BATTLE CARDS

THE ROAD

The first day on the road was silent.

Garrick didn't talk. He rode ahead, his broad back a wall of silence, his eyes constantly scanning the treeline. Ren followed, his body aching with every step of the horse, his mind a storm of grief and guilt and the memory of Pell's blood on his hands.

By the second day, the silence became unbearable.

"Say something," Ren said.

Garrick didn't look back. "What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know. Anything. Tell me about the capital. Tell me about Ordan. Tell me a joke, I don't care."

Garrick was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, "The capital is a pit. It's clean and rich and full of people who think the war is a story. They wear silk and drink wine and talk about the frontier like it's a myth. They don't know what it looks like when a demon tears a man in half. They don't want to know."

Ren's horse stumbled on a loose stone. He caught himself on the reins. "And Ordan?"

"He's different. He was a soldier before he was a politician. He fought in the first war. He saw things." Garrick paused. "He's old now. Tired. But he remembers."

"Does he remember my father?"

"He does."

"You knew him too."

"I did."

"Tell me."

Garrick finally looked back. His face was unreadable. "Your father was a good man. He was also a fool. He had the power to change the world, and he hid instead. He chose safety over duty. He chose you over everyone else."

Ren's hands tightened on the reins. "You think he was wrong?"

"I think he was human. I think he was scared. I think he loved you more than he loved the world." Garrick turned back to the road. "I think I would have done the same thing."

They reached the ruined village on the third day.

It was a small settlement, barely a dot on the map—a dozen houses, a well, a chapel. Or it had been. Now it was a graveyard of blackened timber and broken stone. The air smelled of smoke and rot.

Garrick stopped his horse at the edge of the village. His hand went to his sword.

"Stay close," he said. "Don't touch anything."

They rode through the ruins slowly. Ren saw bodies—not many, but enough. A man in a doorway. A woman by the well. A child curled up against a wall like she was sleeping.

"Demons?" Ren asked.

"Maybe. Maybe not." Garrick's voice was grim. "Could be raiders. Could be Varek's people. The frontier is full of people who kill for what they need."

Ren looked at the child. She couldn't have been more than six years old. Her hair was dark and tangled, and her hands were small and still.

He thought about Pell.

"Ren." Seraphine's voice was quiet in his mind. "You can't save them. They're already dead."

"I know."

"Then keep moving. You have to survive."

He was about to urge his horse forward when he heard it. A small, muffled sound. A whimper.

He stopped.

"Did you hear that?" he asked.

Garrick frowned. "What?"

The sound came again. From beneath a collapsed wall near the chapel. A small, desperate sound.

Ren dismounted before Garrick could stop him. He crossed the village square, his boots crunching on broken glass, and knelt by the rubble. The child was there—not the dead one, but another one. A boy. Maybe ten years old. His leg was pinned under a beam, and his face was streaked with dirt and tears.

"Help," the boy whispered. "Please."

Garrick appeared beside Ren. He looked at the boy, then at the rubble. "We can't take him with us."

"We can't leave him."

"He'll slow us down. He'll get us killed."

"Then we die with him."

Garrick stared at him. For a moment, something flickered in his eyes—surprise, maybe, or respect. Then he shook his head.

"Fine. Get him out. I'll keep watch."

Ren pulled at the beam. It was heavy, too heavy for him. His broken hand screamed in protest. He used his good hand, bracing his feet, lifting with everything he had. The beam shifted. The boy screamed.

"Hold on," Ren said. "Hold on."

The beam moved an inch. Then another. The boy pulled himself free, and Ren dropped the beam, and they both fell backward onto the cobblestones.

The boy's leg was broken. Badly. He was crying, sobbing, clutching at Ren's shirt. Ren held him. He didn't know what else to do.

"Garrick," he said. "We need to set his leg."

Garrick was standing at the edge of the village, his sword drawn. "We don't have time."

"Make time."

Garrick turned. His face was pale. "Ren. We have to go. Now."

And then Ren heard it. The howl. Not a demon's howl—a hound's. A hunting hound.

"We're being tracked," Garrick said. "Sable's hunters. They found us."

They ran.

Garrick carried the boy, his sword in his other hand. Ren ran beside him, his lungs burning, his broken hand forgotten. The howls grew louder behind them. Three hounds, maybe four. Low-tier demons? Or just dogs trained to hunt human scent?

"To the trees!" Garrick shouted. "We can lose them in the forest!"

They reached the treeline just as the first hound burst into the village. Ren caught a glimpse of it—not a demon, but something worse. A thing bred for hunting. Tall and lean, with gray skin and a mouth full of teeth that shouldn't have fit in a dog's jaw.

He didn't stop to look. He just ran.

They ran for an hour.

The forest was thick and dark, and the ground was soft with fallen leaves. Garrick knew the way—he moved through the trees like a ghost, picking paths that left no trail. The boy was unconscious now, his head lolling against Garrick's shoulder.

Finally, Garrick stopped. They were in a small clearing, hidden from the main trail. He laid the boy down and leaned against a tree, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"We lost them," Ren said. "For now."

"For now." Garrick slid down the tree and sat on the ground. His face was gray with pain. He was bleeding—not a lot, but enough.

"You're hurt," Ren said.

"I know."

"Let me see."

Garrick shook his head. "It's not deep. I'll live." He looked at the boy. "We need to set his leg. And then we need to keep moving. We can't stay here."

Ren knelt beside the boy. His leg was bent at a wrong angle, the bone visible beneath the skin. The boy was awake again, his eyes wide and glassy with pain.

"This is going to hurt," Ren said. "I'm sorry."

He looked at his card.

He thought about the healer at the frontier. He thought about the power she'd given him—the healing, the warmth. He thought about what it had cost him.

Memories. Small ones. Things you won't miss until you try to remember them.

He touched the boy's leg.

The power flowed through him. It was weak—so weak—but it was enough. The bone shifted, the skin knit, the boy's screams turned to a gasp of relief. It was a fraction of what a real healer could do, but it was enough.

The power faded.

Ren collapsed backward. His nose was bleeding again.

The boy was staring at him. "You... you're a wielder."

"I'm nobody," Ren said.

"You saved me."

Ren closed his eyes. He tried to remember something. Anything. The healer's warning echoed in his head. He tried to remember Pell's face. He could see it—her smile, her eyes, the way she'd stood in front of him.

He tried to remember something else. A street. A song. His mother's voice.

It was gone. He couldn't remember what she sounded like. He couldn't remember if she'd ever held him.

He opened his eyes. "We need to go," he said. "Sable's hunters won't give up."

Garrick was staring at him. His eyes were strange. "You used the card."

"I had to."

"Do you know what it cost you?"

"I know." Ren stood up. He was shaking. "It doesn't matter."

"It does. You can't just—"

"It doesn't matter." Ren's voice was hard. "He's a child. He's alive. That's what matters."

Garrick was silent for a long moment. Then he nodded.

"Okay," he said. "We need to move. The hunters are still out there."

They didn't talk again until nightfall.

They found shelter in a cave at the base of a hill. It was small and damp, but it was hidden. Garrick built a small fire and cooked some dried meat, and the boy—whose name was Tomas, which hurt Ren's heart—ate silently, his eyes fixed on Ren like he was a god.

Ren didn't feel like a god. He felt like a thief. He'd stolen something from himself to save a life, and he didn't know if it was worth it.

"You did the right thing," Seraphine said.

"Did I?"

"Yes. You always do."

"I don't feel like it."

"You're not supposed to." Her voice was soft. "Being a hero isn't about feeling good. It's about doing what's right, even when it costs you. Especially when it costs you."

Ren looked at the fire. "I can't remember my mother's voice."

"I know."

"She used to sing to me. My father told me. I can't remember the song."

"I'm sorry."

"It doesn't matter." He wiped his eyes. "We need to get to the capital. We need to find Ordan. We need to stop Varek."

"And Malachar?"

"And Malachar."

Seraphine was silent for a long moment.

"Ren," she said. "There's something I need to tell you."

"What?"

"About the card. About what you are." She paused. "You're not just a wielder. You're not just a boy with a card. You're something else. Something the world hasn't seen in a thousand years."

"What do you mean?"

"The zone. The place you went when you commanded Sable to kneel." Her voice was trembling. "That's not a power. That's not a spell. That's oneness. That's what happens when a wielder and a card become one."

Ren stared at the card. It was warm in his hand.

"You're saying I reached oneness? I thought that took years."

"It does. For most people." She paused. "For you, it took ten days. And it wasn't even a full oneness. Just a glimpse. Just a taste."

"Why?"

"Because you're not most people. Because the card chose you. Because—" She stopped.

"Because what?"

"Because I chose you." Her voice was barely a whisper. "I didn't choose you because you were kind. I chose you because you were the only one who could do what needs to be done. You're the one who can stop my father. You're the one who can save the world."

"And if I don't want to?"

"Then you'll die. And so will everyone you love. And the world will fall." She paused. "I'm sorry. I wish I could give you a choice. But I can't."

Ren closed his eyes. He was so tired. He was so scared. He wanted to go home. He wanted to wake up in his small room above the laundry and hear Toma's voice outside and know that everything was going to be okay.

But Toma was dead. The room was gone. The world was falling.

He opened his eyes.

"Okay," he said. "I'll do it."

"Ren—"

"I'll do it. But not because you chose me. Not because of prophecy. Not because I'm the only one." He looked at Garrick, at Tomas, at the darkness beyond the cave. "I'll do it because it's the right thing to do. Because people are dying. Because I can help."

Seraphine was silent for a long time.

"That," she said finally, "is why I chose you."

END OF CHAPTER 12

Next: Chapter 13 — The Villagell out there."

They didn't talk again until nightfall.

They found shelter in a cave at the base of a hill. It was small and damp, but it was hidden. Garrick built a small fire and cooked some dried meat, and the boy—whose name was Tomas, which hurt Ren's heart—ate silently, his eyes fixed on Ren like he was a god.

Ren didn't feel like a god. He felt like a thief. He'd stolen something from himself to save a life, and he didn't know if it was worth it.

"You did the right thing," Seraphine said.

"Did I?"

"Yes. You always do."

"I don't feel like it."

"You're not supposed to." Her voice was soft. "Being a hero isn't about feeling good. It's about doing what's right, even when it costs you. Especially when it costs you."

Ren looked at the fire. "I can't remember my mother's voice."

"I know."

"She used to sing to me. My father told me. I can't remember the song."

"I'm sorry."

"It doesn't matter." He wiped his eyes. "We need to get to the capital. We need to find Ordan. We need to stop Varek."

"And Malachar?"

"And Malachar."

Seraphine was silent for a long moment.

"Ren," she said. "There's something I need to tell you."

"What?"

"About the card. About what you are." She paused. "You're not just a wielder. You're not just a boy with a card. You're something else. Something the world hasn't seen in a thousand years."

"What do you mean?"

"The zone. The place you went when you commanded Sable to kneel." Her voice was trembling. "That's not a power. That's not a spell. That's oneness. That's what happens when a wielder and a card become one."

Ren stared at the card. It was warm in his hand.

"You're saying I reached oneness? I thought that took years."

"It does. For most people." She paused. "For you, it took ten days. And it wasn't even a full oneness. Just a glimpse. Just a taste."

"Why?"

"Because you're not most people. Because the card chose you. Because—" She stopped.

"Because what?"

"Because I chose you." Her voice was barely a whisper. "I didn't choose you because you were kind. I chose you because you were the only one who could do what needs to be done. You're the one who can stop my father. You're the one who can save the world."

"And if I don't want to?"

"Then you'll die. And so will everyone you love. And the world will fall." She paused. "I'm sorry. I wish I could give you a choice. But I can't."

Ren closed his eyes. He was so tired. He was so scared. He wanted to go home. He wanted to wake up in his small room above the laundry and hear Toma's voice outside and know that everything was going to be okay.

But Toma was dead. The room was gone. The world was falling.

He opened his eyes.

"Okay," he said. "I'll do it."

"Ren—"

"I'll do it. But not because you chose me. Not because of prophecy. Not because I'm the only one." He looked at Garrick, at Tomas, at the darkness beyond the cave. "I'll do it because it's the right thing to do. Because people are dying. Because I can help."

Seraphine was silent for a long time.

"That," she said finally, "is why I chose you."