Morning. The Human Camp.
The day after battle was always the hardest.
Grog had learned that in the old timeline. The first day, you were too busy fighting to think. The second day, you had time. Time to remember. Time to grieve. Time to wonder if the next fight would be your last.
The camp moved slowly this morning.
Soldiers sat in small groups, speaking in low voices or not at all. The wounded filled every available tent, their moans carrying on the cold air. Fires burned for warmth and cooking, but no one seemed hungry.
Grog walked among them.
Not checking on anyone specific—just moving. Being present. The sword pulsed against his hip, steady and calm, matching his mood.
He found Aldric at the cookfire.
The boy was staring into his bowl without seeing it. His new armor was off for once, replaced by simple clothes. Without it, he looked younger. Smaller. More like the farm boy who'd stumbled into this life years ago.
"Eat," Grog said, sitting beside him.
Aldric looked at the bowl. Then at Grog.
"I dreamed about them last night," he said quietly. "The hunters."
Grog waited.
"They were in the black tent. Just sitting. Watching." Aldric's voice was distant. "One of them looked at me and smiled. Like we were old friends."
Grog thought about the figure he'd seen last night. The one he'd waved at, knowing it was there even though he couldn't see it.
"They're watching all of us," he said. "That's what they do."
Aldric nodded slowly. "Mirena said they're waiting for something. For me to—" He stopped.
"For you to what?"
"For me to break." Aldric met his eyes. "That's what they want. Not to kill me. To break me. So I'll be ready when Vorlag calls."
Grog had no answer for that. Because it was true.
They sat in silence, watching the camp wake around them.
---
Lira found them an hour later.
She moved differently now—slower, more careful. The wound on her arm had been properly bandaged, but it still pulled when she moved wrong. She'd never admit it hurt.
"Voren wants us," she said. "Meeting in an hour."
Grog nodded.
Aldric looked up. "What about?"
"Planning. Next attack." She sat beside them, wincing slightly. "He's not waiting three days. Too risky. He wants to hit them again tomorrow."
Grog frowned. "That soon?"
"They're sitting there, Grog. Waiting. Every day we wait is a day they get stronger." Lira shook her head. "Voren's right. We need to move."
Grog thought about the hunters. About their patience. About the way they'd watched and smiled and never attacked.
"They want us to hurry," he said quietly. "They want us desperate."
Lira met his eyes.
"Maybe. But what choice do we have?"
---
The meeting was tense.
Voren stood at the center of his command tent, surrounded by officers who looked like they hadn't slept in days. Maps covered every surface. Plans were argued, rejected, rewritten.
Grog stood in the corner with Lira, Aldric, and Mirena. Listening. Waiting.
"The black tent is the key," Voren said finally. "Whatever's in there, it's controlling them. We take it out, the Vargr fall apart."
An officer spoke up. "We tried that yesterday. Lost a lot of people."
"Yesterday we didn't know what we were facing." Voren looked at Grog. "Today we do."
Grog said nothing.
Voren continued. "New plan. Small group. Fast. Get to the tent, destroy it, get out." He looked at Lira. "You lead. Take whoever you need."
Lira nodded.
Aldric stepped forward. "I'm going."
Voren raised an eyebrow. "You?"
"The hunters want me. If I'm there, they'll focus on me. Give the others a chance."
Silence.
Grog looked at Aldric. At the boy who'd been so scared yesterday, so shaken by what he'd felt. Today he was volunteering to walk into the heart of darkness.
"You sure?" Grog asked.
Aldric met his eyes.
"No. But I'm going anyway."
---
They spent the rest of the day preparing.
Lira studied maps, planned routes, argued with quartermasters about supplies. Aldric trained—sword forms, footwork, the endless repetition that made skills automatic. Mirena read, searching Kevin's journals for anything that might help.
Grog sat alone.
Thinking.
The berserker stirred in his blood. Not restless—just aware. Paying attention.
Tomorrow, it seemed to say. Tomorrow we fight.
Grog didn't answer. Just sat. Waited.
---
That night, around a small fire, the four of them gathered one last time.
No planning. No strategy. Just sitting together, watching flames, being present.
Lira broke the silence first.
"If I don't come back—" she started.
"You're coming back." Aldric's voice was firm.
"Listen." Lira met his eyes. "If I don't come back, someone needs to watch my mother. She's in the village south of here. She doesn't know what I do. She doesn't need to. Just—make sure she's okay."
Aldric nodded slowly.
"Me too," Aldric said quietly. "I don't have anyone. My parents are gone. But there's something I want." He paused. "I want to be remembered as someone who tried. Who didn't give up. Even when it was hard."
Lira reached over. Squeezed his shoulder.
Mirena spoke next. "I have no family either. No home but the road." She paused. "If I don't come back, just—remember me. That's enough."
Lira nodded. "We will."
Grog said nothing.
But he remembered. He always remembered.
---
Aldric looked at Grog.
"What about you? Anyone we should know about?"
Grog was quiet for a long moment.
"No," he said finally. "No one."
It wasn't entirely true. There was Lena. There was Henrik and Ben. There were people in the village who'd remember him.
But they weren't here. They weren't part of this.
Aldric nodded like he understood.
They sat together in the firelight, four people facing impossible odds, holding onto each other in the darkness.
---
Dawn came too soon.
The camp stirred to life. Soldiers preparing for another day, another attack, another chance to die.
Grog stood at the edge, watching.
The sword pulsed against his hip. Ready.
Aldric appeared beside him, armored and armed. His face was pale, but his eyes were steady.
"Ready?" Grog asked.
"No." Aldric met his gaze. "But let's go anyway."
Lira joined them, bow in hand. Mirena followed, carrying a satchel of Kevin's journals—she'd insisted on coming, said she might see something the others missed.
Four of them.
Against an army.
Against hunters.
Against whatever waited in the black tent.
Grog looked at the valley below. At the Vargr camp. At the dark shape at its center.
"Let's go," he said.
They walked toward war.