Page 97 of Cycle Keeper’s Shadow

“Happened a long time ago. I almost quit, too. I wanted the guilt to end—one way or another.” His voice thinned. “Pavric kept me upright for a while. When he died, it was like losing them all over again. Then I had to choose: give up or figure a reason to stay.”

Orzen wanted to ask. There were more stories there that Garin wasn’t ready to share. The man had a unique ability to turn hardship into wisdom that Orzen envied. If he stuck around long enough, maybe Garin would tell him the rest. But he’d chosen this one for a reason.

“You must’ve found one then?” Orzen asked softly.

Garin’s expression was pained but wistful—a hope built from survival, not joy. It was the type of hope Orzen could get behind.

“Marrowen’s sister passed when Tavrin was still a boy. Left her and Pavric to care for him.” The grip on his staff tightened and when he spoke again, his voice was thicker.

“After Pavric died, she had both kids to raise alone. She needed help, but she never asked for it. And I loved—” The word caught, and he hesitated, clearing his throat. “I loved them all. So I stayed.”

Garin stood then. “Son, every day’s a choice. Some days we get it right. Some days, we break things we can’t fix. But Wren’s not broken—just angry. And right now? She needs someone to blame.”

Orzen’s knuckles dug at the pain in his temples. “So I’m supposed to be encouraged that it’s me she’s mad at?”

“She’s aiming her anger at you because she trusts you’re not going to be scared off by it.” Garin patted his shoulder. “You going to prove her wrong?”

Orzen blew a slow breath. “So, I stay.”

He glanced at her, strain evident between her brows even in sleep. The mess of feelings he wasn’t ready to untangle knotted in his chest.

“But I’m going to screw this up.”

“Probably,” Garin said with a laugh. “No one’s perfect.”

Orzen laughed too, despite himself. “Thanks.”

The sound that broke the quiet wasn’t loud. It was simply a soft, deliberate crunch of leaves. Both men stilled. Orzen’s hand went instinctively to his sword.

“Easy,” a calm voice called through the mist. “Didn’t mean to startle you.” Silas stepped into the clearing.

He looked infuriatingly composed, like he hadn’t led an angry group of guards off their trail. Behind him, the brush shifted, and more figures emerged: Jessa’s dark braids fraying in places. Branwynn—hollow-eyed, her skirt torn at the knee. Calen, carrying Tommick half-asleep on his shoulder.

“Turns out they weren’t chasing Wren,” Silas said lightly. “Your Elder has more enemies than we thought.”

Relief hit before the suspicion could. Orzen crossed the clearing, easing Tommick from Calen’s arms and giving Branwynn and Jessa quick, reassuring pats on the shoulder. Orzen pulled the bedroll from his pack, settling Tommick onto it. The boy blinked up blearily, managed a small smile, then drifted off again.

Wren startled awake. When she saw the others, she rushed to them, pulling Branwynn into a fierce hug, burying her face in the halfling’s curls.

“Did you see them?” She looked between them, eyes darting to each of their faces. “My mother? Brunna?”

Branwynn nodded with a weary smile. “Safe, as far as they can be now.”

Though it was still early, none of them had slept in more than a day. The ridge was too exposed, but Silas found a safer hollow nearby—a canopy formed between two old trees leaning toward each other, their branches twined into a roof of living wood. Beneath it, the ground was cool but dry, blanketed with crisp fallen leaves. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. The shade and stillness would hold them through the night.

Jessa spoke little, a faraway expression in her eyes as she pulled out bedrolls, mumbling that Tallis had provided them.

Silas unfurled a bedroll for Wren and steadied her by the elbow as she sat. Orzen couldn’t look away. Doubt still dug at him, a knife at his ribs. Silas bent to whisper to her, concern never fully reaching his eyes. Orzen hated not knowing if he could trust his own thoughts—if Silas’s kindness rubbed wrong because of jealousy, or if the strangeness in his gut was a true warning.

Wren settled on the borrowed mat, horn resting in the crook of her arm. She was asleep within moments, though the muscles in her face never loosened. Even in sleep, grief clung to her.

None of them gave details about why the Fist had been giving chase, and no one pressed them with questions. Answers would come in the morning. For now, they needed space and silence. The others soon followed Wren’s example.

Silas claimed he wasn’t tired. He certainly didn’t look it.

“We’ll need supplies if we’re staying out here much longer,” he said simply. Then he disappeared into the misty gloom, crossbow raised. Orzen was too tired to question the confidence of a man willing to walk into a cursed forest alone.

He worked quietly to start a small fire with some sparkstones that Garin provided. It crackled at the center of the small sanctuary, sending up curls of smoke that drifted through the leaves into the hazy afternoon sky. It was something practical he could do. The smallest normal task among the chaos they’d endured.