Sylric hated letters.
He hated writing them. Hated reading them. Hated carrying them. Hated when people gave them aning they didn't deserve.
But he liked being alive.
So he wrote three anyway.
One for a broker in Virecross, coin-heavy and discreet. Another for a smuggler contact who knew how to whisper near the Lorienya border. The third he folded twice, didn't sign, and burned the edges on purpose.
That one would go to a man Sylric hadn't seen in four years.
And hadn't missed once.
He pressed his thumb to the wax seal and let the fla singe just enough to carry scent.
Not perfu. Not magic.
Blood. Real. Dried. Ground into ash.
That was the marker.
He stood from the flat stone he'd used as a desk, shoved the notes into a tight-wrap case, and stepped out into the wind.
Ashwing circled above again, wings slow, almost lazy. A child's pet, so said. Sylric knew better. That thing wasn't a mount. It was a promise with claws.
Below, the others were still sleeping or pretending to. Lindarion hadn't moved from the edge of the ledge.
The kid didn't know how to sit still anymore.
Not surprising.
He had weight in his shoulders now. Power behind the eyes. Sylric had seen too many mages with strong cores and no control. Lindarion had both.
What he didn't have was people.
And Sylric couldn't teach that.
But he could borrow so.
—
He left camp before the sun rose.
Didn't tell anyone.
Didn't need a goodbye.
Didn't expect one when he ca back, either.
The first ride was ash-colored and dull, rented from a caravan post half-dead from winter rot. The next was better, sleek and quiet, run by a Velmora family whose crest he recognized but didn't question.
Third was on foot, because no animal would cross the ridge that marked the kill-zone west of Eldenholm's shadow.
That's where the real problems started.
Because that's where Erebus was.
Or, where he'd be if the world was still cruel.
Sylric made the climb by dusk.
And found him exactly where he'd expected.
Which was not a good thing.
—
The man stood at the edge of a broken watchtower, back turned, sharpening a knife he probably didn't need. No campfire. No bedroll.
Just four dead animals around the periter, spaced evenly, like they'd wandered in on accident and regretted it instantly.
Sylric didn't speak right away.
Just stood.
Watched.
Waited.
Eventually, Erebus spoke.
His voice hadn't changed. Still cool, clean, emotionless. Like soone talking to a mirror that owed him money.
"You brought the scent."
Sylric didn't pretend he didn't know what he ant.
"You rember what it ans?"
"I rember everything," Erebus said. He turned slowly. Black leathers. Long coat. Pale skin. Hair short and choppy like it had been cut with a knife, not scissors. His eyes were green, but not soft. Not alive.
Just green.
"Still working?" Sylric asked.
"When I feel like it."
"You feel like it now?"
"Depends."
"On?"
"Why the prince's dog is sniffing for old company."
Sylric smiled once. Sharp. "You think I'd ride three days to warn you?"
Erebus didn't smile back.
But his head tilted.
"Who's the job?"
Sylric pulled the half-burned letter from his coat.
Tossed it.
Erebus caught it without looking.
Didn't open it.
Just tapped the edge.
"This isn't a job."
"No," Sylric said. "It's a problem."
"I don't solve problems."
"You end them."
That was the pitch.
Short.
True.
Erebus studied him for a second longer. Then turned back toward the edge of the cliff, sharpening his knife again.
"I'll go," he said.
Just like that.
Sylric didn't ask why.
Didn't ask how he knew.
Didn't ask anything.
Because you don't whistle for dogs like Erebus.
You just point.
And move out of the way.
—
By the next day, the others had gathered.
A second squad arrived from the old rcenary route at Dagger's End. Three fighters. Not elegant. But all functional. All survivors.
Sylric didn't ask nas.
He just gave them maps.
"Your role is periter hold. If sothing moves that doesn't belong—don't ask. Just act."
One of them, a woman with broken teeth and no eyebrows, nodded once and pulled a vial from her belt.
"This gonna be one of those missions?"
"Worse," Sylric said. "It's mine."
They didn't laugh.
But they followed.
—
It took two more days to return to the outpost.
By then, Erebus had already killed sothing.
Sylric didn't ask what.
Didn't want to know.
He saw Lindarion standing at the ridge, coat flared in the updraft, hands behind his back.
Sylric dismounted and walked up beside him.
"Company," he said.
Lindarion didn't look at him.
Just asked.
"Who?"
Sylric exhaled once.
"People I owe. One I regret."
"Trustworthy?"
"No."
"But dangerous."
"Yes."
Lindarion nodded. "Good."
—
Later that night, Erebus stepped into the firelight for the first ti.
Kael stood.
Lira twitched, not surprise. Readiness.
Stitch blinked once.
Only Luneth froze completely.
Her eyes locked on Erebus like a long answer to a short question.
Lindarion stood slowly.
Their eyes t.
Nothing in his expression changed.
But sothing shifted in the air between them.
Erebus tilted his head.
"Didn't expect to see you here."
Lindarion's voice was low.
asured.
"Likewise… Teacher."
Sylric blinked once.
Then looked between them.
Then looked away.
"Well," he muttered. "Shit."
—
Lindarion found him outside the camp periter, seated on a slab of stone like nothing had changed in the years since.
The others had left him alone. Smart. No one approached Erebus casually. Not unless they wanted a scar or a reason to justify the ones they already had.
The man hadn't aged. Still looked like he'd been carved out of old stone and habit. Black coat. Sleeves tucked. Boots polished in a way that didn't belong to soone who lived in mud and murder.
Erebus didn't look up when Lindarion approached.
Didn't have to.
"You're taller," he said.
Lindarion didn't answer. He walked until they were just a few feet apart.
Close enough to strike.
Far enough to think about it first.
Erebus finally turned his head. Green eyes. Cold. Precise. Still unreadable. Still the sa eyes Lindarion had seen staring down at him years ago.
From a bloodied boot.
"You didn't flinch when you saw ."
"I don't flinch anymore."
A small, crooked smile.
Still didn't reach his eyes.
"No. You don't."
Silence stretched between them. Not awkward. Just heavy.
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