Grub sat in his shelter, the dim light filtering through the cracks of his makeshift structure as he leaned over his notebook, writing carefully and deliberately. Every movement of his hand was controlled despite the lingering stiffness in his body, the dull ache in his ribs still present but not too big of a problem for him at the moment. He had finished packing hours ago. Everything he needed was laid out, checked, and rechecked, leaving him with only one thing left to do.
I have to think. What should I do?
He wrote down everything that had happened, not just the events themselves, but the details beneath them—the tone of Gavial's voice, how he believed the structure of command went, the implications that came with the mission, the way Tre'yon hesitated while in the tent with Colonel, and finally any detail he could gather about that red Lacert that had been with them in that tent. Every small piece of information mattered. He couldn't afford to forget anything again. Because right now any info is crucial to his upcoming plans.
His eyes drifted down to his wrist.
The bracelet sat there, dark and unmoving, its obsidian surface faintly reflecting the dim light. The runes carved into it were intricate and layered, almost impossibly precise. He could still feel it, even now. That faint hum beneath his skin. That constant presence, like the unmistakable feeling of something observing him from just beneath the surface and he didn't particularly care for that feeling.
Grub narrowed his eyes slightly.
He had already tested the bracelet. He ran each experiment as carefully as he possibly could.
Every time he so much as tried to interfere with it, a small shock ran through his arm. Not enough to incapacitate him or deal any serious damage for now, but enough to warn him. Enough to make one thing very clear.
There were precautions. And Grub could tell that the tiny shocks could become more problematic later on. If something as small as prodding it caused a reaction, then breaking it—or even attempting to remove it—would likely do far worse.
It would most likely end with my death.
Grub exhaled slowly.
"…tricky," he muttered under his breath.
But Grub knew that it was not impossible. As far as Grub was concerned nothing was impossible. It just meant he didn't understand it yet. And once he understood something, once he broke it down and figured out how it worked, there would always be a way around it.
He just needed some time. And he intended to take it.
The next day passed slowly. Grub didn't waste a second of it. He spent it thinking, analyzing, replaying every possibility in his mind while preparing for the journey ahead. He mapped out routes, considered scenarios, imagined outcomes. Every step forward had to be deliberate. He calculated each and every decision.
By the time the day neared its end, he was ready. Or as ready as he could be. He was just about to finalize his pack when he heard movement behind him.
Grub didn't bother to turn. He already knew who it was.
Tre'yon stepped into the shelter slowly and looked around Grub's makeshift home.
Grub barely acknowledged him, his attention still on his supplies as he counted through his rations again, his voice low as he muttered to himself.
"…a week, maybe," he said quietly. "That's what he said… if I take their route."
He glanced briefly at the map laid out beside him, his fingers tracing the path that had been marked.
This was apparently the safest route. The same route their previous spies had taken. The ones that were now dead. Grub's eyes narrowed slightly.
That meant one of two things. Either the route itself had been compromised, or the village already knew it. And if they knew it, there was a good chance it was filled with traps, surveillance, or worse. But at the same time, maybe it wasn't the route that killed them and this truly was the best path. As Grub pondered his predicament Tre'yon shifted slightly behind him.
"…are you okay?" he asked, his voice quieter than usual. "I've… calmed down since earlier."
Grub didn't respond. Instead, he kept thinking. His plans moved forward in his mind, adjusting, evolving.
First I will go to the village. They are watching me and expecting me to do that much at least. Then I have to find a way to remove this damned bracelet, maybe one of the villagers could help me if I have a good relationship with them. Finally, I am going to deal with these Lacerts. It may be personal, but I don't appreciate them planning to execute me or use me as some sort of lap dog.
His eyes hardened slightly. That was a good plan. Sure the details weren't fleshed out, but it'll get there as he goes.
Tre'yon's voice rose, frustration breaking through.
"Say something," he snapped. "You're not deaf or mute. I know that now."
Grub let out a quiet sigh, the sound more annoyed than anything else. He paused for a moment, then finally turned his head slightly.
"What do you want?"
Tre'yon hesitated, clearly not expecting a response so blunt. Then he spoke, slower this time.
"…I'm sorry," he said. "For earlier. For how everything turned out."
Grub said nothing. So Tre'yon continued.
"I know you'll succeed," he said. "And… I hope you'll be free after this."
Grub scoffed quietly, his hand instinctively brushing against his stomach where the spear had pierced him. The memory was still fresh. The pain was still there.
Tre'yon noticed his gaze. His gaze dropped slightly, his voice faltering as he opened his mouth.
"…I've been looking into my brother's death," he added. "It didn't feel right. It was too sudden… something about it doesn't make sense."
He let out a quiet, awkward breath.
"…sorry. That's not something I should be talking about right now."
Grub stared at him for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he turned away. He finished securing his pack, sliding his notebook safely into place before lifting it onto his back. His grip tightened around his trusty club as he stood, his movements steady despite everything.
Without another word, he walked past Tre'yon and out of the shelter. The camp was quieter than usual as he made his way toward the edge. A few Lacerts watched him go, their gazes lingering as he passed. It reminded him, faintly, of when he had left the Ridge.
But it wasn't the same. Not even close. That departure had felt uncertain and bitter. This one felt forced. Grub exhaled slowly as he stepped beyond the boundaries of the camp and into the wilderness once more. Then he kept walking.
The further he moved away, the lighter the air felt, but the weight on his wrist remained constant. After some distance, he pulled out the map again, studying it carefully as he walked, memorizing every turn, every landmark, every potential risk.
Some time passed soon passed. An hour. Then another.
The forest thickened around him, the sounds of the camp long gone, replaced by the quiet movement of nature. Eventually, Grub stopped.
He sat down on a moss-covered stone, letting his body rest for a moment as his eyes drifted back to his wrist.
This bracelet.
Up close, the runes were even more intricate than he remembered. They weren't just carved—they were layered, overlapping in ways that suggested depth beyond the surface. The way it fastened around his wrist was seamless, as if it had molded itself perfectly to him.
Grub reached down and grabbed a sturdy twig from the ground, turning it in his hand before setting it against the rock. He lifted his club and began shaping it, slowly carving it down into a thin, needle-like point. Once it was ready, he sat back and began testing.
He prodded at the bracelet, gently at first, then with more intention, trying to find any weakness, any inconsistency, anything that stood out.
As he prodded a small shock ran through his arm. He flinched slightly, then immediately reached for his notebook, writing down the reaction. He wrote the angle he approached at and the amount of pressure he applied and where he applied it too.
Then he tried again. He pried at the edges and used bits of moss to cushion the needle and interfere.
Each attempt ended the same way. A small shock was delivered through his wrist and into the rest of his body.
Grub recorded everything he found. In his head, every failure mattered. Every reaction was information regardless of the outcome. Time passed quickly as he worked, the light around him slowly dimming as the sun began to fall. Eventually, he stopped, lowering his hand slightly as he looked down at the bracelet.
"…tsk not today," he muttered.
For now, it was enough, as night approached slowly.
Grub stood, rolling his shoulders slightly as he scanned his surroundings before moving again. Along the way, he killed a few small creatures—nothing significant or difficult—but it was a necessity. He had to gather a small amount of Death, enough to keep himself from running completely empty.
Then he continued forward. Step by step toward the Anwansi village. Toward answers. Or toward his end.
Grub didn't know which yet. But he kept walking anyway.