The Shattered Crowns

They finally reached the medical hut, where the air buzzed with urgency. Apprentices darted between the injured, carrying bowls of herbs and vials of tinctures. Healers moved briskly, their hands bloodied as they worked to stabilize the wounded. The chaos was organized but relentless, as though the weight of the village rested within these walls.

Akash strode in without hesitation, his voice cutting through the clamor. "Winter, are you up yet? I was here earlier."

Heads turned, and a healer's assistant glared at him. "Land Dweller, keep your voice down! People are trying to recover," the assistant hissed.

Mirak grimaced, catching up to him. "Akash, you can't just barge in here like this. What if they were—"

Daenys entered more quietly, her steps measured as she observed the scene. She kept her thoughts to herself, though she shook her head at Akash's brashness.

On a cot near the back of the room, Winter stirred. She raised herself with effort, her face pale but her sharp eyes taking in the trio. A healer rushed to support her, but she waved them off weakly. "It's fine," Winter said, her voice soft but commanding. "I expected you three would find me."

Akash grinned, jabbing his thumb toward the sorceress. "See? She gets it."

Daenys caught the tail end of something Winter muttered under her breath: "... Akash and Heatur would love each other. They must never meet."

The sorceress attempted to raise her hand but managed only the faintest twitch before it dropped again. "It seems the paste still lingers in my blood. What a joy to feel as though my arms are stone." Her voice was dry, tinged with annoyance.

Mirak stepped closer, his knowledge of herbs kicking in. "The paste will wear off eventually. Sanguine flowers paralyze the muscles, but only to give them time to heal. If you can already move the rest of your body, that's a good sign."

Winter hummed noncommittally, then tilted her head toward them. "What's the reason you came?" Her tone, though tired, carried the sharpness of someone used to being direct.

"We just wanted to see if you were doing better," Daenys offered gently.

Winter dismissed the small talk with a wave of her hand. "We don't have time for pleasantries. Plans have changed. The road ahead will be far more dangerous than I anticipated."

"What?" Mirak frowned. "Why? What happened?"

Daenys, ever practical, pressed further. "Where are you going?"

Winter held up a trembling hand to silence them. "I had planned to take the safer route into Lorian, through the lands of Astad. We would've purchased horses at a stable and avoided most of the hazards. But that option is no longer viable. Time is of the essence, and we'll have to cross elsewhere."

She leaned back against the cot, her face set in grim lines. "We're heading to the City of the Falls. The river we need to cross is treacherous—rogue waves have claimed many lives. And once we pass the river, we'll face the Western half of Lorian, where Reem and their so-called God King hold power. They don't take kindly to sorcerers."

Her words hung in the air, a heavy weight pressing down on the group.

Mirak's brows furrowed. "Why the change of plans?"

Winter's expression darkened. "The karnen should never have come this far south. Something is wrong—very wrong. A Spellbinding Gate may have opened."

The name landed like a blow. Daenys had heard of the gates before. Portals where the karnen poured through, created by disturbances in the fabric of the world. If one had opened nearby, it spelled disaster—not just for their village, but for the entire region. But those were just fairy tales...

Winter's voice hardened. "If a new gate exists, it must be guarded immediately. Armies must be rallied. Messages sent. This cannot wait. If the karnen spread unchecked, they will consume everything."

Daenys hesitated, her mind racing. "But… what about you? You're not fully recovered. You can't travel in this state."

Winter sat propped against a stack of thin pillows, her pale face lit by the flickering lantern above. Despite her obvious exhaustion, her presence commanded the room. She studied the three of them, her lips pressed into a hard line. When she finally spoke, her voice carried an edge that brooked no argument.

"Akash must come with me," she said, her gaze settling on him. "It doesn't matter if you two come, we will make the journey." her position resolute.

Daenys stiffened. "Why?" she asked, her tone sharper than intended. "What's so special about him that he doesn't get a choice in this?"

Mirak frowned. "Is it because of the mark?"

Winter's eyes flicked briefly to the tattoo peeking out from the collar of Akash's shirt—the black lines curling like smoke against his skin as it inched closer to his arms. "Yes," she said bluntly. "It's because of the mark. Because of the Impresa."

Akash scowled, his arms folding across his chest. "You keep saying that word like it's supposed to mean something. You want me to leave my friends behind for this? Then explain. What is the Impresa, and why does it matter so much to you?"

Winter exhaled slowly, as if preparing herself for a long explanation. "The Impresa is a mark of the past," she began, her voice steady but grim. "A remnant of an age long gone. It's not just some decoration or an accident of fate. It's a symbol of power, Akash. Power that hasn't existed in centuries."

Daenys furrowed her brow. "Power? You mean it makes him stronger? Faster? What, exactly?"

Winter nodded slightly. "At its most basic level, yes. The Impresa enhances physical attributes—strength, endurance, reflexes, senses. It elevates its bearer to the peak of human ability, perhaps even beyond." She paused, letting the weight of her words settle before continuing. "But that's not all."

Akash leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "Then what else is it?"

Winter's tone darkened. "The Impresa isn't just a tool—it's a connection. A tether to something ancient. Something powerful. Its appearance now, in this age, is unprecedented. And dangerous."

"What do you mean by 'connection'?" Mirak asked hesitantly.

Winter's gaze lingered on Akash. "The Impresa is tied to the layers of reality. To the threads of magic that weave this world together. Its bearer becomes something more than human, but that power comes with a cost. You'll be hunted for it, Akash. There are people—creatures—that would kill for it. That's why you can't stay here."

Daenys stepped forward, her voice rising. "So you're taking him away from us? For what? To make him your pawn in whatever scheme you're planning?"

Winter's eyes snapped to Daenys, her expression sharp. "Do you think I want this? Do you think I'm doing this for my own convenience?" She straightened as much as her weakened body would allow, her voice cutting through the room like a blade. "If Akash stays here, this village will burn. The Impresa will draw danger like blood in the water. And if it falls into the wrong hands—"

She stopped herself, shaking her head. "No. It cannot fall into anyone else's hands. That's why he must come with me. It's not a choice."

Akash's jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "So that's it, then? I'm some kind of walking target because of something I didn't ask for?"

Winter's voice softened, just slightly. "You didn't ask for it. But the Impresa doesn't choose lightly. There's a reason it's on you, even if you don't understand it yet."

Mirak glanced between them, his expression conflicted. "But... if it's so powerful, then why hasn't anyone seen it for centuries? Why now?"

"That's the question," Winter said, her gaze distant for a moment. "The Impresa hasn't been seen since the Age of Kings, when the great empires fell and the world shattered into pieces. It disappeared with them. Until now." She turned back to Akash. "And now, it's on you. Whether you like it or not, this mark is tied to something greater than yourself. And if you want to keep your friends alive, you'll listen to what I say."

Akash glared at her, but his silence was telling.

Daenys broke the quiet, her voice trembling slightly. "And what about us? Why do we have to go?"

Winter's gaze shifted to her, softer now but still firm. "You don't. Akash is the only one I need."

Daenys felt her stomach churn, her fists clenching. She didn't want to leave. Not her sister, not her home. But what choice did she have now? Akash, one of her best friends needed her. She couldn't leave him.

Mirak interrupted. "The sanguine flower paste weakened your body. It'll take weeks for your strength to fully return. If you leave now, you'll collapse—or worse, get eaten by mikar."

Winter clicked her tongue impatiently. "I don't have weeks. The karnen's purpose is singular: to consume. Every moment we waste, they spread further. This is not negotiable."

Mirak crossed his arms, his voice firm. "Then you'll need guides. You're not getting far without us."

Winter raised a brow, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "Go on, child. Tell me what it is you want in return. I know you didn't say that out of the kindness of your heart."

Mirak met her gaze, his tone steady. "Teach me how to use Atta."

Winter laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. "You've grown bold, haven't you?"

Mirak shrugged, undeterred. "Akash won't leave without us, and you won't make it far without guides. Teach me Atta, and I'll be able to help you. We'll be stronger for it, and you know it."

Winter studied him, her expression unreadable. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the bustling of healers around them. Finally, she sighed, her gaze softening, if only slightly. "You have determination. That's a good start. But learning Atta is not a simple task. It takes time, effort, and sacrifice."

"All I'm asking for is a chance," Mirak replied, his voice low but firm.

Winter tilted her head, considering him. Finally, she relented. "Fine. I'll think about it. But if I decide to take you on as a Sergt, I won't coddle you. If you fail, you'll fail alone."

Mirak grinned, victory flashing in his eyes. "That's all I needed to hear."

Winter exhaled and leaned back, her exhaustion finally showing. "Prepare your things. We leave at dawn. And don't waste time—there's none to spare."

Daenys mother's voice echoed in her mind: "We must adapt. Always. You'll help us more by leaving than by staying."

Daenys, however, felt no such triumph. She glanced at Akash who wore his frustration like armor, and Mirak, whose excitement was barely contained. Her stomach churned. She didn't want to leave. The thought of abandoning her sister, her village, her home—it was unbearable. But what choice did she have? Her mother's words rang in her mind: This village needs you to grow stronger. You'll help us by leaving.

She forced a small smile, masking the turmoil inside her. "Let's go," she said. "We should eat something before Elys decides my arm is on the menu."

Mirak laughed, linking arms with her. "If my mom's sweets are there, I might beat him to it."

"I'll catch up with you three." Akash responded.

As Daenys, Elys, and Mirak left the medical hut, Akash lingered, his gaze flicking between Winter and the door. "You're really dragging them into this," he said, his voice quieter than usual.

Akash pulled out a chair and sat down across from her, his posture casual, but his gaze anything but. He looped his arm over the back of the chair, leaning slightly forward. For a moment, neither spoke. He just stared at her, his dark eyes unblinking, his face unreadable.

Winter arched a brow, breaking the silence first. "You wish to speak. Out with it."

Akash didn't move. He simply kept watching her, his gaze steady and sharp.

Winter's patience wore thin. "Are you going to sit there in silence, or are you actually going to ask your question? I've stared down kings with more dignity than this—and men who could crush armies with less effort."

Akash's lips curled into something like a smirk, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I don't like you," he said bluntly.

Winter rolled her eyes. "I'd never have guessed."

"My mother used to say sorcerers always have another lie to spin," Akash continued, his tone flat. "You look like us, you talk like us, but you're not like us. You're something else. Something dangerous."

Winter leaned back slightly, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Careful, Akash. That almost sounded like a compliment."

He ignored her barb. "There's more to this than you're letting on," he said, his voice sharpening. "If that mark—this Impresa—is just some old magic trick that makes me run faster or hit harder, then why is it worth dragging us all out of the forest to deal with whatever mess you're chasing? And why the sudden interest in teaching Mirak Atta?"

Winter's smile faded. She didn't answer right away, instead studying him in silence. When she finally spoke, her tone was measured, deliberate. "And why would I tell you of matters that don't concern you?"

Akash's expression didn't change. "But they do concern me. I'm the reason you're here. I'm the reason we're leaving." He leaned forward, his voice dropping slightly. "I don't care about your plans. I don't care about your reasons. All I care about is that you keep Daenys and Mirak alive. That's it."

Winter's eyes narrowed. "And what about you? Do you care if you stay alive?"

Akash shrugged. "Not particularly. If it keeps them safe, it doesn't matter what happens to me."

Winter studied him again, her expression softening ever so slightly. "You're not as simple as you pretend to be, Akash Dorher."

He laughed, a low, humorless sound. "No. I'm exactly as simple as I look. When you grow up surrounded by people who hate you, you learn how to read them. You learn who to trust and who's just waiting for an excuse to stab you in the back. Right now, I'm still figuring out which one you are."

Winter tilted her head slightly, her gaze thoughtful. "You're brash," she said finally, "but not reckless. You think before you speak—most of the time. And you're perceptive, though you hide it well. That's good. You'll need that, out there."

"Don't patronize me," Akash muttered.

"I'm not," Winter said sharply. "You might survive longer than I thought."

Akash rose from his seat, his eyes still locked on hers. "I don't like you," he said again, his voice steady. "But I'll follow your plan. As long as you don't give me a reason not to."

Winter watched him for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. "Like I said before," she replied, her tone quieter now, "I'm not the one you need to worry about. This world is full of dangers that your forest can't protect you from. People will smile at you while plotting how best to use you—or kill you. The monsters in Lorian aren't hiding in the shadows. They walk in plain sight."

Akash didn't respond. He turned and walked toward the door, his boots echoing softly against the wooden floor.

As he reached the threshold, Winter called after him. "Akash."

He stopped, glancing back over his shoulder.

"You want to keep them safe?" Winter asked. "Then be better than them. Stronger than them. If you fall, they will too."

Akash's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He stepped outside, letting the door close behind him.

Winter sat back, exhaling slowly. For a moment, she allowed herself to relax, though her mind churned with thoughts. The boy reminded her of someone—someone she hadn't thought about in years. The resemblance wasn't in his face or even his demeanor, but in his defiance. His fire.

She shook the memory away, staring at the bloodied rag she still held in her hand. "Would someone get me a clean one?" she muttered to the apprentices nearby. "I can't stand the sight—or the stench—of this blood."

Her words were casual, but her gaze lingered on the doorway, where Akash had disappeared into the night.