This doesn’t make any sense. “But I’m just a human. I thought rocs only choose Elves as riders.”
“Apparently not, Little One.” Garrot looks at me in wonder. “We have not had a human blessed by the sky in quite some time. You are welcome in the Forest Tribe territory now.”
A nearby scream slaps me out of my stunned silence. Garrot turns, nocks a bow, and shoots an Underling right in the forehead all but ten paces away.
Beyond the few daggers hidden in my leathers, I had managed to grab a sword in the chaos before leaving, but the weight is tooheavy, the hilt foreign. Garrot nocks another bow and nods once in my direction before darting into the town.
I unsheath my sword and run toward the achingly familiar sounds of battle ahead. I enter the cobblestone streets, my gut twisting at the sudden recognition.
This is Redrock!
A woman runs past us, clutching a swaddled bundle in one arm while dragging a wide-eyed child with the other. She skids to a halt when she sees me, tears streaking her soot-smeared cheeks.
“Oh, Sun Goddess above! A Watcher!” she breathes, her voice trembling with relief.
I freeze, caught off guard—then I understand. With my fighting leathers, drawn sword, and bandolier of blades, I must look like something out of a story. A true protector. A soldier. She doesn’t know I’m only a cadet. I don’t have the heart to tell her. Not when her eyes are full of something I haven’t seen in hours: hope.
It hits me, sudden and fierce. I am her hope.
“Please,” she says, “please help us.”
My hand moves before I can second-guess it. I reach for a dagger—then pause, fingers curling around a familiar hilt. Smooth, cool. Bane’s dagger.
The one he gave me when I had no real skill, no confidence. Only fear. That blade made me feel capable when nothing else did. It was my reminder that I wasn’t helpless. That someone believed I could survive.
Wordlessly, I hold it out to her.
She stares at it, then at me. Her lip quivers. “Are you sure?”
I nod. “It kept me safe. It will do the same for you.”
Her hands tremble as she releases her child’s grip and tucks the dagger into her waistband, close to the baby held against her chest.
“Thank you,” she says, voice cracking.
“Go past this house, into the forest,” I tell her. “Stay hidden. We’ll take back Redrock. And when it’s safe, you’ll come home again.”
She nods, jaw tightening with new resolve. Then she turns and runs, disappearing with her children into the trees.
I watch until the forest swallows them whole. The weight of the empty sheath on my belt feels heavier than the blade ever did. But I have to believe they’ll make it. I have to believe that blade—myblade—will keep them safe.
I continue to help innocent civilians escape Redrock late into the evening, providing cover while the Elves fight. The River Tribe delegation made it only slightly after us, able to travel along the rivers and streams faster than the humans on horseback still in transit.
The battle continues through the night. Rogue Underlings charge down the street, axes swinging in mighty arches until met by a barrage of Elven arrows or Kingfisher swords. The Elves are fearsome warriors, and whenever I try to help, they just shove me to the side. So instead, I stick to the alleyways, attempting to heal wounds to the best of my ability or continuing to sneak families out of the city.
I’m exhausted and working on fumes, thankful to avoid the worst of the fighting, but the amount of adrenaline coursing through my veins for the entire day is finally starting to ebb. The Elves are keeping the Underlings out of the inner streets of town, but with each death, more Underlings sprout from the earth. How much longer until we are forced to retreat?
The sun crests the horizon, casting gold over blood and ruin. Hoofbeats echo in the distance, growing louder with every breath. My heart catches—
The Watch is here!
I wipe the sweat from my brow and step back onto the street, leaving behind the dim safety of the townhome where I’d just finished an impromptu Telling. Inside, villagers huddled together, clinging to the story like a lifeline. For a few precious moments, their fear gave way to hope. Stories aren’t just entertainment, they are an escape.
The Underlings reply to the oncoming Watch with a horn of their own.
My boots tread silently along the cobblestone roads of residential alleyways as I look for more civilians to help. I weave in and out of townhouses, checking for survivors, sharing short stories to children, and helping the wounded. The sounds of steel clashing fills the air as the Watch liberates the town.
I finish bandaging a wound on the arm of a blue-haired river elf when a deep, familiar cry pierces the air from ahead. I creep along the edge of an old stone building and peek around the corner to see an Underling fighting with a Watcher. Not just any Watcher, Castor!
