Tested

Alric sat with his back against the rough wooden bars of the cage, his wrists resting lazily on his knees. Around him, the captured bandits, now prisoners, muttered in low voices, their words laced with fear and uncertainty. Outside, Garik's men moved through the camp, securing their spoils and dragging bodies into piles like discarded meat. The firelight cast long shadows, distorting their movements into something almost grotesque.

He watched, calm, eyes half-lidded. There was no need to panic. Not yet.

Torik lay slumped a few feet away, the wound on his side wrapped in stained bandages. His breathing was steady but shallow. The stubborn bastard was still alive, though barely. Alric's gaze lingered on him for a moment before flicking to Kain, who sat near the far end of the cage. T

Garik's men had broken them, but only just. The real game had yet to begin.

Alric exhaled slowly, shifting slightly to ease the dull ache in his back. He needed to think, to move the pieces in his mind before making a play. Garik wasn't a fool. He was violent, ambitious, and ruthless, but not stupid. That made him dangerous.

A man like Garik would sell the prisoners for profit, keeping only those useful to him. Which meant there was still time, time to twist things in his favor. He just needed to find the right crack.

His lips curled slightly. Everyone had a weakness.

Alric tilted his head, listening to the distant murmur of voices. Garik and his lieutenants were gathered near the main tent, arguing over something. He caught snippets, "House Lirian… too much risk… the price must be worth it." The noble houses had been hunting Torik's group for some time now. If they learned Garik had them, negotiations would begin. And negotiations meant an opportunity.

A plan began forming. If House Lirian wanted them alive, they had value. If they had value, Alric could work with that.

Garik thought he was in control. He wasn't.

Alric just had to wait for the right moment to remind him of that.

Pain was nothing new to Torik.

It gnawed at his side, a constant throb where Garik's men had cut him down. Blood crusted over the bandages, stiff against his skin. He sat in the filth of the cage, propped against the bars. Around him, the others murmured in whispers, men who once stood tall under his command now reduced to prisoners.

The firelight flickered beyond the bars, shadows of Garik's men moving in and out of view. They laughed, counted coin, dragged bodies away like discarded waste. A pack of wolves picking apart the carcass of a fallen beast.

Torik's jaw tightened. He had failed them. No, not them. Himself.

A sharp breath in. Hold. Release.

His men weren't soft. They had seen war, suffered through starvation, fought against odds that should have killed them. But here, caged like dogs, he could feel it, their resolve was cracking. T

One of them, a younger fighter named Jorr, looked at him with something almost like pity.

Torik's voice was low. "You staring at something, boy?"

Jorr flinched and looked away, but the damage was done. Doubt had set in.

Good. Let them doubt. Let them fear. He would not coddle them, would not whisper false comforts. They would either harden, or they would die.

Then there was Alric. Torik exhaled. He knew what Alric was.

A man like him didn't break chains with brute strength. He wormed his way through the cracks, whispered in the right ears, cut throats in the dark. Torik hated that.

But he also knew it was useful.

He flexed his fingers, feeling the stiffness in his arms. He was weak now. Wounded. But not beaten.

A leader who showed weakness lost his men. 

He lifted his chin. "Jorr."

The young man straightened. "Captain?"

"Tell the others to shut up. If they want to whisper, they can do it in the grave."

A few heads turned. The whispers died. Good. Let them feel the weight of silence.

He wasn't dead yet. And until he was, he would make sure they remembered who he was.

Ronan remembered the first time he saw true strength.

It had been a battle like many others, steel against steel, men screaming, the smell of blood and dirt thick in the air. He had been younger then, eager but foolish, believing that bravery alone made a warrior.

And that belief had almost gotten him killed.

He had been pinned down, his sword knocked from his grasp, staring up at a man twice his size, a mercenary with dead eyes and a cruel smile. The kind of man who enjoyed killing.

Ronan had been helpless, broken, waiting for death.

Then Torik came.

He hadn't hesitated. No words, no mercy. Just steel flashing in the dim light and the sickening crunch of bone breaking. The mercenary's body slumped forward, lifeless before it hit the ground.

Torik had turned to him, his expression unreadable.

"Get up."

Ronan had obeyed without question, stumbling to his feet.

Torik hadn't praised him, hadn't reassured him. He had simply looked at him, as if measuring his worth.

"A man dies when he lets fear take him. Next time, fight back."

And then he had walked away, stepping over bodies like they were nothing.

That moment had etched itself into Ronan's soul.

It wasn't just that Torik had saved him, it was the way he had done it. Unshaken, like death itself had no hold on him.

From that day on, Ronan had followed him without question.

The memory clashed with the brutal reality of now.

The cage door groaned open again. Heavy boots stomped against the dirt, sending dust swirling into the air. Garik stepped inside. He wasn't alone.

Dragged in by two of Garik's men was a familiar figure, Ronan.

Blood trailed from a gash on his temple, soaking into the filthy remains of his tunic. His face was swollen, one eye nearly shut, but the other flicked toward Torik the second he was thrown onto the ground. A spark of recognition, of relief, cut through the pain in his expression.

Garik crouched beside the boy, grabbing his hair and yanking his head up so he faced the others. "This one's got heart, I'll give him that," he mused, looking at Torik. "Didn't break like the rest. Kept spitting, cursing. Kept saying how you'd come for him."

Torik's jaw clenched. Damn fool.

"So now he's here," Garik continued, standing up and dusting off his hands. "And I've got a little test for you."

The space felt smaller. He forced himself to breathe slow, to keep his body still despite every muscle screaming for action.

Garik took a step closer. 

"Kill him."

Silence.

Ronan coughed, spitting blood onto the dirt. He didn't flinch. Didn't beg. He was still looking at Torik, waiting. Trusting.

Ronan wasn't afraid.

He should have been. His fate was hanging by a thread, and yet, he wasn't afraid, because Torik was here.

Because Torik had saved him once.

Because Torik would find a way.

Even if this was the end, even if Garik cut him down right here, Ronan knew he had made the right choice following him.

He lifted his head, blood staining his teeth as he smiled faintly.

Because even now, Torik wasn't kneeling.

Ronan stirred, forcing himself up on one elbow, his breath ragged. "Captain…"

Torik looked down at him. The boy was young, too young. Full of fire, eager to prove himself. He still believed.

"I trust you," Ronan rasped. "Whatever you do, I trust you."

Silence fell over the cage.

Garik clapped Torik on the shoulder, grinning. "No rush. Take a moment to think about it."

His laughter echoed as he walked away, his men chuckling with him.

Torik looked down at the boy who had once followed him into battle without question.

The cage was silent, waiting.

Torik didn't move.

Torik still didn't speak.

But he moved.

Slowly, he pushed himself up, forcing the stiffness from his limbs, ignoring the ache in his ribs. The men in the cage shuffled, unsure, caught between watching Torik's decision and Ronan's fate.

Torik stepped forward, stopping just in front of the boy. 

His fingers found Ronan's chin, tilting his face slightly. Blood caked his skin.

Torik stood again, exhaling slowly, then turned his head toward Garik. His voice, when he spoke, was calm. Controlled.

"You want someone dead? Do it yourself."

Garik's smirk didn't fade, but his eyes darkened. "So that's your answer?"

Torik held his gaze. Unshaken. "That's my answer."

For a long moment, no one moved.

Then, Garik exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "You're a stubborn bastard, Torik."

He turned to one of his men. Let the boy rot here."

Ronan was tossed aside like discarded meat, groaning as he hit the dirt. The cage door slammed shut behind Garik as he stepped out.

"You keep making things hard for yourself," he said over his shoulder. "One day, you'll wish you didn't."

Torik didn't answer.

Not until Garik was gone.

Only then did he kneel again, gripping Ronan's arm, steadying him. 

"Don't be so eager to die, boy."

Ronan exhaled sharply, half a pained laugh, half relief. "Wasn't planning to."

Torik huffed. Liar.

He glanced up. Kain was watching.

So was Alric.

Both had seen everything.

Torik tightened his grip on Ronan's arm and pulled him upright. "You can rest when we're out of here. Until then, don't make me regret keeping you alive."

Ronan nodded weakly.

No one spoke.

The only sound was the crackling fire and the distant laughter of Garik's men. Some of them had lingered near the edges of the cage, waiting to see if Torik would kneel after all.

But he didn't.

Torik still stood, squared shoulders and bloodied wrists, unbroken.

Even with wounds splitting open, even after being humiliated and denied a weapon, he stood like a man who had already won.

Kain felt it like a weight in the air, pressing against his ribs. The others felt it too.

There was something terrifying about it.

Not in the way Garik was terrifying, raw power, unpredictable and violent, but in the way a mountain was terrifying, unmoving in the face of a storm.

Even now, his men still watched him. Some with admiration, some with doubt, but they were watching.

Ronan struggled to lift his head. His swollen lip curled into a faint smile. He was still conscious.

That alone was a miracle.

Kain could see it in his eyes, the quiet, unshaken belief. He still trusted Torik. Even after nearly being killed in a show of power, he trusted him.

And that was why Garik had lost.

Torik hadn't just refused the command. He had refused to break the one thing that mattered, faith.

Ronan hadn't begged, hadn't cried. He had let himself be dragged forward believing Torik would never give in.

And Torik hadn't.

That mattered.

Even if they were all dead by morning, that mattered.

Kain shifted his gaze to Alric.

Unlike the others, he wasn't awed or shaken. He just sat there, relaxed, hands loosely resting on his knees, eyes glinting in the firelight. Thinking.

That was the difference.

Torik felt things. He acted on them, his strength wasn't just in his sword, but in his presence.

Alric? He played the long game.

He was watching everyone. The prisoners. The guards. Garik. Even Kain.

Especially Kain.

Kain could feel it, that measuring look. Alric saw something in him.

But Kain wasn't sure what.