A New Beginning

 Prim Council Announcement:

"The operation of the order enforcement units in the Central Raj area is proceeding according to plan. Our actions are aimed at eliminating dangerous elements that threaten the stability and safety of our citizens. In recent days, we have witnessed increased resistance from groups associated with known terrorist organizations. These groups target defenseless villages whose inhabitants have refused to cooperate. We call upon all citizens to remain vigilant and to cooperate with the authorities."

Ked, Central Raj Region

Year 383 After the Awakening of the Werrens, 65th Day of the Sowingdays

Ash and dust.

Ked could feel tiny particles clinging to the damp skin of his sweaty face. Acrid smoke crept into his nose and throat as he stepped cautiously across the cracked ground. The sun barely pierced the rising black smoke, yet he felt like it was baking him alive.

“I’ll never get used to this,” he murmured quietly, more to himself than expecting a reply.

Before him stretched a small settlement—or what remained of it. Tiny houses, their wooden roofs caved in on themselves, surrounded by a low palisade, now broken and burned. Ked wiped a hand across his damp face and looked around. At first glance, there was nothing alive here. Only silence, broken now and then by the crackling of dying flames.

“Move it, Ked! Shake that ass!” came Leimar’s voice from behind.

The man was like stone. Cold, solid, relentless. Sometimes Ked wondered if there was anything in this world that could ever rattle the Gramps’ right hand. So far, he hadn’t found it. But he also knew that if he didn’t obey, the man wouldn’t hesitate to shove him forward. That, too, was part of the routine among the Scavengers—as they called themselves now. And since he wasn’t in the mood for yet another painful jab to the back, he decided to comply.

Still, he couldn’t shake the strange feeling crawling up the back of his neck.

Something bad had happened here. Really bad. And he doubted he was the only one who could feel it.

His gaze slid to the center of the street, between the charred wreckage—and froze. It wasn’t the first time they’d walked through a burned-out settlement. In fact, he’d seen enough by now to believe that nothing could shake him anymore. But right now, he found out he was wrong again.

Bodies.

Piled like rag dolls, covered in dust and ash. Some were reduced to black silhouettes, burned so completely it was impossible to tell if they had been men, women—or children. And there were too many. Whoever had lived here had likely burned on that pyre.

Ked felt his throat tighten as he tried to breathe in. He felt sick. Not just from what he saw, but mostly from what he felt. The stench of scorched flesh flooded his nose, and his stomach reacted the only way it knew how.

“Redhead’s puking again,” Lira announced.

Her scarred face twisted into a mocking grin as she snorted with amusement. Then she tossed her head with disdain, her long braid tracing a graceful arc through the air. The laughter that echoed through the burned-out village felt utterly out of place—but no one seemed to mind.

Ked straightened up and wiped his mouth with disgust. He felt a little better, but still pulled his scarf up over his face, just in case—to shield his nose from the worst of the stench.

Leimar, meanwhile, wandered the ruins, his eyes scanning everything with focused attention. Ked knew he was looking for signs. Any signs that might tell them what had really happened here.

So far, they were groping in the dark.

It wasn’t the first time they’d arrived too late. Someone was burning these villages down just before they showed up—but still, no one knew why.

They only had a hunch that it was definitely connected to them.

Though this time… something felt different.

“Hey, you guys might wanna see this!”

Ked had stopped in front of one of the burned houses, a strange knot in his gut as he stared at the wall before him. It was scorched by fire—but the heat hadn’t managed to erase what had been written on it.

THE PRICE OF LOYALTY

Silence settled, broken only by the crackling of smoldering debris. Leimar, who had joined him, frowned. He ran his fingers over the deep gouges in the wall, as if trying to judge how long the words had been there. 

“Well, that settles it,” he said coldly. “No doubt now—they mean business.”

Ked’s lips stayed pressed together, but his thoughts were spinning like a storm. It was a warning.

And yet… something didn’t add up.

“I don’t mean to be weird or anything,” Lira said, “but who’s that message actually for?”

Ked turned to her. She was tilting her head thoughtfully, studying the jagged letters—and clearly, she too felt the layered meaning behind the carved message.

Leimar narrowed his gaze. He wiped a hand over his face and took a deep breath. Now he saw it too.

“Clever bastards,” he cursed, scanning the surroundings.

This settlement was just one of many they sometimes visited. They weren’t exactly supporters, but they showed sympathy. Gave them food and water, sometimes sold them supplies for a few arens. You couldn’t call them allies or fighters. But even that little bit was enough to get them turned to ash.

The price of loyalty.

But loyalty to whom?

“What now?”

Skinny Erv scratched his head, clearly uncomfortable with everyone just standing around, staring at a wall he couldn’t even read.

“Take it down. Make sure no one finds it. Then grab anything useful, and we’re out of here,” Leimar ordered.

The Scavengers scattered through the ruins, searching every corner for anything worth salvaging.

Meanwhile, Ked and the mountain of a man, Gorun, set to work tearing down the wall into rubble.

As they pounded the hard stone, Ked paused.

He was sure he’d heard something—but now the air was filled only with the voices of Scavengers arguing over what to take and what to leave, broken by the rhythmic thuds of the collapsing wall.

He shook his head. Must’ve imagined it.

But then he heard it again.

He raised his hand, signaling Gorun to stop pounding. He strained his ears.

This time, he heard it more clearly—a faint, barely audible voice beneath the rubble.

He looked at Gorun and gestured for him to listen. Gorun’s eyes widened with surprise, and together they dove toward the sound, shoveling debris aside until they reached the original floor of the ruined house.

“Trapdoor,” Ked said aloud, unnecessarily, as he stared at the wooden hatch leading underground.

By now, the others had gathered around, and together they managed to pry open the jammed entrance.

From the darkness, a pair of terrified eyes flashed up at them.

They belonged to a child—a young boy, no older than ten.

He was filthy, tear-streaked, and stank of urine.

But he was alive.

And judging by the look on his face, he knew exactly what had happened up here.

When they left the settlement, Ked was certain they’d never come back. Just like they’d never return to the other three they’d found in the past few days. But unlike those others, this time—they had something new.

They had a witness. Someone who had seen it all.

Ked didn’t know if it would help.

But he believed Gramps would know how to use it to their advantage.

***

At first glance, the Scavengers’ camp looked disorganized and chaotic.

Children darted between campfires, leaping over scattered gear. Small clusters of people chatted among themselves and occasionally got around to whatever work needed doing.

And yet Ked knew the place ran on strict order.

Gramps understood all too well that if this ragtag group was to live and function together, they had to stay busy—always.

An idle mind and idle hands were the quickest way to chaos and collapse.

So here, everyone had their place, with fixed duties.

Ked, for example, was in charge of gear. Every morning, he spent hours cleaning weapons and patching up the often improvised equipment. It was tedious work, but it gave him undeniable value in the camp—enough to secure his place among the others.

And ever since Stinkbag Petko didn’t return one day, Ked had been “promoted”—as he half-ironically called the fact that he was now occasionally taken along on grueling trips into the surrounding lands.

He didn’t enjoy them.

But he knew it was the only way to prove he wasn’t just Ked, the redhead everyone laughed at more than they respected.

Then came a day like this one.

And he found himself wondering if maybe it wouldn’t be better to stick to cleaning weapons. At least then, he wouldn’t have to see the horrors that later came crawling into his sleep in the shape of nightmares.

The children squealed with delight when they spotted the group returning to camp. For now, no one had noticed the heavy tension hanging over them. The joy hadn’t reached their faces.

They were supposed to return with supplies and good news. Instead, they brought only what hadn’t burned—remnants taken from slaughtered settlers. And in Gorun’s arms, a boy—petrified to the bone.

What little they’d managed to get out of him…was enough to cause real concern.

“How many now?” Leimar asked as he bent over a map spread out on an old barrel, rubbing his bare scalp with a worried hand. Even his voice was quiet and weary.

“Four,” Gorun answered, spitting on the ground. He jabbed a finger at the map so Leimar could mark their location.

“People dead, last two settlements burned. Definitely the same signature—only getting nastier with each one.”

“And when we got there, it was still smoldering. Doesn’t that seem off to you?” Lira cut in, flipping her braid over her shoulder.

“They knew we’d show up. By the whiptail, how could they have known?”

Leimar straightened up with a sigh, letting his gaze sweep across those gathered.

“That’s the question. Either someone’s been running their mouth more than they should… or we’re being watched.”

Ked, sitting a little ways off, felt the words resonate deep inside.

Someone running their mouth?

It sounded vague—but the meaning was clear.

Leimar was saying they had a traitor among them.

It was more likely than being tracked.

If those bastards really knew where the Scavengers were, they’d go after them directly—skip the terrorizing of settlements that barely had any connection to them.

But no—clearly, they still didn’t know the location.

Which meant that if someone was leaking information, they were being damn careful to keep themselves out of the blast zone.

And so the innocents paid the price.

“What if it was someone from the settlement?” Erv suggested hesitantly, nervously scratching at his patchy beard. “I mean… we don’t know how many lived there, right? Maybe not all of them were in that pile. Maybe the kid knows?”

“Bullshit,” Lira snapped, cutting him off before he could continue.

“Settlements don’t know if or when we’ll show up. They don’t have any info that could lead those bastards to us. The kid said it too. They came without warning. Didn’t ask a single question. If his mom hadn’t shoved him down that hole, he’d be lying there with the rest.”

“So it is someone from our side,” Gorun hissed, slamming his fist against a tree.

Then his gaze shifted—and locked on Ked.

He jerked his chin in his direction.

“You’ve betrayed once already. Your own family. I wouldn’t be surprised if you did it again.”

Ked just sneered and shot back a crude gesture, like the words hadn’t hit him at all.

But he’d expected it.

Gorun was predictable—but he had a sharp aim when it came to stabbing deep.

And he’d said out loud what most of them had likely thought for a long time.

He’d turned on his own sister to help Gramps and his people.

But gratitude had never come.

Only the invisible brand on his forehead—marking him as someone who could betray his own blood without blinking.

The tension was rising.

Ked watched as the arguments flared. Lira tried to calm Gorun, Erv waved frantically toward the map, and a few others just stood in silence, watching it all build. Even the children, who had been running in a noisy little group nearby, drifted toward the farthest firepit.

Ked caught sight of black-haired Jara, sitting beside the frightened boy they’d brought back.

She was trying to coax him into eating from a bowl she held out to him.

“Quiet!”

Gramps’ voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

He stood at the edge of the group, scanning them with a gaze full of anger. Everyone obeyed. Silence fell. His presence always carried weight—whether he spoke or not.

The camp quieted, broken only by the popping of a nearby fire.

“They know about us,” he said, confirming what they all already suspected.

“They’re trying to scare us. Which means we’re a real problem for them. The fact they’ve sent killers after us only proves it. And that’s a good thing. They have to take us seriously if we ever want to achieve anything.”

He stroked his greying beard, then gave a bitter smile.

“The people hunting us rely on fear. They believe that if we’re afraid enough, we’ll make a mistake.”

He paused, letting his eyes sweep across everyone present.

“But we’re not afraid, are we?”

The question hung in the air.

Ked lowered his gaze.

He was afraid.

He didn’t want to end up like the people they’d found today—burned to ash, torched alive.

“Fear my ass,” Gorun muttered and spat angrily.

“But if we let them keep wiping out villages, sooner or later, everyone will turn against us.”

Leimar nodded in agreement.

“Exactly. That’s the real plan. That’s why they left that message.

If someone else had found it, they could’ve easily thought we did it—because the village didn’t cooperate. It’s not just Prim that hates us. This could turn even our possible allies against us.”

A murmur of unease rippled through the group again.

It was clear they’d entered uncharted territory.

And they’d need a new, bold answer.

“We need to change the rules of the game,” Gramps concluded.

“And even the score.”

“How?” Leimar asked bluntly—but it said everything.

Gramps leaned against the barrel where the map lay and looked over the gathered faces.

“It’s time for the next step,” he said quietly.

“I spoke with the Shade two days ago. He gave me a new set of coordinates.”

A murmur ran through the group. None of them really knew who—or what—the Shade was, but every time he’d passed on a tip, it had been worth it.

The Shade was a phantom.

Invisible—but most of all, infallible.

Gramps traced a finger across the map until it stopped at a place where there was… nothing. Just a valley in the middle of nowhere.

“Here. A supply hub. According to the intel, they’ve got an ammo depot and provisions for the southern front stored there. Their operations in that sector rely on this place.

If we hit it, we won’t just disrupt their logistics—we’ll remind them who we are.”

“Risky,” Leimar said.

“If someone from our side has been leaking intel, they could be waiting for us there.

And it’s going to be well-guarded.”

“I know,” Gramps nodded.

“But it’s a risk we have to take.This was never a game for the faint of heart.”

“You realize, though, after what we pulled off in Prim… we can’t afford losses like that again?”

A heavy silence fell over the camp.

Mentioning their greatest action was like twisting a blade.

Prim had been a triumph.

But they’d left half their people behind—each for their own reasons. It didn’t matter that Prim had needed almost a year to recover from the blast. Even now, no one knew who was behind the attack.

Those who’d fallen back then were Gramps’s pride. They carried his ideals, his discipline, his resolve. Everything the current Scavengers lacked. Now, they were just hungry for blood. Where the old group fought for belief, the new one fought for revenge.

“And what about the Shade?” Lira asked. “If he’s so damn smart, why doesn’t he do it himself?”

“That’s not his role. Never was,” Gramps cut her off coldly.

“The Shade does what’s necessary.

And so do we.”

“How can you even be sure it’s a good tip?” Gorun growled.

“Sounds like a clean trap to me.”

“The Shade has never been wrong,” Gramps replied calmly.

“If he says the hit matters—then it matters.”

“Unless someone blabs before we even get there,” Gorun muttered.

“And what about casualties?” Erv asked quietly.

“This one’s huge. By Scavenger standards, massive. You sure they can pull it off?”

“They have to,” Gramps said.

“And they have to get used to the idea that any one of us might not come back. That’s the price of being the only ones who still have the guts to resist.”

Gramps’s words triggered a wave of irritated reactions, and the debate soon dissolved into a chaotic chorus where everyone wanted to have their say. Tired and sick of how these talks always ended up the same way, Ked got up and wandered across the camp in search of something to eat.

The camp had already returned to its usual rhythm. Most of the people he passed didn’t seem to register the weight of what had just happened—or the unease hanging in the air.

Ked had never truly connected with the Scavengers. Maybe because he hadn’t lived their life, hadn’t gone through what they had. Instead, he preferred to seek out the familiar faces—those who had come with him from Karhen Rouz. Like black-haired Jara, who now sat on the far side of camp, trying to calm a crying child.

But the last thing Ked wanted to hear right now was a kid’s sobbing, so he changed course and shuffled toward the field kitchen nearby, where a massive pot of watery mash sat steaming.

His father had once sworn that greenbean was the tastiest legume in all of Raj. Ked had yet to find even the faintest proof of that claim. But it was warm. And filling.

And after this past winter, when the group had barely avoided starving, he’d learned to appreciate food he would’ve turned his nose up at before.

He ladled out a portion and began eating, lost in thought. But peace didn’t last long. Out of the corner of his eye, he sensed someone approaching. He turned his head.

Lira.

The council must’ve finally wrapped up, and she’d apparently decided it was time to eat.

When she saw him, she sneered.

Ked knew she didn’t like him—or anyone from the group that had come from Karhen Rouz, really. And that hadn’t changed much, even after the Scavengers showed up. At least they’d helped nudge her opinion a little more in their favor. There was always someone worse, and the Scavengers were the lowest of the low.

Still, her contempt stung. Maybe because Ked had been fascinated by her since the moment they met. She was tough, unyielding, sharp-tongued. The exact opposite of most women he’d known. And yet, somewhere deep inside, he also knew he was better off staying away from her.

She ignored him, like talking to someone like him wasn’t worth her time. But when she caught a whiff of the mash, her nose wrinkled in disgust.

“You cook this?”

Ked realized she was talking to him now—and waiting for an answer. He only managed to shake his head.

“So Jara then?

By the whiptail, that girl’s nothing like her mother.”

Ked couldn’t help it—he burst out laughing.

Lira’s tone had been so poisonous and yet so spot-on that it sounded more like a joke than an insult. She looked at him with a slightly amused expression, as if even she was surprised she’d made him laugh.

“At least you’ve got a sense of humor,” she said eventually.

And for a moment, it seemed like she might say something more.

Like maybe she was hesitating.

But the feeling vanished as quickly as it came.

Ked watched her carry off her dinner, and for a brief moment, it felt like everything in the camp was relatively normal. But it was only surface-deep.

Beneath it all lay the crushing weight of their existence.

Everything had been going downhill for the past year, and Ked felt like Gramps refused to see it.

What he’d seen in that scorched village was just the culmination of everything that had been crashing down on them ever since the Scavengers joined their ranks.

Everyone knew it.

But no one had the guts to say it out loud.

And Ked couldn’t shake the feeling that, because of that, everything in this camp—from the field kitchen to Gramps’s grand plans—was bound to burn to ash in the end.

He scooped another spoonful of mash but realized the taste had completely vanished from his mouth.

His gaze drifted back to the spot where the meeting had taken place.

And he couldn’t help it.

Gorun’s words echoed in his mind.

“Unless someone blabs before we even get there.”

The sentence hammered at his brain like a nail being driven in, over and over.

Traitor.

No one had to say it aloud.

The poison had already entered their bloodstream—spreading doubt, corroding trust.

Now anyone could be a suspect.

Ked wiped his hands on his pants and clenched them into fists. How were they supposed to trust each other, when someone had made them question even that?

Whoever had left that message on the wall… knew exactly what they were doing.