The sun wasn't up yet, but the first hints of gray had begun to stretch across the horizon. I could feel the chill of the early morning air bite through the layers of my cloak, the remnants of last night's warmth already slipping away. It was too early to move, too early to think, but my body had already started to stir. There was always something that pulled me from sleep in these moments—something deep and unsettling, like an instinct I couldn't quite shake.
Beside me, Kvatz shifted, a low groan escaping his throat as he pulled the blanket tighter around himself. I couldn't help but smile at the sight. He always looked like a child when he slept, his face relaxed, the hard lines of the mercenary world absent, replaced with an innocence that he didn't show anyone else. In the quiet of the early morning, with the fire almost out and the forest still asleep around us, he looked almost... peaceful.
I didn't know how long I stared at him, or how many thoughts passed through my head. I'd always been a little too good at thinking, at getting lost in my own mind. I had to remind myself, sometimes, that I wasn't supposed to care too much about someone like him. That's what I kept telling myself, anyway. He was just a companion. A traveling partner. A mercenary, same as me. The kind of person you couldn't afford to get too attached to. Because this life we led was dangerous—more so than I ever let on to him.
But there was something about Kvatz that made it hard not to care. Maybe it was his persistence—how he always pushed forward, even when the world felt like it was about to swallow him whole. Maybe it was his unrelenting optimism, the way he could turn any disaster into a joke, like everything could be laughed off, like it didn't matter if we lived or died as long as we stayed together. Or maybe it was the way he looked at the world—always with that spark, like he was seeing something hidden, something most people never bothered to look for.
I didn't know. And honestly, I didn't think I wanted to know.
A rustle beside me broke my thoughts. Kvatz was sitting up now, his messy dark hair falling over his face as he rubbed at his eyes. He blinked, looked around, and then caught my gaze. There was that familiar grin, like he'd been waiting for me to wake up before he did.
"Morning, sunshine," he said, his voice rough with sleep.
I rolled my eyes, though I couldn't quite keep the smile off my lips. "Don't start with me."
He chuckled, reaching for the pack beside him, rummaging through it to find his makeshift breakfast. It was always the same with him—no real plan, no real urgency, just the need to move, to get up and get going. He wasn't someone who stayed still for long, even when the world around us was in ruins. I'd seen it a hundred times, the way he'd pace, the way he'd fidget if things were too quiet for too long. He didn't like silence. He didn't like thinking.
"I know it's early," he said, as if he could read my mind, "but we've got a deserter to catch. We can't exactly do that on an empty stomach, now can we?"
I rolled my shoulders, stretching out the stiffness in my back. "You're right," I muttered, standing up and brushing the dirt off my trousers. I glanced at the remnants of the fire, now little more than glowing embers. It was hard to believe the night had already passed, that we were once again on the edge of some new chaos, some new battle. But that was the life we led, wasn't it?
Our lives were nothing but moving from one fight to the next, one risk after another. The world around us was fractured, broken. It had been that way for more than a millennia now, ever since the Surge—back in ancient times. A world filled with ruins, with shattered kingdoms and wasted land. A place where the strong lived and the weak didn't last long. Where people like us had learned to survive by any means necessary.
The Surge had hit the world hard, and no one was untouched—at least, according to the legends. For some, it had meant the fall of empires, the crumbling of cities into dust. For others, it had meant living in the shadow of monsters, in the remains of a civilization long dead. The world had fractured, and the people who remained were all just trying to pick up the pieces.
I reached for my own pack, unrolling the blanket and standing up, adjusting the weight of my gear. The morning air bit at my face, and for a moment, I let it ground me, let it pull me into the present.
"What's the plan?" I asked, pushing my thoughts aside. Focus, Lanni. Focus on the now.
Kvatz's voice broke through again, casual as ever, as if everything about our lives was normal. "Same as always. We find the deserter, get him to talk, get paid, then figure out what's next."
I nodded. That was the plan, after all. Simple. Clean. But I could tell he was avoiding something. He always did, and I hated that. I hated that about him—how he could throw himself into the next job without looking back, without ever asking what it all meant. But I didn't want to fight about it right now. Not when the sun was barely up, not when we still had the whole day ahead of us.
Instead, I grabbed the map from my pack, spreading it out between us on the ground. "According to the job board, the deserter should be somewhere in the Central Wards." I said, my finger tracing the rough terrain. "From our position, we'll have to cross the central-western borders and then into the Greylands. The Greylands weren't a place you wanted to cross, not unless you had to. It was a vast expanse of swamps and marshes, forgotten towns, and dangerous creatures. But it was a shortcut. A dangerous one, but a shortcut nonetheless. "We should make it by midday if we keep a steady pace."
Kvatz glanced over at the map, his brow furrowing for a moment. "We've crossed worse, right?"
I looked at him, and there it was again—his infuriating optimism, the belief that everything could be overcome, everything could be fixed, even if it meant jumping headfirst into danger.
"Yeah, we have," I said quietly. "But don't get too cocky. This isn't going to be easy."
He smirked, as if my words didn't even faze him. "Since when was easy part of the deal?"
And just like that, I couldn't help but laugh. It was a small laugh, but it felt good. Alive. This life had a way of grinding you down, of making you forget that anything could still feel like something, even in the face of everything falling apart.
I stood up, slinging my pack over my shoulder, and looked out at the path ahead of us. The world was waiting, as always, full of chaos and uncertainty. But for now, I was here. And so was Kvatz. And for better or worse, we were still in this together.
"Let's go," I said, giving him a nod.
He grinned, always ready for the next step, always ready to push forward.
"Right behind you, Lanni," he said.
And with that, we were off again. The day ahead of us was a blank slate, filled with unknowns. But I had no doubt that we would face whatever came our way—together. Even if we both knew, deep down, that this world was never going to be kind to people like us.
We kept moving through the swamp for hours, the morning turning into afternoon, the sun barely a shadow behind the thick clouds that always seemed to hang low over the Greylands. The air was still damp, and though the swamp was mostly silent, the occasional rustle of branches or the distant croak of a bird kept us on edge. The Greylands had a way of making you feel like something was always watching you, lurking just outside your field of vision.
Kvatz had stopped complaining about the bugs for the time being, likely because we were both in survival mode now, our thoughts focused on the task at hand. The trail to the Central Wards was treacherous, and though we'd made good time so far, I could feel the tension in my muscles, the weariness in my legs from the constant slogging through mud and wet ground.
The Central Wards were not far off now, I knew. We'd seen signs of civilization for the last few miles—ruined structures, rusted remains of long-abandoned trade routes, half-collapsed watchtowers. The Wards weren't much better than the Greylands, but they offered a semblance of civilization in the midst of the chaos. If we were lucky, the deserter would be hiding somewhere in the decaying remnants of the Ward's forgotten streets, waiting for his chance to slip through unnoticed.
But luck, as always, was a fickle thing.
We were just rounding the edge of a collapsed building when Kvatz held up his hand, signaling me to stop. His movements were swift, but there was something more measured about the way he did it this time. His eyes were scanning the surroundings, and I immediately followed his lead, sliding behind a crumbling stone pillar to wait.
I'd learned long ago that when Kvatz went still, the world around us grew dangerous.
"What is it?" I whispered, my voice barely a breath, barely disturbing the air.
His hand moved subtly in front of his face, his fingers forming a shape I recognized—three fingers spread wide, then a tap to the left. He didn't need to say a word. He didn't need to tell me. The movement alone told me everything. Raiders. Scrappards. And they weren't far.
I felt a knot tighten in my stomach as my mind shifted gears. The Scrappards were a scourge in these lands—brutal raiders, scavengers who tore through settlements, taking what they wanted by force, leaving only destruction behind them. They were merciless, driven by hunger, by a need to survive no matter who or what they had to kill to do it. They didn't care about who they hurt, who they left in their wake. And in this wasteland, there were no laws to stop them. No justice. Just violence.
I let out a slow breath and adjusted the weight of my pack, feeling the reassuring weight of my knife and rifle against my body. We could fight. We'd fought plenty of times before. But the Scrappards had numbers, and they were brutal. In these ruins, the last thing we needed was to make ourselves known.
"Stealth," I said under my breath, a single word that hung between us like a challenge.
Kvatz's lips quirked upward, but there was no amusement in his eyes. He knew what that meant. It meant we weren't fighting them—not yet, anyway. We were going to be shadows, avoiding them at all costs. We'd find a way through, find the deserter. But we'd have to be careful. Silent.
He nodded, and without another word, he slipped off into the underbrush, moving with a fluid grace that always surprised me. For someone so seemingly reckless, Kvatz was unnaturally light on his feet. It was one of the things that had kept us alive all these years. He was always one step ahead, always thinking two moves ahead, even when it looked like everything was about to fall apart.
I followed, keeping to the shadows, my boots sinking softly into the damp earth as we moved, my eyes flicking over every crack in the landscape, every movement in the distance. We hadn't been seen yet. And I wanted to keep it that way.
The Scrappards were ahead of us now, not far—just beyond the bend of the street, lingering around a half-collapsed building that had once been a trading post, now nothing more than a pile of debris. I could hear their voices—low, grating, like the sound of a broken machine grinding to life. I could pick out a few words, but nothing that made sense. The Scrappards weren't known for their intelligence; their language was crude, guttural, like something that had been lost in translation over centuries of desperation.
But what they lacked in wit, they made up for in savagery.
Kvatz held up a hand, signaling for me to stop. I froze, my heart thudding louder than I wanted it to. In the distance, just beyond the building, I saw shadows shifting—at least five of them, maybe more. They were circling something. I couldn't see it yet, but I could guess.
"Stay low," Kvatz whispered, his voice barely audible, but I knew he was watching me. He always watched me.
We crouched lower, slipping through the ruins like whispers in the dark. The ground was uneven, littered with rusted metal and shattered stone, but we knew where to step. Our movements were practiced, fluid. Our breath was steady, and for a moment, I felt that odd sense of calm that came when everything felt like it was going according to plan. When we were both in sync, working together. It was one of the few times in this twisted world when I could almost pretend things were normal.
But the calm didn't last. Not here. Not in this wasteland.
We rounded a corner and caught sight of the Scrappards again. They were huddled in a half-circle around a man—a prisoner, I realized. He was bound, his hands tied tightly behind his back, his face pale with fear. His eyes darted frantically from one raider to the next, like a rabbit trapped in a cage of wolves. I didn't recognize him at first, but the way he shifted in place, his fearful movements—it hit me.
It was the deserter.
The bastard.
I felt my pulse spike, but I forced myself to remain still. This wasn't about vengeance. This wasn't about getting in a fight. We had to get to him, slip him out, and get away before these monsters realized they had prey in front of them.
Kvatz was already moving again, sliding through the shadows with a purpose, and I followed suit. We needed to take them out, silently, one by one, but there were too many. And the deserter... he wouldn't survive if we made any noise.
I could see the way Kvatz's jaw tightened as he analyzed the situation, eyes flicking over the Scrappards, searching for the weak link. The way his hands flexed, eager for action. He wanted to fight, I could tell. But even he understood that it wasn't time for that yet.
"Wait," I hissed quietly, my hand on his arm. His eyes met mine—there was no need to explain. He nodded once, and we both waited. There was a tension in the air now, thick and palpable, like the quiet before a storm.
The Scrappards continued their low grumbling, completely oblivious to our presence. The deserter was still squirming, his head jerking toward us as if he could feel the weight of our gaze on him. I held my breath. One wrong move, one stray sound, and everything would fall apart.
We had to be perfect.
And as I watched Kvatz—his eyes focused, his muscles coiled and ready to strike—I couldn't help but think of how easy it would be, how simple, just to step forward and make them pay for everything they had done. For everything they would continue to do. But no. We couldn't. Not yet. Not if we wanted the deserter alive.
Not if we wanted to survive.
The silence stretched out between us, oppressive, thick like the swamp's fog. Kvatz was ahead of me, low to the ground, barely making a sound as his silhouette melted into the shadows. His eyes were fixed, like twin lanterns in the gloom, scanning every movement, every shift of the raiders in front of us. I was used to his calculated stillness by now, the way he could become a shadow among shadows, but it always struck me with a quiet awe. He moved like a man who had learned to blend into the world, to become part of it rather than fight it.
But in the silence, in that dark moment between the quiet and the inevitable, I couldn't help but feel the weight of my thoughts—thoughts about him, about us, about how far we'd come, and how little we truly understood each other. It was a strange feeling, a distant ache in my chest as I crouched low behind a pile of crumbling stone, just out of view of the Scrappards. My fingers flexed against the rough surface of the rock, pressing into the jagged edges to steady myself, to remind myself that I was still here. Still breathing. Still alive.
I glanced over at Kvatz again, his expression a tight mask of focus. The mercenary life had worn down more than just his body; it had eroded the humanity in his eyes, leaving only the sharp edges of survival, of pragmatism. He didn't speak much, didn't reveal his emotions easily—if at all. But the way he operated, the way his mind worked... I'd come to understand him in ways I never imagined possible. We had been through too much, seen too many things together. But some things still remained unspoken between us.
I trusted him, of course. That was a given. But there was a part of me that never fully understood what drove him. What made him tick beneath all that armor, beneath the jaded indifference he wore like a second skin. I used to think it was just the work—the violence, the brutality of it all—but now, I wasn't so sure. Sometimes, when he thought I wasn't looking, I saw a flicker of something else in his eyes. A ghost of something lost.
Maybe I was just imagining it.
But there was no time for thinking about that now.
The Scrappards were still milling around the deserter. I could see their silhouettes from behind the pile of rubble—disjointed, ugly shapes that didn't belong in this world. The way they moved, slouched and hunched over, their gaudy scraps of armor catching the dim light like reflections off broken glass, was unsettling. The stench of sweat, blood, and something rancid lingered in the air, clinging to the earth around them like a plague. The desertion of morals was reflected in their every movement. They were scavengers—dogs of the wasteland, taking whatever they could find to survive.
I could see the deserter now, his hands bound tightly behind his back, his face dirty and bruised, but his eyes wide and alive. Fear radiated off him like heat, the same kind of raw terror I'd seen in countless faces over the years, when the end was near. His eyes kept darting between the raiders and the distance, as if he was weighing his chances—maybe trying to figure out where the danger was greater. It didn't matter. In the end, it would be us or them.
Kvatz motioned subtly with his hand—an almost imperceptible flick of his fingers, the signal that he was ready to move. I nodded, my heart picking up its rhythm as I shifted into position. He'd already worked out the plan in his head—quiet, efficient, deadly. That was his way. His plan always revolved around precision. We didn't have the luxury of brute force this time. If we were to pull this off, we had to move like ghosts, unseen and unheard. One mistake, and everything could fall apart.
The first raider was the easiest target. He was standing a little away from the group, fiddling with some trinket he'd scavenged from the ruins. His back was turned, his focus on his prize. He was a walking blind spot.
Kvatz moved first—silent, like a shadow that never touched the ground. One moment, the raider was there, shifting through his spoils; the next, he was gone. Kvatz had his arm around the raider's throat before he even knew what hit him. A quick twist, a soft, barely audible snap, and the man was down, his body crumpling to the ground like a ragdoll.
The second raider, a larger man with a crooked nose and a mouth full of missing teeth, didn't seem to notice at first. He was busy shouting orders to the others, waving a rusty blade around with reckless abandon. Kvatz's gaze flicked toward me, his lips curling into a barely perceptible smile. He knew what I was thinking—he didn't need to wait for me to move. He was already sliding around the corner, his movements fluid, predatory.
I followed, but more cautiously. I wasn't as quick, not as silent. But I knew my role. I had the knife, the swift strike that would ensure the job was done without too much noise. The raider's back was to me as he brandished his blade, unaware of what was coming. One step closer, and I was upon him.
I slammed the edge of my blade against his throat, cutting off his scream before it even began. His body jerked violently, and I had to hold him tighter to prevent him from making a sound. His eyes were wide with shock, blood spurting from the wound in rhythm with his erratic breathing. He didn't struggle for long. He didn't even have time to react before he slumped, lifeless, against me.
I let him fall gently to the ground, my breath steady, my heart racing only slightly faster than it had been. There was no room for hesitation. No time for fear. In moments like these, you either survived or you didn't.
We had to keep moving.
Kvatz had already taken out another one of the Scrappards—a lanky woman who had been too distracted by something in the debris. Her throat had been slit silently, and she now lay sprawled across the dirt, her lifeless eyes staring at the sky. Only two left.
We were close now, so close to the deserter. He hadn't seen us yet, but his eyes were starting to drift in our direction, his breath shallow with panic. He could feel something was off. His muscles tensed, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
I gave Kvatz a single look—an unspoken question—and he gave the slightest nod in return.
One more.
We split up again, moving around the sides of the remaining raiders. The last two were sitting, talking amongst themselves. Their voices were grating, low, their attention on the deserter, not on the shadows creeping up behind them. Kvatz was faster than I was, slipping between the gaps in the ruins, silently closing in.
I moved too, my steps calculated, precise. We had this. We could do this. I could feel the weight of the blade in my hand, the pressure of the moment building like an impending storm.
In the final moments, Kvatz struck—fast, silent, and brutal. The raider closest to him barely had time to react before his throat was opened, his hands clutching at the blood pouring from the wound. The other raider turned at the sound of his companion's death, eyes wide with confusion, but it was too late.
My blade was already at his neck.
I watched as the final raider's eyes glazed over, his body falling limp in my grip. The silence that followed was eerie—unnatural. The only sound in the ruins was the distant whisper of wind stirring the dust, and my breath, shallow and steady, as I tried to calm the pounding in my chest. My hand still held the knife, the edge slick with blood, though I didn't notice it until my fingers started to tremble. I wiped it clean with the sleeve of my cloak, as quietly as I could.
Kvatz had already moved past me, stepping over the bodies with a quiet grace that made him look more like a ghost than a man. He didn't even glance at the fallen raiders. His focus was entirely on the deserter now. The poor bastard was still kneeling in the dirt, his hands bound behind him, his eyes wide and frantic. He was watching us—more out of desperation than recognition.
I felt a pang of sympathy for him. He was just another man, lost in the chaos of this broken world, struggling to survive as best he could. Like the rest of us.
Kvatz knelt in front of him, his eyes cold, calculating. His movements were measured, efficient. "We're here to take you back," Kvatz said, his voice low, rough like gravel scraping against stone.
The deserter didn't speak at first. He just stared, trembling, his gaze darting between us, between the bodies that littered the ground. His lips parted, but no sound came out. The fear in his eyes was thick, like the stench of decay that clung to the air around us. I could feel the weight of that fear pressing down on me, suffocating.
We both knew what would happen if he refused.
"Come on, friend," I said, my voice quieter, gentler than Kvatz's. "We're not here to hurt you. We just need to take you back to your unit."
The deserter didn't move. He was frozen in place, like an animal caught in the gaze of a predator. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, his eyes flicking back and forth between us, but he didn't speak. There was nothing left in him but fear.
Kvatz's jaw tightened, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he glanced back at me, his expression unreadable. I could feel the tension between us, like the air before a storm. I knew what he was thinking. He was always thinking ahead, always planning for the worst, always prepared to do what needed to be done.
I wasn't sure what I was thinking.
The truth was, we were both weary. The roads we'd walked, the battles we'd fought, the countless lives we'd taken and lost along the way—it had all started to weigh heavily on me. On both of us. We'd been traveling together for months now, through the desolate, crumbling remnants of the world, fighting merciless factions and scavengers, doing whatever work we could to survive. We'd saved each other's lives more times than I could count, but in doing so, I felt something else creeping in—something I hadn't expected.
A bond. A quiet understanding.
I wasn't sure if he felt it too, or if it was just me—just a fleeting moment of human connection in a world where such things were few and far between. But the more time I spent with Kvatz, the more I saw past the hardened mercenary exterior. I saw the weariness in his eyes, the exhaustion that no amount of rest could heal. And there were moments—rare, fleeting moments—when I could almost see a glimmer of something else in him. A kindness buried beneath all that brutality.
But I couldn't get too close. Not with someone like him. Not with the way we lived, the things we did.
I was pulled from my thoughts by the deserter's voice, weak and cracked. "I—I didn't have a choice. You don't understand... I couldn't go back. Not after what they did."
Kvatz's eyes narrowed, his gaze hardening. "What did they do to you?"
The deserter winced, looking down at the dirt, like he was searching for something in it, something to distract him from what he was about to say. "They—they used us. We were nothing but pawns to them. And the commander… He... He sent us out there, to die. We weren't supposed to survive. We were just… expendable."
There was a pause. A heavy silence.
I could see Kvatz's jaw tighten even more, the muscle in his cheek twitching. He didn't like hearing that. It was clear. He had a past, one that was full of orders, full of soldiers sent to die for causes they couldn't understand. I knew that. He didn't have to tell me for me to know. But he wasn't the kind to open up about it.
I stepped forward, closer to the deserter. "Listen," I said, my voice steady, "We don't care about the details. You can tell your story to someone else later. Right now, we just need to get you out of here. There's no time to waste. You're coming with us."
He looked up at me, his eyes full of gratitude and dread. "I… I can't go back. They'll kill me."
"You're not going back to die," I said, my voice soft but firm. "You're going back because it's the only way out of this. You're coming with us, and we'll get you to safety. That's the deal."
His eyes flicked between me and Kvatz, and I could see the indecision warring in his face. He didn't trust us. He didn't trust anyone. I couldn't blame him.
Kvatz took a step forward, his shadow stretching long in the dim light. He knelt down again, this time closer to the deserter, his voice lower, more insistent. "If you don't come with us, we won't have a choice. You'll be another corpse in the dirt."
The deserter's shoulders slumped, the weight of his decision pressing on him. He had no choice. He was broken. Like the rest of us. But I could see a spark of something in him—a flicker of hope, just enough to make the decision.
He nodded, slowly, then whispered, "I'll go."
Kvatz looked at me, his expression unreadable, and then he reached down to untie the man's hands. There was no need for words. We had a job to do. We always did.
I couldn't help but feel the familiar, gnawing ache in my chest as I watched Kvatz move. He was like this—detached, focused only on the task. But I knew him. I knew he wasn't heartless. He just didn't let people get close enough to see it.
As I turned to scan the horizon, my thoughts returned to the world we lived in. The land was full of ruins, of broken cities and forgotten civilizations. It was a world where trust was rare, and betrayal was a currency that bought survival. But through it all, we kept moving forward—Kvatz and I—two soldiers in a world that had no place for either of us. And yet, somehow, we were still here.
Still breathing. Still fighting.
And for now, that was enough.