Voren found Grog on the walls at dawn.
The captain looked different here, in the clean clothes the Duke had provided, his face shaved, his hair trimmed. But his eyes were the same—watching, always watching, seeing what others missed. In the old timeline, those eyes had seen too much. The border. The war. The end.
But Voren didn't know that. He never would.
"You're leaving," Grog said.
Voren nodded. "The border needs me." He leaned against the wall, looking out at the gardens below, the fountains, the peacocks that were already strutting across the lawn. "The Duke's recruiters have been busy. Three hundred new soldiers arrived last week. Farmers, mostly. Millers. A few who'd held a sword before." He paused. "They need to learn what the border means."
Grog watched his face. Voren was tired. Not the tiredness of a man who hadn't slept—the tiredness of a man who'd been doing the same thing for decades, who'd buried too many soldiers, who'd written too many letters to families who wouldn't get their sons back.
"You'll make soldiers of them," Grog said.
Voren almost smiled. "I'll try." He was quiet for a moment. "They don't know what they're walking into. The new ones. They heard about the victory. About the heroes who turned the tide. They think they're joining something glorious." He shook his head. "They'll learn."
Grog understood. In the old timeline, he'd seen recruits like that. Eager. Hopeful. They learned.
"You'll teach them."
Voren looked at him. "I'll try."
---
They gathered in the courtyard as the sun rose higher.
Voren's horse was saddled, his pack tied, his armor polished. Behind him, two dozen soldiers were forming up—the escort that had brought them here, the ones who'd ridden through the pass, who'd seen the creature, who'd buried one of their own. They were ready to go home.
But there were more. At the edge of the courtyard, a larger group waited. New faces. Young faces. Men and women who'd answered the Duke's call, who'd signed up to fight, who'd never seen the border. They were nervous, excited, scared. They were farmers and millers and laborers who'd never held a sword before this month. Some were barely old enough to shave. Some had children waiting at home. Some had left families who didn't know if they'd come back.
Voren looked at them.
"These are the new recruits," he said. "Three hundred. The Duke's recruiters have been working since the battle. People heard about the victory. About the heroes who turned the tide." He looked at Grog. "They want to be part of something."
Grog studied the faces. Young. So young. Some were looking at him, at Lira, at Aldric, at the weapons they carried, the scars on their hands. They were trying to see what a hero looked like.
"They don't know what they're walking into."
"No." Voren's voice was quiet. "But they'll learn."
---
The Duke came to see them off.
He stood at the top of the steps, his children beside him—the boy trying to escape his nurse's grip, the girl clutching her father's leg. Behind him, the palace rose against the morning sky, golden stone and green gardens, the peacocks spreading their tails on the lawn.
"You'll send word," the Duke said. It wasn't a question.
Voren nodded. "When there's news."
The Duke was quiet for a moment. Then he stepped forward, offered his hand.
Voren took it.
"Keep them safe," the Duke said quietly. "The border. The soldiers. Everyone who's counting on you."
Voren met his eyes. "I will."
The Duke's son—Leopold—broke free from his nurse and ran to Voren's horse. He was five, maybe six, his face round, his eyes bright. He'd been told about the battle, about the heroes, about the monsters that came from the hills. He wanted to see.
"Are you going to fight monsters?" he demanded.
Voren looked down at him. "I'm going to the border. To train soldiers. To keep people safe."
Leopold frowned. "That's not fighting."
His sister, Catherine, toddled up behind him. "Monsters," she said, pointing at the peacocks. "Big monsters."
The Duke sighed. "They're not monsters, sweetheart. They're birds."
"Big birds," Catherine said. "Monster birds."
Leopold was already losing interest, running back toward the fountain, his nurse chasing him. The Duke shook his head.
"They'll be the death of me," he said. But he was almost smiling.
---
Aldric came to say goodbye.
He stood beside Voren's horse, his hands in his pockets, his face unreadable. He'd been training with William for days now, teaching him to fall, to stand, to hold a sword without dropping it. He looked different than he had when they'd arrived. More settled. More certain.
"You're leaving," he said.
Voren looked down at him. "I'm needed."
Aldric nodded slowly. "I know."
There was a moment of silence between them. Voren remembered when Aldric had first come to the border. A farm boy with a sword too big for him, with dreams too big for his station, with something dark hiding in his eyes that Voren hadn't understood then and didn't understand now. He'd watched the boy become something. A soldier. A leader. A man.
"You've become something, Aldric," Voren said. "Something I didn't expect, when you first came to the border." He paused. "Something worth being."
Aldric's throat tightened. "I had good teachers."
Voren almost smiled. "You did."
---
Lira was with the horses, checking the straps, adjusting the loads. She'd been watching the new recruits all morning, cataloging faces, noting who looked ready and who looked scared. Some of them would make it. Most wouldn't.
"You'll watch them," Voren said. "The boy. The others."
She looked up. "Always."
He nodded slowly. "Good."
She stepped closer, lowered her voice. "The Commander—Vance. Do you trust him?"
Voren considered the question. He'd known Vance for years, from a distance. The man was a legend in the capital, a figure at court, someone who'd risen from nothing to stand at the King's side. He'd never been to the border. Never seen the things that came out of the hills. But he'd signed the orders. Approved the reinforcements. Kept the border supplied when others wanted to pull back.
"He's not our enemy," Voren said finally. "That's enough for now."
Lira absorbed this.
"And the princes?"
Voren looked across the courtyard. William was standing with Aldric, gesturing about something, his voice too loud, his hands too big. Edward stood apart, watching everything, his face unreadable.
"The second one is serious," Voren said. "The first one is—" He stopped.
"What?"
"Watching. That's what the oldest children do. They watch and wait and learn who to trust." He met her eyes. "Be careful which side you're on."
---
Mirena was last.
She stood apart from the others, her book tucked under her arm, her face distant. She'd been up late again, studying the maps, tracing the lines that led to the hills. She looked like she hadn't slept in days.
"You'll find it," Voren said. "The door. The answers."
She looked at him. "How do you know?"
He was quiet for a moment. He didn't know about the old timeline. He didn't know about Kevin's journals or the rings or the things Grog carried. But he knew Mirena. He'd watched her for years, searching, learning, never stopping.
"Because you've been looking your whole life," he said. "And now you have people looking with you."
She nodded slowly.
"Take care of the border," she said. "It's where we'll come back to."
Voren swung onto his horse.
"I'll be waiting."
---
The recruits formed up behind him.
They were nervous, shifting in their saddles, their new armor too bright, their faces too young. The ones who'd come with Voren from the border sat straighter, moved smoother, knew what was waiting.
Voren looked back at the palace. At the Duke on the steps, his children finally caught, his wife appearing beside him in a dress of pale blue. At the princes, William waving, Edward watching. At the Commander, standing apart, his face unreadable.
At Grog. At Lira. At Aldric. At Mirena.
He raised his hand.
"Ride out."
The gates opened. The horses moved through, the soldiers following, the dust rising in the morning light. The new recruits looked back once, twice, then forward, toward the road, toward the border, toward whatever was waiting.
Then they were gone.
---
The courtyard was quiet.
The Duke's children had lost interest. Leopold was chasing a peacock again, Catherine was picking flowers, their nurse running between them. The Duke's wife was saying something to him, low and quick, her hand on his arm.
William appeared at Aldric's elbow.
"He's the one who commanded the border. During the battle?"
Aldric nodded.
William watched the gates where Voren had disappeared. "He looks like a soldier."
"He is a soldier."
William was quiet for a moment. "Will he come back?"
Aldric looked at the gates, the road, the hills beyond.
"When we need him."
---
Grog stood on the steps, watching the road empty.
The Duke moved to stand beside him.
"Three hundred recruits," the Duke said. "It's not enough. It's never enough."
Grog looked at him. "It's a start."
The Duke nodded slowly. "A start." He looked at the hills to the east, where the old places waited, where the thin places were getting thinner. "We'll need more."
Grog followed his gaze.
"We will."