[The sword does not question the hand that wields it, nor the wind the path it must blow. Duty is its own dharma.]
Snow clung to the northern cliffs like frostbitten moss, dry wind slicing across the edges of the worn trail. The horses moved slow, careful on the narrow path carved by hunters and smugglers in older times. Kaavi rode at the front, hood drawn low. Behind him, Viktor and Gavril followed in silence.
They had ridden half a day since departing Valhan's estate, staying just far enough from the main path to avoid detection but close enough that it might appear they were headed toward the old trade route. Kaavi had insisted on the detour. "If they were watching, let them think we've gone east. We'll vanish after that."
But now, as midday waned and the distant cry of hawks pierced the stillness, they turned northeast, toward the abandoned lodge Edric had marked on their map.
The path narrowed between two ridges of pale granite. Gavril led the way, eyes scanning the forest with practiced familiarity, guiding them along the lesser-known routes that veered off from the main road. Viktor followed close behind his grandfather, occasionally glancing over his shoulder, a flicker of curiosity passing through his emerald eyes.
Gavril gestured silently, and they turned, veering into rougher, rock-strewn ground. "There's a hunter's trail here," he murmured. "Not used much. It'll take us close to the place the Baron mentioned."
The forest grew denser as the sun sank lower, staining the sky with hues of amber and rose. A narrow path wound up the slope, hidden by trees. When they finally reached the cabin… a snow-covered structure of stone and timber nestled between an outcropping of boulders.
Viktor stepped toward the cabin with a mix of wonder and caution. The door creaked as Kaavi pushed it open, revealing a single room inside: bare save for a table, two chairs, an old hearth, and a thick woollen blanket draped over a narrow cot.
"It'll do," Gavril said, setting down his pack, as he dropped to a knee and began gathering firewood from a small covered pile nearby.
Kaavi moved outside again without a word. He crouched near a fallen log, touching the earth. Damp, cold, but undisturbed. His mind reached outward. Somewhere above, his raven circled, unseen in the deepening night. Closing his eyes, Kaavi breathed deeply and let his senses extend.
No one nearby. No scent of metal or horses. No sharp movements or mind-patterns breaking through the trees. But even with the silence, he didn't lower his guard.
Inside, Viktor was gently prodding the old chairs, inspecting the walls, tracing his fingers along the grain of the wood. He seemed different now… older, even if by mere days. The fire Gavril built caught quickly, and the smell of salted fish and boiled herbs began to spread from the pot.
"Eat," Gavril said, "we don't know when we'll move again."
Kaavi returned just before nightfall fully settled, eyes still sweeping the horizon.
It was close to midnight when they arrived.
Five shadows moved with almost predator like quiet toward the cabin. The fire inside was low, a soft orange glow flickering behind the closed shutters. Kaavi stepped out before they reached the door.
He didn't speak, he just looked.
The first of the five stepped forward and bowed slightly. "Sir Kaavi. We've come as commanded."
Kaavi gave a slow nod, then stepped aside, letting them enter one by one. They were young. The oldest might've been twenty-four, the youngest no more than sixteen, with hardened eyes and carefully honed movements. Their clothing was utilitarian, each bearing a similar black-and-silver insignia stitched subtly to the inside of their sleeves.
Gavril watched them carefully but said nothing. Viktor's eyes flicked from face to face.
Once they were all inside, Kaavi closed the door.
"This place is secure," he said. "We can speak freely."
He turned to Viktor and Gavril.
Kaavi began. "Yesterday, Baron Edric and I spoke of more than just the vault and The Maw. The rot runs deeper…traitors within his own forces. That's why, he's assigned us his personal unit to find and eliminate the rotten parts."
"These young men have been trained in secret for years. Chosen by Edric from among the orphaned, the wronged, the loyal. They are not soldiers in the traditional sense. They are ghosts. Shadows…"
Before Kaavi could respond, the tallest stepped forward and removed his hood with a sharp motion.
"With respect, Sir Kaavi," the man said, his voice carrying quiet authority, "allow me to introduce my team."
Kaavi nodded once. "Proceed."
The leader struck his fist against his chest in a formal salute. "Joren Valtis, First Blade of the Hollow Swords." His scar a pale slash from temple to jaw…gleamed in the firelight.
The broad-shouldered man beside him jerked his hood back aggressively. "Tannic of Ridgewatch. Second Blade." His hand rested on his sword hilt, knuckles white.
The third man revealed himself with deliberate calm. "Veyl. Third Blade." Dark eyes scanned the room, missing nothing.
A grinning youth flipped his hood back with theatrical flair. "Corren Hale! Fourth Blade, tracker, and" he winked at Viktor, "resident charmer."
The last hesitated before lowering his hood. The firelight softened his youthful features but couldn't mask the old pain in his eyes. "Liran. Fifth Blade."
Gavril whistled. "Baron's sending his personal daggers, eh? Must be worse than we thought."
Joren's gaze never left Kaavi. "We were ordered to follow your lead without question. But before we begin, I'd like to hear, how are we going to find the rats."
"I have my methods."
Tannic scoffed. "Methods? That's not an answer."
Kaavi's gaze didn't waver. "It's the only one you'll get."
Joren held up a hand, silencing Tannic before he could retort. "The Baron trusts you. But we need to know what we're walking into."
Kaavi exhaled slowly, as if weighing his next words carefully. Then, with deliberate slowness, he removed one glove and placed his bare hand on the table.
"I can see into men's mind and can mend their thoughts to my will. With touch."
Silence.
Corren blinked. "You're joking."
Gavril let out a dry chuckle. "Wish he was, lad. Makes my life a damn sight harder."
Joren studied him for a long moment. Then, slowly: "That's… a dangerous gift."
Kaavi's voice turned colder. "Which is why there's a condition."
He let the words hang, deliberate.
"When this is all done, I will erase your memories of this conversation. Of my abilities. You'll remember the mission, the traitors… but not how we found them and who helped you."
Tannic shot to his feet. "The hell you will!"
Liran tensed, hand drifting toward his dagger. Viktor instinctively shifted closer to his grandfather, though Kaavi didn't so much as flinch.
Joren, however, remained still. "You're asking us to let you inside our heads."
"No," Kaavi corrected. "I'm telling you that if you want my help, this is the price. If you refuse, we walk away. The Baron's war is not my concern."
A heavy pause.
Then…
"Understood, we were ordered to follow your lead without question" Joren said simply. No hesitation. No debate.
Because tools don't question the hand that wields them.
Veyl, softly: " how does it feel?"
Kaavi's expression softened slightly. "Like waking from a dream. You won't even know it's gone."
Kaavi studied them for a long moment. "Then we begin at first light, Joren. Rest now."
Viktor watched Liran's face as the others dispersed. The young blade was staring at his own hands…at the scars that mapped a short, violent life.
"Does it ever get easier?" Viktor whispered.
Liran didn't look up. "The following orders part does. The rest I do not know" A hollow smile.
"Are you not scared?" Viktor asked quietly.
Liran didn't look at him. "Of what?"
"Of pain."
A pause. Then Liran let out a short, humourless laugh. "I've had worse done to me by men with far less reason."
Viktor swallowed. "But don't my grandpa won't hurt you."
"I know," Liran said, surprising him. "That's why I agreed."
Viktor frowned. "…"
Liran turned, his eyes shadowed. "Forgetting sounds nice."
And Viktor understood.
Some memories were heavier than others.
And the true nature of the Hollow Swords…not knights, not heroes.
Just broken blades, sharpened by a kingdom that forgot their names.