Cold Justice

The sky was partly clouded when Eric and the others passed through the city’s eastern gate. Beyond the walls stretched the farmland—the patchwork of tilled soil and green shoots glowing under breaks of sunlight. The air smelled sweet and heavy, rich with earth and growing things.

A low stone wall traced the road, marking the boundaries of each stead. Eric’s first thought was how exposed the place seemed—wide open, easy to strike. Then he noticed the guards. Pairs of them walked the perimeter, armor muted to blend with the fields, eyes scanning the horizon. Someone had thought about security after all.

The road curved gently through the outer fields. Children ran between furrows, their laughter carrying on the breeze, a sound bright enough to make the guards’ vigilance seem almost unnecessary.

Farmers worked the soil in slow, practiced motions. Each sweep of the hoe left a faint shimmer behind, the ground glowing for a heartbeat before settling into richer brown. Eric slowed to watch. It wasn’t light reflecting from water or metal—mana itself was folding into the soil, drawn by the rhythm of their labor. Whatever technique they were using, it nourished the earth as much as the manure.

As they walked, the road began to change beneath their boots—the seamless stone of the city giving way to uneven cobblestone, each step clicking with a faint echo of age.

They passed the last of the fields at an easy pace, the neat rows shifting from the strange yet appealing purple vegetables to stalks that looked almost like maize—only their color was a brilliant, metallic gold, as if the crop had been gilded rather than grown.

Kaelen and Eric walked a few paces ahead of Lyren and Welyvyne. The two behind were deep in conversation, their voices a soft counterpoint to the creak of leather and the rhythm of boots on stone. Eric let their words fade into the background, distracted by the quiet beauty of the land beyond the city walls.

Before he realized it, Kaelen had veered north, leaving the cobbled path for a rough dirt road where deep wagon ruts scarred the ground.

Once they turned north, the land opened into sparse woodland. The trail wound between scattered trees, their leaves whispering in the breeze, and beyond them rose a breathtaking mountain range.

“We’ll stay on this road for about an hour,” Kaelen said, nodding toward the peaks. “Then we turn left at the fork. That range marks the border of our kingdom—the Daelvarn Divide. There’s a pass running through it. This road will reach it eventually, but it’s farther than it looks.”

He pointed toward the glinting slopes. “The dwarves live there. They supply most of our sylvarium ingots. They also trade through the pass to the human settlement—sell iron to them, mostly.”

Eric grinned. “Dwarves? I’d love to meet them.”

Kaelen chuckled. “You’ll get your chance, if we ever make it that far north.”

The road ahead dipped into the trees, the scent of pine replacing the sweetness of farmland. Podzol spread beneath the trunks, its dark, mottled texture oddly familiar in this foreign land—a shadowed reminder that even here, life and decay kept the same quiet rhythm.

Lyren and Welyvyne decided they no longer liked being in the back and caught up with Eric and Kaelen.

Welyvyne smiled at him. “Not to pry or anything—you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to—but what is your world like?”

Eric smiled back. “You’re not prying. Honestly, I figured you’d have asked sooner. But yeah… where to start?”

He pointed down at the dirt road. “For one thing, almost every road back home is paved with asphalt—a kind of tar that forms naturally in what we call asphalt lakes. It’s solid when cool, but once heated, we shape it into smooth, black roads.”

Lyren laughed. “Almost every road? Your cities must be small.”

Eric snorted. “No—these roads stretch across entire continents. We have massive cities where millions of people live, work, and shop.”

Welyvyne blinked. “Millions? That sounds… impossible.”

Kaelen furrowed his brow. “Not to question you, but how does a kingdom rule such a vast number of people?”

Eric shook his head. “We do have kingdoms in the world, but not where I’m from. We have politicians—many of them—and we vote for who leads us. Some are good, some not so much. But the idea is that everyone gets a say through their vote.”

Lyren frowned. “So… your people choose their rulers? That sounds like chaos.”

Eric laughed softly. “It can be. But it’s our kind of chaos.”

Welyvyne knit her brows. “You said you have big cities—what do they look like?”

Eric smiled at the question. “Tall,” he said. “Glass towers that scrape the clouds, roads stacked above roads, lights bright enough to turn night into day.”

Welyvyne laughed. “I can’t believe that. How do you make buildings that scrape the clouds—and lights that bright? I thought you said you didn’t have magic.”

“We don’t,” Eric said with a small, proud smile. “We use math and logic. We’ve learned to tame electricity—to make it follow paths that create and connect things, the way your enchantments do, only without magic.”

Kaelen smiled warmly. “It sounds like, in the absence of magic, your people created their own.”

“Yeah.” Eric smiled back. “I guess we did—and I intend to bring some of it to this world.”

Lyren suddenly darted ahead. “Trouble!” was all anyone needed to hear before they broke into a run behind her.

As Eric ran forward, he saw what Lyren meant. An overturned wagon blocked the road ahead, one wheel still spinning lazily in the dirt. Beside it lay a massive beast of burden—something like a buffalo, but with a pair of thick, rhino-like horns jutting from its skull. It was on its side, unmoving, several arrows jutting from its flank and a deep gash running along its ribs. The creature was already still.

Eric scanned the area, taking in the scene at a glance. Scuffs in the dirt, drag marks leading off the road—straight toward the woods. Then he heard it: laughter. The kind that made the hair on his neck stand on end.

A second sound followed, faint and broken—a whimpering plea. He couldn’t make out the words, but he recognized the tone.

Without thinking, he bolted toward it, branches snapping underfoot. Somewhere behind him, Welyvyne shouted his name.

“Eric!”

Eric ran—faster than he expected—slipping between the trees with effortless precision. He burst into a clearing before he knew it and skidded to a halt.

A woman knelt near the center. “Please… stop,” she begged.

Three men circled her, laughing. Around them, the rest of the camp sprawled in lazy disarray. One man sat on a log, drawing a whetstone along his sword. Animal skins draped his shoulders, his clothes a patchwork of brown and black leather. The others looked much the same—earth tones, torn fabric, nothing uniform about them.

They hadn’t seen him yet.

Time slowed. Eric’s pulse steadied. He raised his left hand and began to cast, his right already willing his sword into it.

Lightning arced from his palm, striking the man sharpening his blade square in the chest. The man flew backward, smoke curling from his tunic. Eric darted toward the one roasting meat by the fire—his sword flashing mid-step. He aimed for the man’s hand, but his momentum carried the swing higher. Sylvarium steel slid through flesh and bone, the blade carving into his face instead.

Eric winced but didn’t have time to think about it. The camp was erupting—the men around the fire scrambling to their feet, the three tormenting the woman turning toward him.

He became a blur of motion—casting, blocking, striking. Two men rushed him at once. One swung a club. Eric caught it on his blade and drove his shoulder into the attacker’s chest. The second came in with a sword; Eric twisted, feeling the edge slice through the sleeve of his long coat.

The man he’d rammed flew backward—farther than Eric expected—his own momentum nearly lost to the impact. He pivoted with the motion, blade flashing, and his sword cleaved cleanly through the other man’s arm. The scream that followed cut through the clearing, sharp and human.

Another wince. No time to dwell. He kept moving.

He’d bowled through the camp, leaving only three standing—the largest of them in the center. The man who had been torturing the woman raised his club and pointed it at Eric.

“Keel dat man! Skeen heem alive!”

Eric rushed them. He started to cast, but they were too close for a proper lightning strike. Instead, he triggered his Arc spell.

His hand shot out, gripping the nearest man’s shoulder just as the bandit’s blade came down. Eric was faster. The man convulsed violently, electricity cracking through the air.

Before the body even hit the ground, Eric pivoted and drove his fist into the second man’s face. The unarmed attacker crumpled mid-swing, his body folding like a rag doll as the strike stole all momentum.

The large man—clearly the leader—didn’t wait for Eric to meet him. He lunged forward, driving a kick into Eric’s chest. His body folded around the man’s leg, air leaving him in a rush. He nearly lost his sword but tightened his grip and swung low, the blade catching the man’s calf before he was thrown aside.

Eric hit the ground, rolled, and came up in a single motion. He darted back in, punching the man square in the face. The few teeth the bandit still had flew from his mouth, his jaw snapping sideways with a sickening crack. He toppled backward, still.

Eric stood there, stunned. He couldn’t believe what he’d just done. His breath came hard and fast as his eyes swept the clearing.

No more attackers.

Two men were trying to crawl away through the dirt, dragging themselves toward the trees. Two more lay unconscious near his feet. The large man was down to his left, unmoving. Most of the camp was still—too still.

Eric didn’t want to think about what that meant. Instead, his eyes found the young woman tied to a post near the fire. Her clothes were torn, her hands and mouth bleeding. The look of terror in her eyes told him everything he needed to know about what they had planned for her.

Kaelen, Welyvyne, and Lyren burst through the trees only moments after the fight had ended.

Eric turned toward them, his breath still sharp in his chest. Then his gaze dropped to his hand. Somewhere during the chaos, he’d stopped swinging the sword and started punching with it still in his grip. His knuckles were bloodied—some from others, some from himself.

He flexed his fingers and winced. One was bent at the wrong angle. He hadn’t felt it break when it happened, but he was certain he would soon.

“Eric, are you hurt?” Lyren shouted, sprinting toward him.

He lifted a hand to stop her, eyes fixed on the young woman instead. His injuries could wait.

Eric stepped forward, kneeling beside her. With one clean stroke, he cut the ropes binding her wrists to the post.

“You’re free,” he said softly. “No one here is going to hurt you.”

The woman flinched back at first, eyes wide and unfocused. Then a sound behind them made her freeze—the large man groaned, shifting weakly on the ground.

Her fear shattered into fury. She snatched up his club and lunged, screaming as she brought it down again and again. The sound was sickening, her voice ragged with rage and grief.

Kaelen started forward, but Eric caught his arm, shaking his head. None of them moved.

When it was over, the woman stood trembling, covered in blood. The club slipped from her hands. Her voice broke into sobs, the sound hollow and endless.

Eric turned to her and met her gaze. He opened his arms slightly, offering her a place to fall—a silent invitation to safety.

She stumbled forward and collapsed against him, sobbing into his chest.

Eric stood still, then slowly wrapped his arms around her. The gesture was both comfort and support, holding her close while keeping her from collapsing entirely.

Lyren approached slowly. “Are you okay, Eric? You seem a little… cold.”

Eric turned his head toward her—and beyond her, he saw Welyvyne. Fear flickered across her face, not at the scene around them, but at him.

Kaelen stood a few paces back, arms crossed, eyes scanning the trees. When he finally looked at Eric, he gave a small nod.

“You did well, Eric,” he said quietly. “You have nothing to be ashamed of here.”

It was as if Kaelen had read his mind. Eric’s thoughts were only now catching up to what had just happened—and to what he had just done.

The woman pushed away from Eric suddenly. “My family—they’re back on the road!”

Lyren raised a hand to calm her. “We found them. They’re injured, but alive.”

The woman’s sobs broke again, harsher this time. She wiped at her face, trembling. “Can I go to them?”

Her eyes lifted to Eric, searching for permission. He nodded.

She didn’t wait. She turned and ran, faster than he expected, vanishing through the trees.

Kaelen glanced at Lyren and Welyvyne. “Go with her. I’ll take care of Eric.”

They hesitated, then nodded and followed the woman down the path.

Kaelen stepped closer, resting a hand on Eric’s arm—not rough, not commanding. “Eric,” he said quietly, “you did nothing wrong here. I wouldn’t have allowed a prisoner to be killed, but you did what you had to.”

Eric turned, meeting Kaelen’s gaze. His eyes were cold, unreadable. “Who said anything about taking prisoners? Justice was served.”

Kaelen’s jaw tightened. “Justice isn’t letting someone be executed after they’ve already been beaten.”

Eric smiled faintly, though it never reached his eyes.

“I didn’t execute anyone. The justice she served was her right—and I wasn’t going to stand in her way. Their cruelty made their lives forfeit.”

Eric left Kaelen standing there to ponder his words and made his way back toward the wagon.

He found the family the woman had spoken of—a mother, father, and a young boy no older than seven.

The father sat propped against a wheel, his face pale, one leg bandaged in a strip of torn cloak. His hands trembled, but he still held the boy close, murmuring softly to keep him calm.

The boy’s eyes were wide and unfocused, his small fingers clinging to his father’s sleeve as though afraid he’d vanish if he let go. Dust streaked his cheeks, and his hair stuck to his forehead in sweat-dark strands.

The mother knelt beside them, her own arm wrapped in a blood-soaked cloth. She looked up as Eric approached—tired, wary—but there was a spark of recognition in her eyes when she saw her daughter running toward her.

The woman fell into her mother’s arms, sobbing, and the family folded together like something fragile being made whole again.

Eric stood a few paces back, saying nothing. He didn’t need to.

Lyren approached quietly. “Can I look at your injuries now? You’ve got a bad cut on your arm.”

Eric glanced down at the sleeve of his long coat. The fabric was torn where the sword had grazed him—and now that he was looking, he saw blood dripping steadily from his hand.

He pulled the coat off, wincing as the motion tugged at the wound. Lyren didn’t wait; she stepped forward and placed a hand over the injury, her focus sharpening.

Warmth spread through his arm. He could feel the skin and muscle knitting together beneath her touch—an odd blend of heat and itch, as if the body was remembering how to be whole. Every tiny nerve reconnected, sending strange shivers down to his fingertips.

Welyvyne saw him and approached slowly, as if she were nearing a wild animal.

“Eric…” Her voice trembled. “That was frightening. The look on your face—it was so detached. And you killed people… human people… without even a thought.”

She stopped a few feet away, eyes searching his. “That scares me, Eric.”

Eric frowned. “I did what needed to be done. I couldn’t stand there while someone was being abused.”

He looked down at his hand, flexing his fingers slowly. “I know I’m not the fighter type. I’ve never had this kind of skill before… and honestly—” he exhaled, shaking his head, “it scared me too.”

Welyvyne gave a small, shaky smile. “Well… at least I know you’re still in there.”

Then her tone sharpened, though her eyes softened. “And next time, don’t leave the group behind, you idiot. You could’ve been killed.”

Eric flinched. “Fair point,” he admitted. “I clearly wasn’t thinking straight. The sight of it all just… brought back a memory.”

He paused, eyes distant. “A time when I didn’t have the power to stop it.”

Welyvyne’s eyes softened. “I’m sorry, Eric…” she said quietly, stepping closer. “I didn’t know.”

Her voice wavered. “I’m sorry for being afraid of you. I know, deep down, you’re a good man. I just… wasn’t being rational.”

Eric snorted. “Guess that makes two of us.”

Lyren stood and wiped her hands. “I’m going to finish healing the family. The father’s name is Ronan, the mother is Kaera. The daughter you saved—her name’s Seren. The young boy is Taren.

They’re the Valean family,” she added softly. “I thought you should know the names of the people you’re now a part of.”

Eric furrowed his brow. “What do you mean, a part of?”

Lyren smirked. “You saved their daughter. You honestly think they won’t want to reward you—or make you part of their family?”

Eric shook his head. “For the record, I did what anyone would have done.”

Lyren froze mid-step. “You honestly believe that, Eric? No—most people don’t get involved. You, on the other hand, just ran in like a Cuarabevy—mindless and unrestrained.”

Eric raised an eyebrow. “What’s a Cuarabevy?”

Lyren just shook her head and continued walking toward the family.

Eric turned to Welyvyne, his voice pitching a little higher. “What is a Cuarabevy?”

Welyvyne just shook her head and walked after Lyren.

Eric sighed. “Really? No one’s going to tell me?”

Kaelen emerged from the woods a moment later, three men bound together and stumbling ahead of him. He guided them forward at sword point, expression unreadable.

“Hey, Eric,” he called. “We’re about an hour out from the settlement. Figured these guys might be worth a bounty.”

Eric raised an eyebrow. “That’s rather mercenary of you, Kaelen.”

Kaelen shrugged. “What’s that expression you use? Two birds, one stone? They’re likely wanted men. Justice gets served, and you profit from it.”

Eric smiled. “Didn’t know I had an elven brother.”

Kaelen just grinned as he pushed the men to their knees.

“Stay,” he said.

Eric glanced toward the family. “We should get them to safety once Lyren’s finished,” he said quietly. “Turn these men in, then stay at the settlement for the night.”

Kaelen nodded, thoughtful. “I agree. We’re not in a hurry.”

About an hour later, Eric gathered what he could from the wagon—three sacks of grain and a few bundles of supplies. With a thought, he willed them into his dimensional storage, then rejoined the others as they set out again.

The pace was slower this time. The Valean family couldn’t keep up with their usual stride, and the added burden of the captured bandits dragged the journey down to a crawl. What should have been an hour’s walk stretched into nearly two.

When they reached the human settlement, Eric stopped to take it in. The walls were rough-hewn blocks of stone, stacked with more strength than grace—solid, practical, unmistakably human. A wooden gate stood at the front, reinforced with an iron portcullis like something out of an old castle.

And this was just a settlement, not a kingdom.

The guards at the gate looked tense as the group approached. The Valean family offered hurried thanks before stepping through, relief written across their faces. Seren, the young woman, turned and threw her arms around Eric in a tight hug.

“Thank you,” she whispered, before hurrying after her family.

Her father lingered at the gate. “Eric, I can’t thank you and your friends enough for today. If you ever need anything—anything at all—please don’t hesitate to ask.” He gestured toward the road beyond the wall. “Our house is on the street to the right of the market square. You can’t miss it—yellow shutters, blue door. You’re welcome anytime.”

Eric smiled. “I’ll be glad to stop in next time I’m here—just to say hi and see how you’re doing.”

Ronan nodded and waved before hurrying to join his family.

When Eric turned back, he spotted Kaelen near the gate, speaking with the guards. The captain’s brow was furrowed as Kaelen gestured toward the bound men—then pointed to Eric.

Eric sighed. “Guess that’s my cue.”

He walked over as the guard straightened and gave him a nod. “I hear you’re the man responsible for clearing out that bandit group.”

Eric nodded. “Yeah… it was kind of spur of the moment.”

The guard smiled. “If that’s spur of the moment, we could use you here at the wall.”

Eric chuckled. “I’m not much of a fighter.”

Kaelen snorted. “I don’t think you can use that excuse anymore, Eric.”

After that, the guards wrote up a bounty claim slip and told Eric he could collect the reward at the bounty office in the morning. They also pointed out a good inn and a few places to eat—ones known for serving multiple races, so he wouldn’t accidentally poison his elf friends.

Eric thanked them and followed Kaelen and the others toward the inn. By the time they arrived, fatigue had settled deep in his bones.

He looked at his friends. “Hey, guys. I’m going to head to a room. Feel free to explore—I think I’m calling it a night.”

Kaelen smiled knowingly. “You get some rest, my friend.”