The cart sped across the dry land, shaking and bouncing with every uneven patch of ground. Pieces of the torn canopy whipped in the wind behind us, barely hanging on. The wheels groaned under the strain. Each jolt sent sharp pain through my shoulder, worse than before. I could hear my own breathing—shallow and fast—and the wet sound of blood soaking my bandage. It wasn't slowing down.
Namur sat beside me, chest rising and falling quickly. His face was wet with sweat, his eyes scanning the horizon but not really seeing it. Azel lay motionless on the floor, his body limp, skin pale with exhaustion.
I turned to Namur, my voice low. "Is he alive?"
He nodded.
"Yes. Just passed out. Using the divine artifact in his chest burned through what was left of his spiritual energy."
I looked back at Azel, my jaw clenched. The image of the shockwave—when the creatures were blasted off the cart like ragdolls—flashed through my mind.
Namur caught my expression and let out a short breath of laughter.
"Yeah… that was a divine artifact."
I turned to him, surprised. He gave a small shrug, still winded.
"Same with the oxen. That burst of speed—they didn't do that on their own. Another artifact."
Two artifacts. Two entirely different powers. One blasted creatures into the air. The other pushed oxen to run like warhorses.
So much range… so much control.
A slow breath left me, heavy and tired.
I tried to shift, to sit straighter, but pain lit up my shoulder like fire. The wound pulsed angrily, blood still pushing through the soaked bandage. The heat in the air only made it worse. Every second was like being slowly crushed.
Time passed without words. Then, from the front, Gamir's voice called out—tired, hoarse:
"We left them behind… for now."
Hope sparked, but only faintly. I knew that "for now" meant nothing.
"We need to stop" he said. "The oxen won't hold out much longer. If we push them now, they could break down completely."
No one argued.
The cart rolled to a slow stop. Dust lifted around us as the wheels settled. Both oxen trembled, their flanks rising and falling with labored breaths. One staggered—its legs buckled for a moment before it steadied itself. Gamir jumped down instantly.
He went straight to them, loosening the harnesses and giving them water. He murmured as he worked—quiet words meant to calm them. The exhaustion in his movements showed, but so did the care.
Namur looked up at the starry sky.
"I'll make a fire" he said simply. "It's getting cold."
He stepped down from the cart and walked a short distance away. I watched as he gathered dry kindling and dug a small pit. Within minutes, a small flame came to life.
When he returned, he helped me down slowly, carefully. I clenched my jaw but didn't make a sound. His hand stayed under my arm, steadying me as we walked. The fire's warmth was faint but already pushing back the creeping chill in the air.
Once I was seated, he turned back without a word. A moment later, he returned—carrying Azel in his arms.
He laid him down gently near the fire.
The heat from the fire mixed with the dust and blood and silence. It wasn't peace. Just a pause between storms.
Namur sat beside me. We didn't speak for a while.
Then, finally, he asked:
"How's the shoulder?"
"Getting worse, but still manageable" I said. My voice sounded like it belonged to someone else.
He nodded and stared into the fire. Sparks lifted briefly into the night sky, swallowed by the dark.
"You know" he said, "I've seen worse."
I didn't answer. I wasn't in the mood for comfort or lies.
After a while, Gamir returned, face worn, arm wrapped with a piece of torn cloth.
"The oxen need at least two hours" he said. "Maybe more."
"Then rest" Namur replied. "I'll keep watch."
Gamir looked at him for a while. Then he gave a slow nod and turned toward the cart.
Namur kept staring into the fire. For a while, we both did—saying nothing, just watching the flames move.
"When someone can no longer hold the kingdom" he said softly, "the kingdom finds another way to hold itself with him."
The words hit wrong. My gaze snapped to him.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Namur smiled faintly and shook his head.
"Nothing. Doesn't matter." He stood. "Wait—I forgot to tell Gamir something."
He walked toward the cart.
The fire crackled. The wind had died down.
Namur returned a few moments later. But the look on his face had changed. The easy calm was gone. So was the warmth.
Only silence remained.
"My Edict" he said. "It makes what I do… difficult."
"What?"
He didn't look at me. "It complicates things."
My throat tightened. The fire's warmth suddenly felt distant.
"What are you talking about?"
"It's not great for my job" he said.
I narrowed my eyes. Something in his voice had shifted.
"And what's your job now?"
"Kill you."
Silence.
I stared at him, waiting—for the grin, the punchline, the reveal that it was just a joke.
"Is that supposed to be a joke?"
He didn't smile.
"No. It's not."
He pulled a dagger from his coat. The blade was red—fresh blood still dripping from its edge.
"Whose blood is that?"
"Gamir's" he said. "Shame. I liked him." He glanced at the fire, then back at me.
"But I can't leave witnesses. Azel won't be waking up for a while, thankfully."
"Then why not kill me now?" I asked, my voice hoarse.
Namur let out a quiet sigh.
"That's what I was going to say."
He paused, then continued, voice steady.
"It's my Edict. To those I betray… to the ones I'm going to kill, I have to give a chance. A chance to survive."
He glanced at me.
"Words are usually enough. But you're too injured."
My body went cold. I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
He stepped back.
"So here it is" he said. "Run. Crawl. Do whatever you want. In a little while… I'll come for you.
And I'll kill you."