The morning air was crisp and cool, the sky still streaked with the fading remnants of dawn. Char had been awake before the sun even rose, the weight of everything pressing too heavily on his chest to let him sleep.
He needed space.
Leaving Benjamin still snoring in their makeshift camp, he had wandered farther than before, past the clustered trees and jagged rocks, until he found a flat, open plain stretching endlessly before him. The grass was damp beneath his boots, swaying gently in the breeze. It was quiet here—peaceful in a way that made his thoughts feel less suffocating.
Finn would have loved this.
The thought came unbidden, and his chest clenched. Finn always liked wide open spaces, said they made him feel free.
His parents would have worried, though. They'd be telling him to stay close, to be careful, to not wander off too far. They always worried.
And now, they had no idea where he was.
Char inhaled deeply, rubbing a hand over his face. He couldn't keep doing this. Couldn't keep wallowing, letting the guilt and fear weigh him down. He had to get stronger.
If he wanted to survive in this world—if he wanted to find his way back home—then he couldn't afford to be weak.
His grip tightened around the hilts of his knives.
Time to train.
He stepped into a steady stance, rolling his shoulders as he unsheathed both blades. The left was thicker, heavier, while the right was thinner and lighter. His fighting style was still sloppy, nothing compared to Tess or the others, but he had been practicing. Learning.
He took a breath and moved.
A forward lunge—slash! The left blade cut through the air with weighty force.
A quick sidestep—strike! The right blade flickered forward, swift and precise.
He spun on his heel, switching his grip—parry, counter!
Each motion was clumsy at first, but he kept going, adjusting, refining. Faster. Stronger. Smoother. He imagined an opponent before him, a shadow, an enemy, a challenge. He fought against it, attacking and evading, pushing himself harder with every movement.
Sweat dripped down his brow, his breath came in sharp exhales, but he didn't stop.
Again.
And again.
His muscles burned, his arms ached, but he gritted his teeth and kept swinging.
He had spent so long feeling like dead weight, watching the others fight while he just barely scraped by. But now—now, he was done being useless.
If Edmund Ardent was out there, then Char needed to be ready.
Because next time, he wouldn't just run.
Next time, he would fight
*
By the time Char finally stumbled back into camp, he was drenched in sweat, his limbs sore and aching from the relentless training session. His shirt clung uncomfortably to his skin, and his hair was damp, sticking to his forehead. He had lost track of how long he'd been out there, but the position of the sun told him it had been hours.
Benjamin was already taking apart their shelter, tying up the bedrolls and stomping out the remains of the fire. Without looking up, he grunted, "Took you long enough."
Char, still breathing hard, wiped the sweat from his brow. "Yeah, well… I was busy."
Benjamin spared him a glance, taking in his exhausted state before snorting. "If you collapse on the road, I'm leaving you behind."
Char rolled his eyes but didn't argue. He was too tired to muster a retort, and truth be told, he probably would collapse if he didn't get some rest soon.
"Come on," Benjamin said, tossing Char's pack at him. "We need to move. If we keep a good pace, we'll reach Jaffalex in about nine days."
Nine more days of walking. Of rough sleep, aching muscles, and watching his back for more attacks. Char groaned but shouldered his pack without complaint.
They set off soon after, following the dirt path that wound through the wilderness.
*
The day was long, hot, and uneventful. They walked mostly in silence, the occasional grunt from Benjamin or the rustling of leaves in the wind the only sounds breaking the monotony.
By the time the sky began turning gold and pink with the setting sun, Char was ready to drop. His body was still sorefrom training, and each step felt heavier than the last.
That was when Benjamin suddenly slowed, his gaze flickering ahead.
Char followed his eyes and saw it—a village nestled between the hills, small but lively, with smoke curling from chimneys and the distant sound of chatter.
Benjamin's expression softened, something nostalgic creeping into his normally gruff features.
"Been a long time since I passed through here," he muttered.
Char raised an eyebrow. "You know this place?"
Benjamin nodded. "Yeah. It's called Hallow's Rest. Used to stop by every now and then, back when I still had work out this way."
Char didn't ask what kind of "work" he meant. Given Benjamin's history, it could have been anything.
The older man rolled his shoulders and started walking again. "We'll stop here for the night. Better than sleeping in the dirt."
Char sighed in relief and picked up his pace. He didn't care if it was just for one night—he was more than ready to sleep in a real bed.