House Lirian’s Arrival

Garik's men, loud and unruly just moments before, turned their heads toward the column of riders moving toward them. Dark silhouettes against the night, polished steel, unlike the battered leathers and rusted blades of Garik's mercenaries. Their horses moved in formation, disciplined. Not a band of mercenaries. Knights.

And at their head, Veyna.

She rode without a helmet, dark hair tied in a loose braid over her shoulder. Her cloak was a deep midnight blue, clasped at the throat with a brooch bearing the sigil of House Lirian, a silver hawk with outstretched wings. She didn't look rushed or cautious. She rode like she owned the land beneath her feet.

When she reached the center of the camp, she did not dismount. Instead, she let the moment settle, let the weight of her presence sink into the air. Her eyes swept over the gathered men.

Finally, she turned to Garik.

"Is this how you greet your betters?" she asked, almost amused. "No formal welcome?"

Garik scoffed. "Didn't know I had a better."

Some of his men chuckled, emboldened. But Veyna only smiled.

"Then you've been playing the wrong game."

She swung down from her horse, her boots barely kicking up dust as she landed. 

Garik's expression darkened, but he didn't challenge her outright. He knew better.

Veyna turned, her gaze sliding past him toward the cage. The prisoners inside were awake now, watching. Some with curiosity, some with wariness.

She stepped forward until she was just outside the bars, hands clasped behind her back, surveying them like one might survey cattle before a sale.

Then her eyes settled on Torik.

"You were harder to catch than I expected," she mused.

Torik didn't respond. He only stared at her.

A flicker of amusement crossed her features. She liked that.

"You look… underfed," Veyna finally murmured. She turned slightly toward Garik, but didn't bother looking at him. "I expected better care for valuable assets."

Garik exhaled through his nose, jaw tensing. The insult was clear.

Veyna let out a quiet hum, her fingers brushing absently over the bars of the cage.

Garik took a step forward, his presence heavy, grounding, a force of pure brutality. "If you're here to buy, buy. If not, stop wasting my time."

The tension in the air shifted.

One of Veyna's guards, a man clad in polished steel, moved slightly, a warning.

Garik ignored it. He was powerful here, in his own camp, and he didn't appreciate being treated like a lesser.

"Time," she repeated, finally turning to face him fully. "You speak as if it belongs to you."

Then, she exhaled, the moment passing as quickly as it had come.

She turned back toward the cage, toward Kain.

Veyna smiled. "I suppose I'll have to decide whether anything here is worth my time."

She turned away.

Garik stood in front of the cage, the firelight casting jagged shadows across his scarred face. He wasn't smiling, not this time. This was different.

"Get him out."

Kain barely had time to react before rough hands grabbed him, yanking him forward. His chest hit the dirt outside the cage, knees scraping against the ground. He rolled instinctively, twisting onto his feet before another blow could land.

A boot slammed into his ribs.

"Stay down."

He gritted his teeth but obeyed.

Torik was watching.

Alric was watching. 

And Garik? He was enjoying this.

Two men were dragged forward, prisoners, nameless, faceless in the dark.

They were weak. Kain could see it immediately. Too thin. Too slow. The kind of men who wouldn't last long under Garik's rule.

Garik squatted beside Kain, resting his elbow on his knee, his voice dropping into something quiet, almost conversational.

"Here's the thing," he murmured. "Veyna seems to be interested in you. Me? I'm not convinced."

A sharp grin. That wolfish look of a man who already knew how the game would play out.

"So let's see if you're worth keeping."

His hand gestured lazily toward the prisoners. One on the left. One on the right. Both kneeling, hands bound.

"You get to choose."

Kain said nothing.

Garik continued. "Either you take their punishment, or you let them take it for you." He leaned in slightly, his breath hot against Kain's ear.

"Think carefully."

The moment was stretched, silent, until Torik moved.

The chains rattled. His bruised body pulled forward just slightly.

"You're wasting your time," he said. His voice was rough. "The boy doesn't break."

Garik turned toward him, expression unreadable for a long moment.

Then, he laughed.

Slow, quiet at first, then deeper, more menacing. 

Garik's fist snapped forward like a whip, slamming into Torik's gut.

The sound was solid, sickening. A body meeting force with nothing to soften the blow. Torik's muscles tensed, held, but his breath left him in a sharp exhale.

Another blow. Then another.

Torik didn't fall.

Didn't kneel.

Garik tilted his head. Then, without warning, he slammed his elbow across Torik's jaw.

Blood sprayed onto the dirt.

Torik sagged slightly, his body refusing to collapse, but his limbs shaking from the strain.

Garik stepped back, satisfied. "Still standing." He wiped the blood off his knuckles. "For now."

Then he turned back to Kain.

"Your choice."

Kain stared at the two men kneeling before him. Their heads were lowered, shoulders trembling.

Neither looked at him. Neither begged.

He felt every pair of eyes on him now.

Garik's, waiting to see if he was strong, weak, or something in between.Torik's, watching to see what kind of man he was becoming.

He could feel the weight of the moment settling in his chest, pressing against his ribs.

He had seen plenty of men die before. That wasn't new.

But this time, it was his choice.

Kain stepped forward before Garik could speak again.

"I'll take it."

Garik raised an eyebrow, as if mildly surprised, but his grin widened. He liked this game.

"That fast? No questions? No begging?" He turned, addressing the watching prisoners. "Look at that, boys, our little stray wants to bleed for strangers. Or maybe he just likes the pain."

Laughter rippled through some of Garik's men.

Kain didn't react.

It wasn't about the prisoners. It wasn't about Garik.

It was about him.

He would not stand by while another man suffered in his place.

Kain heard the rattle of chains. He didn't need to look to know Torik had shifted slightly.

Garik's expression twisted with amusement. "Fine, then." He rolled his shoulders. "Let's see what you can take."

Then the first blow came.

Kain barely saw it, a knee slamming into his stomach with brutal force.

His ribs burned. His vision flickered black for a split second. He refused to fold.

Garik didn't wait. Another strike. A boot to the ribs. A fist to the face.

The dirt was warm against his cheek. Blood dripped from his mouth. His body screamed at him to stay down.

But he pushed himself up.

Garik exhaled through his nose. 

"Stubborn."

He delivered a final kick to Kain's ribs, knocking him back onto the dirt.

Then he stepped over him and turned away, already done.

His boots crunched against the dirt as he walked away.

Kain stayed where he was, staring at the blood pooling beneath him.

Pain was familiar. It passed.

The taste of blood sat thick in Kain's mouth.

He shifted against the dirt, rolling onto his side, every muscle aching from the beating. Pain dulled over time. He had learned that long ago. Endure. Push through. Keep moving.

The first voice to break the silence was Alric's.

"That was a choice."

Kain heard the amusement in his tone before he even saw him. Footsteps padded across the dirt. Alric crouched beside him, forearms resting on his knees.

"I can't decide if you're fearless or just a fool."

Kain spat blood into the dirt but didn't answer.

Alric studied him for a moment before shaking his head. "You know, most men wouldn't have done that. Taking a beating for nothing? That's a special kind of madness."

Kain finally turned his head, meeting Alric's gaze. Sharp, searching, calculating.

"And yet," Kain rasped, his voice raw, "you're still talking to me."

Alric smirked. "That's because I like to know when I'm looking at something useful."

He leaned in slightly. "You don't care about them." His eyes flicked toward the prisoners. "So why take the pain? Was it pride? Did you think it'd make Garik respect you?"

Kain didn't answer.

Because he didn't know himself.

A heavier presence moved behind Alric. Kain didn't need to look up to know it was Torik.

Bruised. Bloodied.

Alric exhaled, rising to his feet. "Well, I'll leave you to your admirers." He dusted off his hands and strode off into the camp.

For a long moment, Torik said nothing.

Then, "You took the right hit."

His voice was rough, but not cold.

Kain exhaled slowly, shifting into a sitting position, ignoring the fresh sting in his ribs.

"Thought you'd be mad."

Torik shook his head. "No." He met Kain's gaze, steady and firm. "But I will tell you this, there's a difference between being brave and being stupid."

Kain held his stare.

Torik continued. "A man can stand his ground without throwing himself into the fire. Choose your fights. Because if you waste yourself now, there won't be anything left when it really matters."

There was no judgment in his voice, only experience.

Kain felt the weight of those words settle.

"Understood?"

Kain swallowed, nodding once.

Torik grunted, as if satisfied. Then he turned, walking off into the dark.

Leaving Kain alone with the fire.

The morning after the beating came slow and cold.

Kain woke with dull pain wrapped around his ribs, his body stiff against the packed dirt of the cage floor. 

Something felt… different.

Then he noticed it.

The food.

Normally, a few scraps of hard bread and watered-down stew were tossed into the cage at dawn, just enough to keep the prisoners alive. But today?

Nothing.

The others were too groggy at first to react. It wasn't until mid-morning that the murmur started.

"Where's the food?"

"Did they forget?"

"They don't forget. This is something else."

Kain pushed himself up, eyes already scanning for Torik.

The man was near the edge of the cage, hands curled into fists. Watching.

He had already figured it out.

Kain moved beside him. Didn't need to ask.

"It's not a mistake, is it?" he muttered.

Torik exhaled slowly through his nose. "No. It's a warning."

As if summoned, Garik appeared.

He stood just beyond the cage, chewing on a piece of dried meat, arms folded as he watched the prisoners shift restlessly.

"You look hungry," he said, voice thick with amusement.

No one answered.

"Strange. Thought you'd be used to starving by now." He tore off another bite, letting the moment stretch. Savoring it.

Then, his gaze landed on Kain.

"You did well yesterday. I'm starting to think you might actually survive."

Kain didn't react. He wouldn't give him that.

Garik's smirk widened.

"Don't look so stiff, boy. This isn't punishment. You like pain, don't you? Thought I'd see how long you last without the luxury of food to keep you standing."

Kain's stomach clenched.

It wasn't just him.

He could go hungry for days if needed. But the others? The wounded?

"Tell you what," Garik continued. "Torik's a stubborn bastard. We all know that. But let's see how stubborn he is after a few days without a meal."

Kain stiffened.

Garik turned his back and walked off, already done with the conversation. His men moved past him, throwing scraps just short of Torik's reach.

The message was clear.

Torik wouldn't eat. Not until he broke.

No food meant weaker men. Weaker men meant easier targets.

And Garik would keep going.

Kain glanced sideways. "What do we do?"

Torik didn't answer immediately.

Then, slowly, he exhaled.

"We wait."

The words were simple, but Kain understood.

The hunger was creeping in.

Kain could ignore pain. Could ignore exhaustion. But hunger? That was different. It crawled into the bones, sapping the body's strength inch by inch.

And Garik knew it.

The camp moved as it always did, men eating, drinking, laughing, while Torik and the prisoners sat in silence, their stomachs empty.

Kain sat near the bars, watching. Thinking.

There had to be a way.

"I'd be careful staring too long."

Kain didn't turn at the voice. He had already recognized the calm, amused tone. Alric.

The man crouched beside him, tossing a small piece of dried fruit into his mouth.

"You'll start looking desperate."

Kain didn't answer immediately.

"You have food." His voice was flat.

Alric smiled. "I have food because I know how to get it."

Kain finally turned to look at him. Studying him now, the way Alric always seemed to be studying others.

"Tell me."

Alric chuckled. "Alright, then. "Lesson one."

"The stupid fight for food."

He gestured slightly with his chin.

"Look over there, who eats first?"

Kain's eyes shifted. He watched as Garik's men sat in their usual groups, shoving food into their mouths.

"The ones with power."

"Wrong," Alric said smoothly.

Kain's brow furrowed slightly.

Alric smirked. "The ones who are needed."

Kain stayed silent, waiting.

"The best fighters get fed because Garik needs them strong. The ones who control the supplies? They eat first. The ones who bring information? They eat well. The ones who sit back and wait for a handout?" He popped another piece of fruit into his mouth.

"They starve."

Kain's mind turned over the words.

Garik's men wouldn't just give up food. But maybe not all of them were untouchable.

"Who's the weak link?"

Alric's smirk widened. "Now you're asking the right question."

He gestured subtly toward a younger guard near the edge of the camp, not as strong, not as respected, always slightly nervous.

"That one?"

Alric nodded slightly. "He's new. Not fully trusted yet. And… more importantly?"

Kain thought for a second. Then he saw it.

"He doesn't eat with the others."

Alric's smirk widened. "Very good."

The guard was an outsider among his own people. That meant he had no real protection.

Which meant… he could be used.

Alric leaned back.

"If you're smart, you won't ask him for food. You'll give him a reason to give it to you."

Kain frowned.

"What reason?"

Alric shrugged. "That's up to you. You can scare him, lie to him, make him trust you. Kain exhaled. This was new ground.

But if it got food into Torik's hands?

He'd learn.