William left before dawn.
He told no one. Not Elara. Not Julian. Not Marcus. He simply packed a bag, strapped a simple iron knife to his belt, and walked out the eastern gate. The guard on duty—Finn, the young man from before—watched him go but said nothing.
The eastern road stretched before him, gray in the early light. Kaelen and her caravan had left three days ago. He could catch them if he walked fast.
The black sword remained in its lead box. He had not opened it. He had not asked permission. He was going east to help, not with the sword, but with his blood.
His blood still carried traces of the Rust. Not enough to corrupt. Enough to heal.
He walked.
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The first village was a day's journey from Veridias.
The people there were farmers, mostly, tending crops that grew in thin
