Sketches

The camp stirred in quiet waves. Somewhere deeper in the tunnels, water dripped in a calm rhythm, echoing faintly through the stone corridors. The old ruins had no sky, no rising sun, but the spark of torchlight brushing against the worn bricks gave the illusion of morning all the same. Most of the soldiers were still asleep or too groggy to complain about being awake. Haise, on the other hand, sat perched on an overturned barrel at the edge of the storage area, his knees pulled up and a weather-worn notebook balanced across them.

He'd found the notebook folded under one of the bunks three days ago. Half of it was already filled with scratchy notes and useless numbers that didn't mean anything to him, so he tore those out. What was left became his sketchbook. His proof. His way of holding onto whatever small truths this world didn't want to explain.

Now, he sketched.

Avari's armor sat rough and half-formed on the page, jagged lines etching out the silhouette as best as his tired hands could manage. It wasn't perfect. It didn't have to be. The shine of the plate, the pattern along the shoulders, the sharpness of the angles , it was all there in suggestion. Enough to come back to later.

He flipped to the next page and scribbled a line across the top.

Everyone speaks English, but no one writes it. The system must be translating.

If only it did writing too.

The native script was something else entirely. Not letters. Not runes. Just sharp geometric lines and floating punctuation. It looked more like code than language. And yet when anyone spoke, it came out in perfect, casual English. Haise had tested it. He'd written "Hello" on a scrap of parchment and shown it to Karsen.

He squinted and asked what it meant.

So he tried to copy the same thing from a piece of signage in the supply tent. His eyes lit up instantly. Read it aloud without a hitch.

Weird.

He turned another page.

This one was dedicated to the system window.

He drew it from memory. The clean square frame. The slight translucent glow. The way the edges shimmered faintly when touched, like it was made of water held in tension.

Still locked. Nothing new.

Maybe I need to level up. Like a game?

That part stuck with him.

Even after everything , the fight, the goblins, the lie, the card , the window hadn't changed. No new tabs. No skills unlocked. Just the same numbers, the same floating prompt. Like it was waiting.

He glanced over his shoulder toward the rows of tents. Karsen had finally stopped limping. Whatever the card had done to him, it had made him whole again. Not better, not stronger, just alive. Like nothing had happened.

And that made it worse.

Haise flipped another page and wrote slowly.

Highest stat seen: S - on Karsen's potential.

Damn genius.

He underlined it twice.

There was something in those stats that didn't sit right. Haise's own numbers were a mess , all E's across the board. But Karsen had that flicker of gold sitting right at the top. Potential. S-rank. That meant something, didn't it?

It had to.

He closed the notebook gently and slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket. The new clothes were at least functional, simple, brown and black with enough layering to hide his notes, the card, the weirdness bubbling under the surface. Not fancy, but they made him feel like less of a walking target.

As he stood, he caught sight of Karsen near one of the smaller fires, already talking with a pair of transport scouts. Laughing. Talking like nothing had happened. Like he didn't remember anything. 

Haise exhaled. "You really don't remember, do you…"

He turned and started walking toward the center of camp.

The dirt paths were already filling with movement. The smell of cooked barley and dried meat wafted from the mess tent, mixing with the smoke curling out of every fire pit. People moved in loose rhythms, some sharpening weapons, others packing gear into reinforced boxes, others still dragging themselves out of tents with the kind of dead-eyed shuffle that only came with forced marches.

Haise slipped between them, ducking low-hanging tarps and stray ropes. He barely got five steps past the armory when a shadow moved beside him.

Avari.

He hadn't heard the knight approach. No footsteps, no armor clink, no presence. Just a sudden shift in the air. One moment alone, the next filled.

"As we're moving soon," Avari said, voice flat and formal, "you in particular will stay close."

Haise didn't stop walking. He didn't look over. "Why?"

"After your little stunt," Avari replied, "I want to keep a closer eye on you."

The knight moved in sync beside him, silent and fluid, like the weight of the armor didn't exist at all.

Haise tried to square his shoulders, to stand taller. He barely came to Avari's chin.

He sighed. "I can't tell if you're complimenting me or issuing a threat."

"Yes."

Haise side-eyed him. "That's… not helpful."

Avari didn't respond. Just kept walking beside him, gaze fixed ahead. Or at least, Haise assumed so. The helmet didn't give much away.

The silence stretched long enough for Haise to feel awkward.

Then Avari spoke.

"What is your relation to Arno?"

Haise blinked. "Wow. Right for the personal stuff, huh?"

Avari didn't slow.

Haise shrugged. "He recruited me. Saved me from someone. Never really asked who."

A pause.

He added, almost automatically, "Before that, I fell into a cave and hit my head pretty bad. Gave me amnesia."

Close enough to the truth.

Another silence settled. Not hostile, just waiting.

Haise tilted his head slightly, a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Now that I told you about me, isn't it your turn?"

Avari didn't answer immediately. Then:

"Arno was my teacher."

Haise nearly tripped.

He blinked hard and caught his footing, processing the words.

"Your… teacher?"

"Yes."

"How long ago?"

"A few months back."

Haise didn't respond. He couldn't.

A few months back? That was it?

He looked at Avari again , full armor, composed presence, moving like a veteran. Arno always acted like an old dog in a young man's body. But if Avari had been his student… then how young was he? Sixteen? Seventeen?

Haise didn't say it aloud.

But the thought sat heavy in his head.

They reached the front of the camp where the crates had been packed. A soldier shouted from the front line, confirming the last team check.

Avari turned toward the group. "Is everything ready?"

A soldier nodded. "Cleared and checked."

"Then move."

The camp began to shift. People filed forward,forming a line, their roles already assigned.

Haise looked around, expecting Karsen to be at his side again, all brightness and sarcasm.

But he wasn't.

Someone nudged his shoulder.

"Rear line," the soldier grunted. "You're with the lead."

Haise blinked. "What?"

Another voice cut in. "He's with me."

Avari didn't glance over, but Haise felt the weight of that voice land like a boulder.

A soldier saluted, stepping back.

Karsen, further down the line, was already holding a crate.

He looked over and gave a thumbs-up, grinning wide.

Haise gave a small wave back.

Avari gestured forward.

They walked.

As the line creaked into motion, and the camp behind them began to fade, Haise couldn't help but glance at the knight beside him.