After their new-found objective, Ragnar and Katya, stepped outside.

  She glanced at Ragnar. “Let’s visit the trader first, gather supplies…” She hesitated, then added quietly, “Would it be alright if we stayed the night?”

  Ragnar gave a single nod.

  They turned down a narrow alley, the air heavy with incense and woodsmoke as the village stirred around them.

  On the corner, half-shadowed beneath taller buildings, a small shop leaned against the street. Katya slipped inside, Ragnar close behind.

  The trader, a middle-aged man with a face weathered by travel, looked up and greeted them with a practiced smile. “Welcome to my humble shop.”

  Katya slid a small insignia onto the counter. “We’ve met before in Braun. How can you trade if your memory is so weak?”

  The man’s smile faltered, then returned with a nervous chuckle. “Of course. You’re… Maria’s—”

  “I’m Katya,” she cut him off sharply.

  “Yes, yes,” he said quickly, eyes flicking toward Ragnar. “And this one?”

  “He’s a fellow traveler. Not part of the Crimson Wing.”

  The trader’s smile thinned. “You know the rules. Research cannot be conducted with outsiders. Certainly not bringing them here.”

  “He already knows about the Crimson Wing,” Katya pressed.

  “That makes it worse if he’s not initiated.”

  “He will be,” Katya said too quickly, as if certainty alone could make it true. “Once we gather supplies, we’ll go to Braun. I’ll present him to the seniors myself.”

  The trader studied her for a long moment, unconvinced but unwilling to press further. At last he sighed. “Very well. What do you need?”

  Katya handed over a folded list. “Everything written here. And a shirt and trousers for him.”

  “And a sword,” Ragnar added.

  Katya gave a small nod. “And a sword.”

  The trader shuffled off into the back to fetch supplies. The moment he was gone, Katya leaned close and whispered, “You can sense the weave, right? I’ve seen you do it. Scan everything here. Tell me what’s worth our time.”

  Her true plan in dragging Ragnar into the shop was already paying off.

  Ragnar’s eyes drifted over the cluttered shelves. “Most are ordinary. But that orb…” His voice lingered. “I don’t know what it is, but the weave hums from it. A calling.”

  Katya’s lips curved. “Good.”

  The trader returned with a small bundle of items and eyed Ragnar. “And you? Why do you want in with the Crimson Knights?”

  “I find the weave fascinating,” Ragnar said evenly. “And I wish to study its legacy.”

  “A scholar, eh?” The trader snorted, though not unkindly.

  Katya slid smoothly in. “Got anything interesting you’d recommend?”

  “Not much out here,” he said, shrugging.

  She pointed at a battered contraption on the wall. “What about that bow-gun?”

  “It works… when it wants to,” the trader admitted. “Enchantment’s unstable. Sometimes it blows up in your hand. I’ll sell it cheap.”

  “And the shield?” Katya pressed.

  “That’s an aether shield. Holds against weak spells, but not much more. Better than nothing if you’ve no wards.”

  Her eyes flicked toward the shelf. “And the orb?”

  The trader sighed. “That? Thought it was an artifact at first, but no artificer’s made it do anything. Just a lump of metal. Still, throw it hard enough, it’ll crack a skull.”

  “We’ll take all three,” Katya said sweetly. “But for cheap. They’re basically junk.”

  The trader waved her off. “Fine. They’re useless anyway.”

  Katya smiled, her eyes gleaming. “A brilliant mind finds use for anything.”

  “Alright, I’ve packed your things. For the clothes and sword, follow me,” the trader said.

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  He led them into a side room. A trunk of cheap linen shirts sat open, rough fabric spilling out. “Pick whatever,” he muttered, then tossed a pair of black trousers at Ragnar. “That’ll fit.”

  At the far wall, rows of blades and rapiers hung, their edges catching the lamplight. “Choose one.”

  Ragnar scanned the rack, then stopped. His gaze fixed on a sword whose etched hilt bore a crimson ember set in the pommel. Familiar, achingly so.

  “That one,” he said quietly.

  The trader’s eyes lit up. “Good instinct. That’s a replica of the Crimson Wings’ blade. Belonged to a great warrior, a friend of our founder. Price is steep though, twenty golden rubles.”

  Katya caught the look in Ragnar’s eyes. The trader’s story only confirmed what she suspected. This was his sword.

  “No need,” Ragnar said, turning away. “I’ll choose another.”

  Katya hesitated. Twenty rubles, three months of her coin, gone in a flash.

  “We’ll pay ten,” she said firmly.

  The trader shook his head. “No.”

  “You’re robbing us,” Katya shot back. “I’ll tell Maria.”

  That made him flinch. His smile soured into a frown. “Fifteen. Lowest I’ll go. It’s a fine sword.”

  “We’ll take it,” Katya said at once.

  Ragnar gave her a sidelong look. “It’s alright. I do not—”

  “We’re taking it,” she cut him off, voice sharp with finality.

  Outside the shop, Ragnar stood with the sword in hand while Katya settled the payment and shouldered her pack.

  “You shouldn’t have done it,” Ragnar said quietly. “It’s only a replica. I never cared much for swords, for me they were just tools. Yet…” His words trailed off into silence.

  Katya glanced at him, then smiled faintly. “Yet it feels like a piece of you. You saved me coin back in the Pangui village. Consider this me paying you back.”

  Ragnar didn’t answer, but his grip on the hilt tightened ever so slightly.

  As evening settled over the village, the two walked side by side through narrow alleys, their steps unhurried, the air cooling with the dimming light.

  Katya stopped before a small house, Ragnar halting beside her. “This is it,” she whispered. “My grandmother’s house. I grew up here… haven’t set foot inside in ten years.”

  Her hand lingered on the door, hesitation flickering in her eyes.

  “Katya, dear—you’ve come back?” A familiar voice called from behind. The old woman from earlier approached, keys in hand. “Let me open it for you.”

  She unlocked the door, and Katya pushed it open. Her eyes glistened. “It’s the same.”

  Turning back, she bowed her head slightly. “Thank you for keeping it.”

  “Don’t mention it. Raha was my friend too.” The old woman smiled warmly as she walked away. “She would be glad to see her granddaughter return.”

  Ragnar followed Katya inside. She wiped her eyes quickly, masking the emotion. “It might look small compared to the places you’ve stayed.”

  Ragnar looked around, studying the worn beams and quiet corners. “It’s larger than my camp, or my academy dorm. Smaller than the house I grew up in, though. Still… it feels familiar, almost like my own home once did.”

  A faded piece of art hung crooked on the wall. Ragnar paused before it, studying it with an earnest gaze.

  “I drew that when I was a kid,” Katya said as she set her pack in the corner. “That’s me and Grandma.” She picked up a small clay figure from a shelf, brushing dust from its head. “She bought this at a fair in the next village. I couldn’t go, I had a fever that day.”

  She lit the ether-lamp on the table. A faint glow spread through the room, throwing long shadows across the walls.

  “I don’t have any other lights.” Katya pulled out her pocket watch. Six in the evening. The broken clock on the wall hung silent.

  “That one just needs winding,” she murmured absently. Then she suddenly straightened. “Oh... I almost forgot. I need to buy kipple.”

  She hurried to the door. “Stay here. I’ll be back.”

  As the door shut behind her, Ragnar remained still, watching the ether-lamp’s glow pulse quietly in the dim room.

  Katya hurried back, still chewing a strip of meat as she pushed open the door. Inside, the little house was hushed, lit only by the faint blue shimmer of the ether-lamp. Ragnar sat in a chair near the table, eyes closed, his posture so still he might have been carved from stone.

  Katya set the food down gently. “Ragnar,” she called. No answer.

  The air felt heavier in the quiet. She stepped closer, the wooden floor creaking softly under her boots. Tentatively, she reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. Her voice dropped without meaning to. “Ragnar.”

  His eyes opened at once, sharp and clear, locking onto hers. She startled, pulling back a few steps, heat rising in her cheeks. “You were… sleeping?”

  “I was trying to remember,” Ragnar said quietly. “Remember who I was.”

  The lamp’s glow flickered across his crimson hair and hollow features, shadows shifting like pieces of an unfinished picture.

  “Did you?” Katya asked, her voice low, almost afraid to break the stillness.

  “Only in fragments,” he replied.

  Katya sat opposite Ragnar, folding her hands on the table. “The Crimson Wing’s headquarters in the City of Crown. Maybe we’ll find something about you there.”

  Ragnar shook his head. “There will be stories and myths, not what I seek.” His gaze lowered to the faint glow of the ether-lamp. “I want to remember what I liked to eat. What music stirred me. The names and faces of those who gave their lives under the crimson banner. The people I cared about.”

  “Like Shayara,” Katya asked softly.

  “Yes,” Ragnar said. His voice roughened as he continued. “And Marius. And my commanders: Johan, Borris. But their faces escape me. I cannot even remember the names of my parents.”

  Katya sat in silence, reflecting on Ragnar’s words. The dark beings… the Prophet… just as Shayara’s letter had warned. They had taken her parents from her, and they had taken Ragnar’s life as well.

  He had once been human, like her. Now he was an echo, clawing through fragments of memory to reclaim what he had lost.

  If she had ever needed a purpose, ever needed to prove herself, it was now. She would find the truth. She would bring peace for both of them.