Second Day of March. Late Afternoon.
The column moved slower now.
Terrain had changed—gentle slopes giving way to steeper ground, frozen streams cutting across their path, forcing detours and delays. The soldiers' breath came harder. Their boots found ice where they least expected it. Progress measured in miles, not leagues.
Aldric walked without thinking.
His body had learned the rhythm of marching months ago. Feet placed automatically. Weight shifted without conscious thought. Mind free to wander where it wanted.
It wandered to Grog.
And Mirena.
And the empty tents and the tracks leading into darkness.
Where are you?
The forest didn't answer.
---
Lira found him during a rest break.
She looked tired—dark circles under eyes, cheeks chapped from wind. Scouting ahead of a moving column meant double the distance, double the exposure, half the rest.
"Anything?" Aldric asked.
She shook her head. "No sign. They're gone."
"Could they be—"
"Ahead of us? Behind us? Dead?" Lira's voice was flat. "I don't know. The forest doesn't give up its secrets easily."
Aldric looked toward the trees.
In the old timeline, Grog had known things. Seen things. Carried the weight of two lives. Now he was out there somewhere, walking into danger alone.
And Mirena had followed.
Why? The question ate at him. Why didn't she tell us?
"She'll have a reason," Lira said, like she'd read his thoughts. "Mirena doesn't do anything without a reason."
"Doesn't make it easier."
"No. It doesn't."
They sat in silence until the horns blew, calling the column back to movement.
---
That afternoon, Aldric noticed the trees.
Noticed them the way you notice a sound that's been there all along—suddenly aware, suddenly unable to ignore. They were different here. Older. Thicker. Their branches twisted in ways that felt deliberate.
He mentioned it to the soldier beside him.
Gunnar was his name. A veteran of a dozen campaigns, missing two fingers on his left hand, missing most of his patience for young soldiers' observations.
"Trees are trees," Gunnar said.
"These feel different."
"Feel different how?"
Aldric struggled to explain. "Like they're watching."
Gunnar glanced at him. Then at the trees. Then back at Aldric.
"You've been in the woods too long," he said. "Happens to scouts sometimes. Start seeing things that aren't there."
Aldric nodded. Let it drop.
But he kept watching the trees.
And the trees kept watching back.
---
Camp that night was tense.
The column had made good progress—fifteen miles, by the officers' reckoning—but the terrain ahead looked worse. Steeper. Denser. The kind of country where armies got lost and never found their way out.
Soldiers huddled around fires, speaking in low voices. No songs tonight. No laughter. Just the crackle of flames and the rustle of wind through branches that seemed closer than they should be.
Aldric sat alone.
Not entirely alone—soldiers surrounded him on all sides. But alone in the way that mattered. Grog gone. Mirena gone. Lira out scouting somewhere in the darkness.
Just him and his thoughts.
A soldier sat beside him.
Older man. Gray hair. Face like worn leather. He carried a bowl of stew and the easy silence of someone who didn't need to fill empty space.
They ate without speaking.
After a while, the man said: "You're the one whose friends left."
Aldric tensed. "How do you know?"
"Small camp. People talk." The man ate more stew. "They'll be back."
"You don't know that."
"No. But I know the type. The ones who leave suddenly—they're either running from something or running toward something." He glanced at Aldric. "Your friends don't seem like runners."
Aldric considered this.
"They're not."
"Then they'll be back."
The man finished his stew. Stood. Walked away without another word.
Aldric sat alone, turning the words over.
Running toward something.
What was Grog running toward?
---
Lira returned after midnight.
Aldric was still awake—hadn't been able to sleep, hadn't really tried. He saw her emerge from the trees, saw her speak to the sentries, saw her walk toward the fire where he sat.
"You should be asleep," she said, dropping beside him.
"Should be. Aren't."
She didn't argue. Just sat there, warming her hands.
"I found something," she said quietly.
Aldric waited.
"Tracks. Not human. Not animal." She paused. "Something in between."
Aldric's blood went cold.
"Hunters?"
"Maybe. Could be." She stared into the fire. "They're following us. Staying parallel, just inside the trees. Watching."
The same way they'd watched at camp. The same way they'd watched Lira on her scout missions. Patient. Always patient.
"Why?" Aldric asked. "Why follow and not attack?"
Lira shook her head. "Don't know. Waiting for something. Someone."
Aldric thought about Grog. About the thing in the Grove. About the choice that waited years in the future.
They're not waiting for the end, he realized. They're waiting for something before the end.
But what?
---
He didn't sleep.
Lay in his bedroll, staring at canvas, listening to the forest breathe around him. Every sound seemed significant. Every rustle could be footsteps. Every shadow could be eyes.
At some point, he must have drifted off.
Because he dreamed.
Grog stood in a clearing. Not the Grove—somewhere else. Somewhere Aldric didn't recognize. He looked tired. Worn. But whole.
"You have to keep going," Grog said. "All of you. Don't wait for me."
"Where are you?"
"Somewhere I need to be." Grog's voice was distant. "Doing something I should have done years ago."
"Mirena followed you."
Grog's expression flickered. Surprise? Worry? Hard to tell.
"She shouldn't have."
"Too late now."
A long pause.
Then Grog said: "Tell her—" He stopped. Shook his head. "Never mind. I'll tell her myself."
The dream started to fade.
"Grog—"
"Keep them safe, Aldric. Lira. The others. Keep them alive until I get back."
"How long?"
But Grog was already gone.
Aldric woke to darkness and the sound of his own breathing.
---
Morning came cold and gray.
The column formed. The march continued. Aldric walked in his place, surrounded by strangers, carrying a dream he couldn't explain.
Lira found him at midday.
"You look terrible."
"Thanks."
"Dreams?"
He nodded.
She didn't ask what about. Just walked beside him for a while, letting the silence do its work.
Finally: "He'll come back."
Aldric looked at her.
"How do you know?"
"Because he's Grog." She shrugged. "Too stubborn to die."
Aldric almost smiled. Almost.
They walked on.
The forest pressed closer.
And somewhere in the trees, red eyes watched and waited.