One Year Later
The snow melted.
Then returned.
Then melted again.
Grog lost count of the days somewhere around month four. It didn't matter. What mattered was the routine. The slow, steady grind of training and watching and waiting.
Aldric trained with them now.
Every morning, before dawn, the four of them met at the edge of the training ground. Grog led the drills—the same brutal exercises he'd used in the old timeline, the ones that had turned a party of misfits into legend. Axe work. Sword work. Footwork. Endurance. Pain.
Aldric complained constantly.
He also never missed a session.
"You're pushing too hard," Lira said one evening, watching Aldric limp toward his tent. "He's going to break."
"He won't break." Grog's voice was flat. "He's stronger than that."
"Stronger isn't the same as unbreakable."
Grog looked at her. Said nothing.
Lira held his gaze for a moment, then sighed. "Fine. But when he collapses, I'm saying I told you so."
"He won't collapse."
He did collapse. Three days later.
---
Aldric hit the ground mid-swing, his sword flying from his grip, his body crumpling like a puppet with cut strings.
Grog was there before he stopped moving. Kneeling. Checking. Breathing.
"Just exhausted," Mirena said, arriving behind him. She'd been watching from the edge, as she always did—her role was research, not combat. "He needs rest. Real rest. Not four hours and back to work."
Grog looked at Aldric's face. Pale. Young. Tired.
"He's been pushing himself harder than we have," Lira said quietly. "Training with us in the mornings. Training with his unit during the day. Then lying awake at night, staring at the tent ceiling, waiting for the full moon." She shook her head. "He's been running on nothing for months."
Grog carried Aldric to his tent.
Laid him on his bedroll.
Stood there, watching him breathe.
This is my fault, he thought. I pushed too hard. I forgot he's still young. Still human.
"He'll be fine."
Mirena's voice behind him.
Grog didn't turn.
"He'll be fine," she repeated. "But you need to remember something."
"What?"
"Twenty-five years is a long time. You can't sprint the whole distance." A pause. "None of us can."
Grog looked at Aldric's sleeping face.
Then nodded slowly.
---
Aldric woke twelve hours later.
Stumbled to the cookfire. Found Grog sitting there with a bowl of stew and a hard look.
"You passed out."
Aldric blinked. "I what?"
"Passed out. Mid-swing. Hit the ground like a sack of grain."
"Oh." A pause. "Is that bad?"
Grog stared at him.
Aldric stared back.
Then, slowly, Grog's mouth twitched.
Almost a smile.
"Eat," he said, pushing the bowl toward him. "Then we talk about pacing."
Aldric ate.
They talked.
After that, training changed. Still hard—Grog wouldn't compromise on that. But smarter. More rest. More recovery. Less trying to cram twenty-five years of growth into one.
Aldric complained about that too.
But he also stopped collapsing.
---
The full moons continued.
Every month, without fail, Aldric walked in his sleep. To the edge of camp. Into the trees. Toward the Grove.
And every month, Grog followed.
Not interfering. Just watching. Making sure he came back.
The hunters appeared sometimes. Never close. Never speaking. Just... there. In the distance. Watching.
Watching them watch Aldric.
Watching Aldric walk.
Watching it all with those patient, patient eyes.
" They're waiting for something," Mirena said after the sixth moon. "Not just the final moment. Something sooner."
Lira frowned. "Like what?"
"I don't know. But they're too calm. Too patient. They should be worried—we're training, preparing, building something. Instead they just... watch."
Grog thought about that.
The stone pulsed against his hip.
Still warm.
Still connected.
---
On the night of the seventh full moon, something changed.
Aldric walked, as always.
Grog followed, as always.
But this time, when Aldric reached the edge of the trees, he stopped.
Turned.
Looked directly at Grog.
"Grog," he said. Not sleepwalking voice. Normal voice. Awake voice.
Grog froze.
Aldric blinked. Looked around. Confused.
"What am I—" He looked down at himself. At his feet, bare in the snow. At the tree line ahead. "I was walking again, wasn't I?"
Grog moved closer. "You remember?"
"This time. A little." Aldric's brow furrowed. "I felt—something. Pulling. And then I just—woke up." He looked at Grog. "Is that new?"
Grog didn't know.
Mirena would know. Or might. He'd ask her tomorrow.
For now, he just nodded toward camp. "Come on. Before you freeze."
They walked back together.
Behind them, three pairs of red eyes watched from the trees.
For the first time, they weren't watching Aldric.
They were watching Grog.
---
The next morning, Mirena had no answers.
"I've never heard of that happening," she admitted. "Waking mid-walk. Remembering." She looked at Aldric with sharp interest. "Did you feel anything else? Any different from other nights?"
Aldric thought. "The pulling was stronger. Like—" He searched for words. "Like something wanted me to hurry. To get there faster."
"To the Grove?"
"Yeah. And then—" He stopped. Frowned. "Then I heard something. A voice. Not the hunters' voice. Different. Older. It said—" Another stop. "It said my name. And I woke up."
Silence.
Grog's hand went to the stone.
It was warmer than usual.
Much warmer.
It's changing, he thought. Something's changing.
But he didn't know what.
And that scared him more than anything.