The story spread before the sun had fully set.
They called him The Last Red.
Whispers clung to the stone halls of the outpost like damp moss: a knight with golden eyes who faced down beasts alone; who stayed behind when others fled; who returned with the silence of the dead and the eyes of the damned.
Phoenix hadn't left the medical wing since arriving.
But everyone had seen him.
And everyone had heard.
Two soldiers leaned near the mess tent, arms crossed, voices low.
"You believe it?"
"Not all of it. But something happened. You don't crawl out of the Darkzone with a cracked rib and a sword that size unless you did something."
"Or unless someone else did it for you."
"You calling him a coward?"
"I'm saying… people get desperate. Some survive who shouldn't."
They turned quickly when Vale passed nearby.
He said nothing. Just looked.
That was enough.
Later, near the armory, Elric sat sharpening his axe, the stone hissing against the steel like a whisper with teeth. Vale stood beside him, arms crossed, staring into the dark beyond the wall.
They hadn't spoken of it yet.
Not directly.
Not until now.
"Elric," Vale asked, "what do you think?"
Elric didn't look up. "About Phoenix?"
"Yeah."
A few more strokes of the stone. Then:
"I think people need a story. Especially the ones who stayed behind the wall."
Vale nodded slowly.
"But stories make people nervous when they wear real armor," Elric continued. "It's easier when heroes stay in books."
Vale glanced at him. "You think he's a hero?"
"No." Elric finally met his eyes. "I think he's a man who didn't run. And people don't know what to do with that."
Vale was quiet for a moment.
Then he said, "He could've lied. Said he led the company. Said he killed dozens alone. Took the glory. Instead, he just tells it straight."
"That's what makes it worse for them," Elric muttered. "He doesn't want anything."
A few soldiers passed nearby. One paused to glance their way, then hurried on.
Vale turned toward the barracks. "They're already wondering if they'll follow him or fear him."
Elric smirked. "Only one person I've seen he follows."
Vale raised an eyebrow.
"Elric, are you saying Phoenix takes orders from Ryliegh?"
"I'm saying," Elric said as he stood and shouldered his axe, "he listens to him. That's more dangerous than orders."
Vale looked toward the medical wing.
"They call him the Last Red."
"Let them," Elric said, walking past. "Better that than the Next One."
And far from the whispers, behind stone walls and flickering lanterns, Phoenix sat quietly on the edge of a medical cot, helm in his lap. Bandages tight across his ribs.
He didn't know what they were saying.
But he could feel it.
A weight that grew with every step closer to the walls.
Not fear.
Not glory.
Just expectation.
And that, somehow, felt heavier than the beasts ever did.