The moment shifts, and I feel it—those shadows moving in. Ambushers. I watch as Sage notices them first, sword already in hand. Cute. He thinks he’s got this. But no, not really.

I watch the panic hit him when they close in, his movements slowing just enough for me to enjoy it. You can see it in his eyes—realizing it’s not going his way. For a second, there’s a flicker of hope. Too bad.

A quick strike, and Sage’s fight is over. He drops like a rock, and the air goes still. No speeches, no dramatic last breaths. Just a little gasp, and then nothing.

It’s almost a relief to watch, really. His panic was the best part. It’s a shame to see it go so quick, but hey, I don’t mind. I’ll take what I can get.

Guess that’s it for Sage. Just another soul on the list.

Sage’s down, and I’m just getting started. But then there’s Gale—still asleep. Really? Still asleep?

I watch him, curled up against Kayla, oblivious to the whole thing. Everyone else is dealing with the aftermath of Sage’s little show, but not him. Nope. He’s still out cold, like the world hasn’t just gone to hell.

I can’t help myself. How is he still asleep through all of this? There’s always one. Always one who just doesn’t get it. He’s got no idea how close he is to being next. Doesn’t even stir as the chaos unfolds.

Honestly, at this point, I’m getting a little annoyed. Doesn’t he feel it? The shift in the air? The danger? He’s practically asking for it.

“Wake up, Gale,” I mutter, though I know he won’t hear me. “You really think you can just sleep through it all, huh? Real cute.”

But whatever. It’s not like it matters. I’ll take him when it’s his turn. But man, the ignorance? Priceless.

I glance at him again, lying there all peaceful, and I can’t help but roll my eyes. Sometimes, I think the ones who get it the least are the ones who think they have forever.

I’ll just wait. No rush. Gale’s sleep is about to end sooner than he thinks.

Kayla woke suddenly, shaking with fear from the dream. She noticed Sage, panic coursing through her. "Gale" She said, standing and grabbing one of her daggers. There's unmistakeable urgency in her voice, her hand tight around the handle of her blade

Gale stirred awake with a sharp breath, the haze of sleep pulling away as the familiar chill of the night air bit at his skin. He wasn’t sure what had woken him—maybe the soft rustle of leaves or the uneasy quiet—but the moment his eyes opened, he saw it.

Sage.

His best friend of nearly two decades, slumped against the tree like a broken statue. Blood soaked the front of his tunic, and a sword was buried deep in his side, the hilt pressing into his ribs like a cruel reminder of the violence that had torn through their peaceful night.

Gale's heart stuttered. He tried to blink the image away, tried to believe it was some twisted dream, but it wasn’t. Sage’s breath came in ragged gasps, weak and shallow, his body trembling with the effort to stay conscious.

“Sage!” Gale’s voice cracked, raw with panic, but Sage’s only response was a weak groan, his gaze barely focused, lost in some faraway place.

Gale scrambled to his feet, legs unsteady, body protesting the movement, but he didn’t care. He stumbled toward Sage, kneeling beside him, his hands shaking as they hovered over the wound, unsure where to start, how to stop the bleeding that was coming so fast.

“Sage, talk to me, man. Come on, stay with me!” His words were desperate, but they seemed to vanish into the cold night air, swallowed by the relentless reality that was sinking in. This was happening. It was real.

Sage’s lips parted, but nothing came out. Just a weak cough that stained the air with the scent of blood. His hand twitched, reaching weakly for Gale’s, but it was too slow, too weak.

Gale grabbed it anyway, holding tight, his own grip faltering as he tried to hold on to something that felt real. “Come on, Sage, don’t do this. You’ve got this... you’ve got to.”

But the words felt hollow in his mouth. There was no fight left in Sage. His best friend, the one person who had been through it all with him, was slipping away, and Gale could do nothing but watch it happen.

Sage’s chest shuddered one last time, a soft gasp escaping his lips, and then nothing.

No more words. No more breath.

Just the hollow silence of a world that had just lost something that could never be replaced.

Gale sat there, frozen, his hand still holding onto Sage’s, feeling the warmth drain from it, feeling the pulse of life fade away. His best friend was gone. And all Gale could do was sit in the aftermath, the cold bite of reality cutting through the numbness that was already spreading through him.

Kayla watched, wishing she could do something. She just walked to Gale, placing a hand on his shoulder

Gale’s breath hitched as his gaze lingered on Sage’s lifeless form, the cold air pressing against him like a constant reminder of what had been stolen. His chest was tight, and his hands shook at his sides. He couldn’t just stand there. He couldn’t just let it go.

With a growl, his fist slammed into the earth again, this time harder, the force of it sending a sharp jolt through his arm. The ground cracked beneath his knuckles, but it barely registered. The only thing that mattered was the searing need to do something.

“Damn it,” he muttered, his voice thick with grief and anger. A tear slipped down his cheek, burning like fire as it traced the curve of his face. But he wiped it away quickly, angrily, as if he could erase the weakness.

Not now. Not here.

He stood, legs unsteady for a moment, but then he straightened. The sadness that gripped him still lingered, but beneath it was a quiet resolve, an understanding that he couldn’t let this moment define him.

The ambushers who had taken Sage—who had shattered everything—were still out there. And Gale wasn’t going to let them get away with it. Not this time.

With a deep breath, he wiped the last of the emotion from his face, tucking the dagger into his belt with a sharp, purposeful motion. He turned, his steps steady, every part of him focused now on the path ahead.

The grief could wait. Revenge couldn’t.

Kayla watched him, uncertain if he wanted her to come too

Kayla decided to follow him silently, but wasn't so close that she was in danger in case he mistook her for the enemy

Eventually, Gale finds himself on the outskirts of a rundown village. His quarry is near—he can feel it. He’s been tracking them for so long, the line between hunter and hunted has blurred. This is it. The village seems abandoned, eerily quiet, as if it’s holding its breath.

Gale moves through the alleys, the shadows of old houses casting long, ominous shapes. He can hear muffled voices coming from a nearby tavern. He pauses at the door, pressing his ear against the wood. Inside, the laughter and drunken shouting ring out, a stark contrast to the calm tension in the air. He knows they’re in there. He doesn’t need to see them, he just knows.

With a sharp breath, he kicks the door open. The laughter dies instantly. The room goes still. The men inside freeze as Gale steps into the dim light, his hand on the hilt of his sword, his eyes cold, unblinking.

“You thought you could hide from me?” Gale’s voice is low, barely above a whisper, but it carries through the room like a whip. The men shift uneasily, knowing exactly who he is and why he’s here.

They know there’s no escaping this. Not now.

Kayla followed him and listened just outside the door, waiting to see if she'd be of need