The Palace. Evening.
Grog stood alone in the training yard.
The sun had set. The torches were lit. The dummies had been replaced—new ones, whole ones, waiting to be destroyed. His sword was in his hand, dark metal that drank the torchlight. His chest was heaving. His arms were shaking. He had been here for hours.
The berserker was restless.
It had been awake since the canyon, since the portal closed, since Aldric disappeared. It wanted to fight. It wanted to kill. It wanted to lose itself in the rage that had always been waiting beneath his skin.
Grog didn't let it.
He pushed harder. Faster. His sword cut through the air, through the dummies, through the practice targets. Wood splintered. Straw scattered. The yard filled with the sounds of destruction.
He didn't stop.
---
Lira watched from the bench.
She had been there for hours, her wounded arm pressed against her side, her face pale. She had tried to talk to him. He hadn't answered. She had tried to stop him. He had pushed past her. Now she just watched.
He was different. Faster. Stronger. More reckless. The apple had changed him. The berserker had changed him. Aldric's disappearance had changed him.
He was going to burn out.
She stood. Walked to the center of the yard. Stepped between him and the next target.
"Grog."
He stopped. Lowered his sword. His chest was heaving, his face was red, his eyes were wild. The red was there, at the edges of his vision, but he was holding it back.
"Move," he said.
"No."
"I said move."
"No." Lira met his eyes. "You need to rest."
"I need to train."
"You need to rest." Her voice was firm. "You've been at this all day. You're going to hurt yourself."
Grog shook his head. "I need to be ready."
"Ready for what?"
He was quiet for a moment. "For whatever comes next."
---
William found them an hour later.
He had been with the volunteers, training them, preparing them. Mei was leading them now—she had taken charge after Aldric disappeared, had stepped into the role without being asked. Tomas was competent now, his hands steady, his feet planted. The others were veterans, scarred and hardened and ready.
Now he stood at the edge of the yard, watching Grog destroy another dummy.
"He's been at it all day," William said.
Lira nodded. "He has."
"He's going to burn out."
"I know."
William was quiet for a moment. "He blames himself."
Lira looked at him. "We all do."
William shook his head. "He blames himself more."
---
Ken came to the yard at midnight.
He had been on the perimeter, watching, waiting. Old habits. He didn't sleep much anymore. He didn't need to.
Grog was still there.
The dummies were gone—splintered, scattered, destroyed. Grog stood in the center of the yard, his sword in his hand, his chest heaving, his eyes on nothing. The torches had burned low. The shadows were long.
Ken walked to the bench. Sat beside Lira.
"He's still going," Ken said.
Lira nodded. "He is."
Ken watched Grog for a moment. "He's going to kill himself."
Lira met his eyes. "I know."
---
Grog's legs gave out.
He fell to his knees, his sword clattering on the stones, his chest heaving, his arms shaking. The red was fading. The berserker was settling. He was alone in the yard, surrounded by splintered wood and scattered straw.
Lira was there.
She knelt beside him. Didn't speak. Didn't touch him. Just sat there, present.
"I don't know how to do this without him," Grog said. His voice was hoarse, barely a whisper.
Lira was quiet for a moment. "Neither do I."
Grog looked at her. "He was supposed to be here."
"I know."
"He was supposed to stay."
"I know."
Grog's hands clenched into fists. The berserker stirred. He didn't let it out.
Lira reached out. Touched his arm. "You're not alone."
Grog looked at her. His eyes were red—not the red of the berserker, the red of tears he hadn't shed.
"I know," he said.
---
William found them in the yard.
He stood at the edge, watching. Grog was sitting on the ground, his back against the bench, his sword across his knees. Lira sat beside him, her wounded arm pressed against her side, her face pale. Ken stood nearby, his arms crossed, his eyes on the darkness.
William walked to them. Sat on the ground beside Grog.
"You're not the only one who lost him," William said.
Grog looked at him.
"I lost him too. We all did." William's voice was quiet. "He was my friend. He was my teacher. He was—" He stopped.
Grog waited.
"He was the one who showed me what it meant to be a soldier." William met his eyes. "I'm not going to let that go."
Grog was quiet for a moment. "Neither am I."
---
The night deepened.
The torches burned low. The shadows grew long. The yard was silent.
Grog sat with his back against the bench, his sword across his knees, his eyes on the stars. Lira sat beside him, her head on his shoulder, her breathing slow and even. She had fallen asleep. He didn't move.
Ken stood at the edge of the yard, his arms crossed, his eyes on the darkness. William had gone to his room—to sleep, to think, to grieve.
Grog looked at the sky. Somewhere out there, Aldric was alive. He had to be.
He closed his eyes.
"I'll find you," he whispered.
The stars didn't answer.