You in the Ruins

sage 5

Sage’s heart hammered against her ribs as she stared at Iain, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. “What’s it like there? In the city? What… what do they expect from someone like me?”

Iain’s green eyes softened for a moment, almost pitying, but he kept his voice steady. “The city’s walls are high, stone and iron. Inside, it’s order—your father’s order, Ronan’s father’s. Men train, women work, children are raised for the next generation. For you…” He hesitated, choosing his words. “If you’re marked as a breeder, you’ll be housed clean, fed well. Watched. Collared for the bedrooms. The strong ones get claimed by the high men. The rest…” He looked away. “They serve whoever wants them.”

Sage’s stomach lurched. Breeder. The word landed like a stone in deep water. She was a virgin—had always imagined a slow courtship, stolen glances across a harvest dance, a man who’d ask her father for her hand, a simple wedding under the open sky with wildflowers in her hair. Not this. Not being sorted like one of her mares, chosen for bloodlines and hips, used until she carried, then used again. Her horses at least were loved—brushed until their coats gleamed, carrots snuck from her apron pocket, soft words whispered into their ears. No one would sneak her carrots. No one would stroke her cheek and tell her she was beautiful just because. She’d be stock. Nothing more.

The fear coiled tighter, cold and suffocating, until the first horn blast shattered the air.

Iain froze, head c****d, counting. One. Two.

He was on his feet in an instant, sword already drawn, vanishing into the darkening camp without another word.

Sage yanked against the ropes binding her wrists, panic surging. “What’s happening? Iain—someone tell me!”

Shouts erupted everywhere—men cursing, boots pounding dirt, metal clanging. Then the roar came: deep, guttural, rolling across the camp like thunder made of hunger. A bear. She’d only ever seen black bears—smaller, skittish things that ran from noise. This sound was different. Bigger. Angrier.

Ronan burst from his tent, weapon in hand, barking orders. The roar answered again, closer, and Sage’s blood turned to ice. She twisted harder, ropes biting into skin. Titan snorted beside her, ears pinned, nostrils flaring—he wanted out, wanted to run, but he wouldn’t leave her. Not ever.

Crossbows twanged. Bolts thudded into something massive. The bear roared louder, enraged, not deterred. Sage caught glimpses through the milling bodies: it was enormous, fur matted and dark, foam dripping from its jaws. Fall hunger. The smell of roasting hog and campfires had pulled it straight in.

It charged.

One massive paw swept out. Three men went down in a single motion. The first’s face simply vanished in red ruin. The second fumbled for his sword; claws glanced off his bracer and opened his throat in a bright spray. The third took the tail end of the swipe—armor absorbed the worst, but the force hurled him flat. The bear was on him before he could rise, pinning him under its bulk. A scream—high, desperate—cut off with a wet crunch as jaws closed around his skull.

Sage’s vision swam. She fought the ropes until her wrists bled. Titan’s panic spiked; he reared, hooves slashing air, the copper scent of blood thick in the wind.

The bear’s head snapped toward them. Toward her.

Its eyes—small, black, bottomless—locked on Sage. It charged.

“No—!” Sage’s scream tore out raw.

Titan met it head-on.

The horse exploded forward, ears flat, teeth bared in fury. The bear reared to its full height—taller than two men stacked, wider than the oldest maple in the valley. Titan reared too, front hooves pawing, fearless.

They collided.

The bear dropped first, swiping. Titan spun, presenting his hindquarters. Sage’s breath stopped—she thought he meant to flee.

He didn’t.

As the bear lunged, Titan unleashed a full-powered kick. Hoof met skull with a crack like breaking timber. Claws raked Titan’s hock in the same instant, tearing flesh. Blood sprayed. Titan staggered, limping, but he wheeled back to Sage’s side, positioning himself between her and the monster, ears pinned, trembling but unyielding.

The bear shook its head, dazed, blood streaming from its muzzle. It gathered itself for another charge.

Ronan appeared like a shadow made flesh.

Spear in one hand, sword in the other. He moved in a blur—sword flashing in the firelight, carving a deep gash along the side of the bear’s head, taking the eye in a wet pop of fluid and blood. His muscles flexed under sweat and soot, stance wide, balanced, utterly at home in violence. Like he’d been born with steel in his hands.

Sage’s pulse roared in her ears. Fear, yes. Terror. But something else flickered too—something she refused to name. Not him. Never him.

The bear bellowed once more, turned, and fled into the dark woods, crossbow bolts jutting from its hide like quills, blood trailing behind.

Ronan spun, already shouting. “Stay sharp! Spike barricades on the weak flanks—now! Eyes on the tree line!”

Sage’s voice cracked through the chaos. “Ronan—let me help Titan! He’s hurt—please!”

He glanced at the horse—blood dripping steadily from the torn hock—then at her. A short nod. “Cut her loose.”

The ropes fell away. Sage stumbled forward, knees weak, hands shaking as she dropped beside Titan. She pressed fingers to the wound—deep but not into tendon, thank the old gods. “Hot water,” she called, voice steadier than she felt. “Clean cloth—anything. I need to flush it, wrap it. Infection kills faster than claws.”

Iain appeared almost instantly, bucket steaming, strips of linen in his arms. He set them down without a word. Sage met his eyes—grateful, silent. Friend, maybe. In this place, that was more than she’d hoped for.

Ronan’s voice cut in, low and final. “When you’re done, meet me in my tent. I have the keys to your mother’s and brother’s restraints. You hurt any of my men, or try to run, they pay for it. Understand?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He turned and strode back to the tent, disappearing through the flap.

Sage exhaled slowly. She wouldn’t rush. Titan came first.

She dipped cloth in the hot water, murmuring soft nonsense to her horse as she worked—promises of carrots, of green pastures, of never letting anyone hurt him again. Her hands moved with practiced care, cleaning, rinsing, wrapping. Every knot she tied was a small defiance.

She would finish this. She would see to Titan.

And then she would walk into that tent.

Because her mother and brother were still chained.

Because she had no choice.

Yet.