour, sir. Go rest; I'll wake you later."

His father grunted and reluctantly returned to where he lay under the oak. Wade glanced at Elijah, who was gazing off into the distance, and scrambled back up into his tree. He looked back at the road, unsheathing his sword again. They'd need to be careful, especially if bandits were about.

Time passed: Wade did his best to stay awake and alert. Elijah, despite his wariness of the two strangers he found himself with, eventually dozed off, his cheek pressed against Rachel's hair. Wade watched them for a moment; they seemed honest enough. Just a couple who'd faced far more trouble than they should've.

He sighed and touched the necklace in his pocket again. He ran his fingers across the intricate links and faced the pressing darkness once more, alone.