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Sage lay still for a few moments longer, but sleep wasn’t coming. With a soft sigh, he pushed himself up from the cot, the rustling of his movement breaking the quiet. His boots made a dull thud against the floor of the tent as he stood, stretching his arms over his head, the shadows of the night outside still lingering. He moved silently toward the flap of the tent, opening it just enough to slip out, leaving Gale snoring in the corner, unaware of anything. The cool night air hit him as he stepped outside, the dark sky stretching endlessly above. He didn’t have anywhere to go—just needed to move, to clear his head. The quiet of the woods was soothing. It was only when he took a few steps away from the tent that the familiar weight of something watching him crept over his skin. Sage didn’t flinch, didn’t turn around. He knew who it was. From the shadows, Varys emerged, the massive black wolf padding silently to his side. Varys’ eyes gleamed in the moonlight—piercing, unblinking. The wolf’s fur was as dark as the night itself, almost melding into the shadows, making him seem like a living, breathing part of the darkness. Varys didn’t growl or bark. He simply sat down, his massive form still, like a sentinel. His gaze locked on Sage for a moment, but there was no affection in it—just that steady, unnerving stare that only the wolf could give. Sage didn’t speak. He never did when Varys was around. The wolf had been with him for years, and their communication was silent, understood between them in a way words couldn’t capture. Sage turned back toward the tent, but Varys didn’t follow. Instead, the wolf remained where he was, sitting in the darkness with a cold presence that made the air feel even heavier. As Sage made his way back into the tent, the wolf’s eyes stayed trained on him, and just before the flap of the tent closed behind him, Varys did something Sage hadn’t expected. The wolf dropped a dagger at the entrance, the blade clinking against the ground, perfectly placed—no sign of struggle, just the quiet precision of the animal. His gaze shifted to the wall of the tent as if he were waiting, still and watchful. Sage paused, looking back at the dagger. The wolf didn’t move, didn’t make a sound. He was just there, as much a part of the night as the trees and the shadows. Without a word, Sage stepped back inside, the tent flap closing behind him, leaving the wolf to his vigil outside, watching the darkness. |
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Sage’s knife slashed wildly, his mind spinning in a panic as memories of the arena came crashing back. The clang of metal, the scent of blood, the screams of the crowd. He didn’t see Gale coming, didn’t hear the words, only the sound of movement, the shift in the air. Too close. Before he could react, Gale was there, swatting the knife from his hand. It clattered to the ground, but Sage barely noticed. His body moved instinctively, thrashing in desperation, as if the past was right there with him, surrounding him, suffocating him. “Sage, stop!” Gale’s voice cut through the storm inside his head. But Sage didn’t hear Gale, not truly. All he could hear was the roar of the crowd, the clang of swords, the blood splattering against stone. He remembered the arena, the way his legs had trembled, the way Gale had stood across from him, forced to fight or die. Then, it was like everything shifted. One moment, Sage was lost in the fight for his life—and the next, Gale’s grip was on him, yanking him into a headlock. The pressure around his neck, the heat of Gale’s body against his own—something in that familiarity yanked Sage back from the edge. His body stilled, but the panic didn’t fade entirely. Gale’s breath was hot against his ear. "Sage, calm down," he muttered, voice low and steady. "You’re not there anymore." Sage fought for air, his chest tight, as the memories tugged at him. He could almost taste the dirt of the arena floor again, could feel the weight of his sword, the blood that had stained his hands. The way he had been forced to kill, to fight for a life that didn’t feel like his own. But then he was here. In the woods. With Gale. The thought didn’t seem to stick at first, but slowly, as Gale’s firm grip held him in place, the world around him started to focus. The knife was gone. The crowd was gone. He was safe. Minutes passed in silence, Sage’s body trembling from the aftershock of the panic. Gale’s hold loosened only slightly, but it was enough. Slowly, his breath started to steady. “You’re safe,” Gale murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. But Sage heard it. It was all he needed to hear. For now, it was enough. |
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The silence between them was heavy, charged with the lingering tension of what had just happened. Sage was still reeling from the overwhelming panic that had gripped him, but the air between him and Gale seemed to crackle with something darker now. He was no longer sure if the man standing before him was the same one who had protected him in the past, or if he was something else entirely—something dangerous. Gale’s breathing was harsh, his hands still trembling from the adrenaline of the fight, but there was something more in his eyes now—something deeper, something colder. He watched Sage, his gaze unwavering, as if sizing him up, preparing for the next move. Then, from somewhere in the distance, the sharp whistle pierced the air. It was faint at first, a high-pitched sound, almost like a bird’s call, but it was too familiar to ignore. A chill ran down Gale’s spine as the sound reached his ears, and in an instant, everything about the moment changed. His body stiffened, the muscles in his arms locking as if his instincts were reacting before his mind could process it. His eyes narrowed, his focus entirely on the sound, and in that split second, he was gone—flooded with the memories of the arena, the blood, the chaos. “They call me undefeatable for a reason,” Gale murmured, his voice low and full of a venomous edge. The words weren’t meant for Sage—not really. They were meant for himself, a reminder of the man he had once been, of the legend that had been built around his name. “You think you can outlast me? You think this fight is anything but mine?” Sage’s heart skipped a beat, his breath catching in his throat as the weight of Gale’s words sank in. He had heard them before—those same words from the gladiator, the undefeated champion of the arena. But now, with the knife gleaming in Gale’s hand and that dangerous light in his eyes, they didn’t feel like a declaration of strength. They felt like a threat. Sage instinctively took a step back, his body still shaking from the remnants of the panic. “Gale, listen—please, we don’t have to do this—” But Gale was already moving. The shift in his expression was instantaneous—his eyes turning from cold fury to something sharper, something more brutal. In a flash, Gale lunged forward, grabbing Sage by the arm and throwing him to the ground with a force that knocked the wind out of him. Sage hit the dirt hard, his breath wheezing out of him as Gale’s weight slammed down on top of him, pinning him in place. Before Sage could react, Gale had the knife pressed to his throat, the cold steel of it a chilling reminder of how little control he had over this situation. The gleam of the blade reflected in Gale’s eyes, and Sage could see the fury building there—a fury that had once been a weapon in the arena, and now, it was aimed directly at him. Sage’s pulse quickened as he tried to shift, to move, but Gale’s grip was unyielding, and the knife was still there, so close, the edge just grazing his skin. “You know,” Gale spat, his voice raw and laced with contempt, “Gladiator has a meaning. They gave me that name for a reason.” His eyes were wild, the fury inside him burning hot, and it was all directed at Sage. “I fought in that pit every day, knowing that if I didn’t kill, I’d be the one dying. You don’t understand, Sage. You don’t know what it’s like to be trapped in that hell.” The words struck Sage like a physical blow, a jagged shard of truth cutting through the fog of his confusion. Gale wasn’t just fighting him. He wasn’t just angry at what was happening now. He was fighting his past—fighting the man he had been. The gladiator. “You’re nothing but a distraction,” Gale hissed, his grip tightening on the knife. “A reminder of everything I’ve lost.” He raised the blade, his face twisted with a raw fury that Sage had never seen before. “I’m not going to let you walk away from this. Not when I’ve already lost everything.” Sage’s heart pounded in his chest as he struggled beneath Gale, his hands trembling as he reached up to try to push the knife away, but Gale’s strength was too much. The weight of the blade pressed deeper into Sage’s skin, and the sting of it made him flinch, a sharp gasp escaping his lips. “I can’t... I can’t let you do this,” Sage choked out, the words barely making it past his throat. But the more he struggled, the harder Gale pressed down, his rage feeding the weight of his grip. Gale’s eyes burned with something animalistic now, something far removed from the man he had been before, something darker. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against Sage’s skin as he growled, “I don’t need to let you do anything. You’re just another fight. And I’m always going to win.” The air between them thickened, the space around them shrinking with every passing second, until it felt as if the entire forest held its breath, waiting for something to break. Sage could feel the strength draining from his body as the knife pressed closer. It wasn’t just the physical weight—it was the weight of Gale’s fury, the weight of a man who had been broken, remade, and now saw him as nothing more than a target. And then, in that moment, as Gale's eyes flickered with that cold, brutal hunger, Sage’s voice cracked, desperate and raw, “Please... don’t do this, Gale. I’m not your enemy.” But Gale wasn’t listening. He wasn’t hearing the plea in Sage’s voice. The knife hovered, the promise of death lingering in the air like a poison, and for a moment, it seemed like Gale was going to deliver it. But instead, the blade hovered there, just a breath away from Sage’s throat, as Gale’s fury burned brighter, consuming him. Sage’s chest tightened. His hands were shaking, his body trembling beneath Gale’s weight, the knife still poised to strike, but it didn’t come. Not yet. The silence between them was deafening, the tension unbearable, as Sage stared up at Gale, his chest rising and falling with every ragged breath. The fear, the desperation—it wasn’t just about surviving anymore. It was about the man Gale had become. And as the night stretched on, Sage realized something terrible: Gale wasn’t going to back down. With a fluid motion,Gale brought the knife down.Sage crying out louder then the blood rushing out in Gale's ears.It was a cry of pain,confusion,sorrow,fear. |
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Gale’s hand trembled as he gripped the knife, his wide eyes locked onto Sage. Panic had fully taken hold, and his breath came in shallow, frantic bursts. The blade hovered above Sage’s throat, a moment of stillness stretching between them before Gale’s fear finally snapped. “Gale… don’t,” Sage’s voice was quiet but steady. He wasn’t sure if Gale could hear him, or if he was even capable of hearing anything but the panic in his own mind. But Gale wasn’t listening. His body moved before his mind could catch up, and in a single, desperate motion, the knife came down. Sage reacted instinctively, twisting out of the way. The blade sliced through the air where his throat had been just a moment before. Sage’s heart pounded, adrenaline kicking in as he scrambled back, the terror that had taken hold of Gale still pushing him forward, still making him fight. “Gale!” Sage called out again, his voice louder this time, but it didn’t reach Gale. His eyes were wide, frantic, lost in the fear that had taken over. Sage’s hands shot up defensively, trying to keep the knife away, but Gale wasn’t hearing him. He lunged again, his movements erratic, desperate, and full of that primal need to survive, to protect himself from whatever he thought was coming. “You’re not there anymore, Gale!” Sage shouted, trying to reach him through the haze of panic that clouded Gale’s mind. “This isn’t the arena! You’re not fighting for your life!” But it didn’t matter. Gale’s body reacted with pure instinct, pushing Sage back to the ground. The force of the movement knocked Sage off balance, but he quickly regained his footing, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him. He had to stop this. He had to get through to Gale. For a moment, they were still, both of them breathing heavily, eyes locked on each other. Gale’s grip on the knife tightened, his breath coming faster, shaking. Sage could see the terror in his eyes, but there was nothing he could say to calm him. Not yet. Then, just as quickly as it had stopped, the panic surged back, and Gale went for him again. The blade came down with renewed force, and Sage reacted, twisting his body to avoid the strike. But this time, it was different. Instead of retreating, Sage pressed forward, closing the distance between them and knocking Gale’s arm to the side. With a quick movement, Sage struck Gale’s wrist, the knife falling to the ground with a soft thud. Gale froze for a moment, eyes wide in shock, and then he looked up at Sage, his face pale, his lips trembling. “Please,” Gale’s voice was small, barely a whisper, but it cracked with emotion. “Please… I’m afraid to die. Don’t... don’t kill me... please.” The words hit Sage like a punch to the gut. The raw fear in Gale’s voice broke through the chaos of the moment. For a split second, everything paused, and Sage just stared at him—at the man who was so broken, so scared, he couldn’t even see the difference between his past and the present. “Gale, I’m not going to hurt you,” Sage said softly, his voice carrying the weight of everything he wanted to say but didn’t have the words for. “I’m not your enemy. I won’t hurt you.” But Gale’s body trembled beneath him, his breath still fast, too fast, as if he couldn’t calm himself down. Sage could feel the desperation radiating off of him. Without another thought, Sage grabbed the knife and whacked Gale in the head, using the moment of weakness to knock Gale back down. He wasn’t trying to hurt him—he just needed him to stop. Needed him to listen. Gale hit the ground with a sharp exhale, his body stiff beneath Sage’s hold. There was a brief moment of struggle, but the fight was draining out of him, piece by piece. His movements grew slower, more sluggish, until he finally went still beneath Sage’s weight. For a long, tense moment, Sage stayed there, holding him in place. Gale’s chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, but his eyes didn’t close. They stayed wide, locked onto Sage with that same terrified gaze. Sage released a quiet breath, keeping his body close enough to keep Gale grounded but not smothering him. “It’s over, Gale,” he said gently, almost to himself. “You’re safe now.” Gale didn’t respond, but the trembling in his body slowly started to subside. His eyes, though still open, were no longer filled with the same frantic energy. They were distant now, hollowed out with exhaustion and fear. The tears still streamed down his face,uncontrollably due to fear. Sage waited, his mind racing, unsure of what would come next. But for now, at least, the fight had stopped. And that was something. His voice hovered,blinking slowly as his fingers dug into Sage's wrist. "Don't kill me." And with the rest of his energy,he yelled as loud as he could in that moment,right before Sage's hand came down and Gale went still,absoulutly still. |
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Kayla woke, springing up at the sound of Gale's voice. "Gale?" She called, worried |
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The bird’s whistle sliced through the air again, its sharp pitch echoing in the distance. It was the same sound that had haunted Gale in the arena, the call that always seemed to signal something bad, something he couldn't outrun. The terror shot through him again, raw and unfiltered. Without warning, Gale’s eyes snapped wide open, and all the panic he'd been trying to suppress erupted. He lunged forward, his body moving with unrestrained force as he tackled Sage to the ground. The sound of his breath came in erratic gasps, and before Sage could react, Gale had him pinned beneath him. The two of them crashed through the underbrush, tumbling toward the edge of the camp. They rolled, each trying to gain control of the situation, the dirt and the leaves mixing with their frantic movements. Sage grunted as Gale’s weight pressed down on him, his fists swinging with desperate intensity. It was as if the bird's whistle had flipped some kind of switch inside of Gale, pushing him into a wild, unthinking rage. The sounds of their struggle became a blur of grunts, the crackling fire nearby unable to cut through the tension that filled the air. “Please,” Sage gasped, trying to shove Gale off of him, but it was no use. Gale’s grip was too strong, his eyes wide with something far more primal than the man Sage had known. He could see the fear in Gale’s gaze, a terror that was so familiar it was suffocating. But that didn’t stop Gale. He was unstoppable now, his fists landing with bruising force. The bird’s whistle rang out again, sharp and clear, a sound that seemed to fuel Gale’s every movement, drowning out everything else. It was like an invisible force, dragging him deeper into a frenzy. Every punch, every shove, felt like it was being driven by something much darker. Sage’s vision blurred with the pain of the blows, but with a surge of adrenaline, he managed to twist underneath Gale, shoving him back with every ounce of strength he had left. He forced Gale off, both of them stumbling for a second before crashing into the dirt at the edge of the campfire’s light. They rolled again, but this time, Sage was on top, using every advantage he had to subdue Gale, holding him in place. But Gale wasn’t done. He struggled beneath Sage, his body writhing as he tried to break free, his breath ragged. The bird’s call rang out a third time, and it was like a switch flipped in Gale’s mind. His eyes widened, panicked, as if the bird itself was the trigger for everything that had been eating away at him. With a sudden, violent motion, he shoved Sage off, standing shakily, his hands trembling. The knife—a blur of steel—was in Gale’s hand in an instant, the blade pointing straight at Sage. His whole body was shaking now, his breath ragged, still fighting against something deep within him. He backed away slowly, but Sage could see the terror behind Gale’s eyes. It was as if he was caught between wanting to fight and wanting to flee, the memories of the arena still clawing at him. Sage took a slow step forward, his hands raised slightly, palms facing Gale. “It’s over, Gale. You don’t have to do this.” Gale’s eyes flickered between the knife and Sage, his grip on the weapon unsteady. For a moment, it seemed like he might charge again, the panic gripping him too tightly. But then, slowly, almost unwillingly, he dropped the knife, his entire body shaking as he sank to his knees. The fire crackled behind them, the sound of it mingling with the bird’s call, which faded into the distance. The tension between them lingered, but there was a shift now—a moment of stillness. Gale was trembling, his eyes wide with fear and disbelief. He had fallen into the same trap he’d been trying to escape from, and now it was too much to handle. Sage stood still, watching him, trying to make sense of everything. There was no fight left in Gale now. No fury. Just a broken man, lost in the echoes of the past. Gale’s voice broke the silence. "Please... don't kill me." His voice was thin, like a fragile thread, and his hands gripped the earth beneath him as if trying to anchor himself. His gaze was wide, filled with a terror that tore at Sage’s chest. Sage didn’t move. His voice was calm but firm. "I’m not going to kill you, Gale." But something shifted in Gale’s eyes then. A split-second of clarity. His gaze snapped back to the knife, still resting on the ground. The next moment was a blur, as Gale surged forward, grabbing the blade in a desperate, frenzied motion, his hand trembling as he raised it once more, pointing it directly at Sage. Sage froze. For a moment, it seemed like time stood still. The fire flickered behind them, casting shadows that danced across the ground. Gale’s breath was ragged, his eyes wide and wild, as he moved toward Sage, knife in hand. “Please…” Gale’s voice cracked. “I don’t want to die…” But his grip tightened, and for the first time in a long while, Sage saw the desperation in Gale’s eyes—not just for control, but for something to hold on to. The memories, the fear, the pain—it was all there, reflected in the gleaming steel in Gale’s hand. For a heartbeat, it felt like everything was hanging by a thread.Sage darted forward,tackling Gale and hitting him in the head with his fist,knocking him under.Gale's head lolled to the side as his eyes remained open,his body slumping down as his eyes filled with fear.The tears streaked down his face,even while he was under. Sage slumped to his knees,chest heaving as the night set in.Blood trickled from his face and sides,his body shook with exhaustion.And with that,he slumped onto the ground,defeated by the man he didn't know. |
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Kayla found the two eventually, confused and angry at the scene she saw. "What. The. Fuck?!" She yelled at Sage, walking to him with her hand slowly moving to her dagger on her hip. "You have 30 seconds to tell me exactly what happened, or so help me god, I will kill you." She threatened, pulling out her dagger |
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Heavy Downpours, Flood Warning
