A certain unease permeated the air.

People scuffled about the village square with quick steps and darting eyes, a jarring contrast to the lively banter and conversation that used to be commonplace.

Hardly anyone travelled alone, with most groups comprising of two to three hushed individuals whispering amongst themselves about rumors of this and that.

They hadn’t been explicitly told of the situation. But, being as tightly knit as the community was, it was nearly impossible to keep such dire circumstances under wraps.

A single rumor could spread exponentially via word of mouth, becoming twisted as countless iterations of exaggeration warped it into something unrecognizable to the original.

This palpable anxiety was a result of this. No one knew exactly what they were supposed to fear, but they all knew that something was to be feared.

Malt garnered certain looks as he went by. Some held sympathy and pity within their eyes, as if he was an injured pup limping about. Others, however, threw flitting glances in his direction, trying their best not to draw attention whilst also indulging in their morbid curiosity. He supposed that whether they defaulted to the first or second reaction depended on which rumor they happened to catch.

Ignoring the looks as best he could, he occupied his mind with another dilemma entirely.

The village was woefully outmatched.

The fact that they were likely outnumbered wasn’t the biggest issue. These deserters in particular were known for not being the greatest of soldiers. He reckoned that they’d only need to down a fifth of the attacking force for the rest to rout, something that was entirely doable considering their defensive position and superior skirmishers.

The problem lay in their leaders.

This Captain Rudd he’d been hearing about was either charismatic, or strong enough (if not both) to rally a group of deserters under him. He was bound to be a fearsome fighter, and considering that he’d managed to keep a group of that size alive in the forest for so long, it could also be assumed that he was adept in logistics.

It was either that, or his aide was.

That masked man he’d met, every fiber in Malt’s body screamed that he was the largest threat.

He was strong, immensely so. Malt was quite certain that he didn’t eclipse Geld or Stromund in terms of combat prowess, but he was close enough to their level that it felt hopeless trying to oppose him.

In their little encounter, he also had the impression that the man was quite intelligent as well. His movements were calculated and brutal, allowing him to achieve his intended result efficiently, not caring as to how callous he was in the process.

With both these factors in mind, the future seemed bleak.

As if to exuberate these grim thoughts, he looked back up to see his home, or what was left of it. Once a place of comfort and warmth, now it was simply an empty shell of what it had once stood for.

The yard was no longer maintained nor played in, the only thing populating its overgrown presence being burgeoning tufts of weed. The livingroom no longer reverberated with the sounds of banter and conversation, the hearth had been cold for days. The smells of seared meats and baking bread no longer seeped from the second story window as it once did.

Of course he was being woefully dramatic. They were currently staying at Mari’s cottage, helping her move in closer to the village in response to the recent turn of events. Hell, Niko’d even torn himself away from his “training” to help, and considering that the ma’am had supposedly been an adventurer, they were probably even safer than he himself was.

He knew all of this, but it seemed that his subconscious was much more sentimental than he’d previously thought.

Whilst he was drifting in nostalgia, a voice called out to him.

“Malt?”

Turning abruptly, his eyes darted for the source of the voice, properly caught off guard.

Standing a little ways down the path was Anna, holding a basket full to the brim with exotic looking plants. She beckoned him over, balancing her precious cargo with one hand.

He plodded over, nearly forgetting to limp as he did so.

She glanced at his leg sympathetically,

“Must be hard, huh?”

A wry smile crossed his lips. He got the feeling that she’d already seen through his act.

He shrugged in response,

“Well, you know how it is.”

She adjusted her grip on the basket as he approached, “This is perfect, anyway. I won’t have to go fetch you anymore.”

Making sure she adjusted her speed as to accommodate Malt’s ‘injury’, she set off with him in tow.

Nearly a minute of painful silence passed until Malt decided to start up some small conversation; Anna was great at keeping conversations going, but she was never one to instigate them.

“So, up to anything recently?”

Her eyes wandered upward as she recounted her day, a small sigh escaping her lips. “Making sedatives and antibiotics mostly, not much has changed there...ah, I’ve also been helping to tidy up the stuff from your stash if that’s what you meant.”

He looked at her, slightly stunned. The equipment that he’d amassed throughout the past couple weeks wasn’t obtained...peacefully, to say the least. Hell, he hadn’t even had the time to wash the stains off most of the pieces, even knowing fully well that they’d likely rust.

“...you’re kind of amazing, aren’t you?” Her mouth curved into a smile, yet her expression remained straight, maybe even droll at a certain angle. “You come to learn some interesting skills when you have a Grandfather like mine.”

He smiled at her sympathetically, “My condolences.”

They shared a little chuckle amongst themselves, a little reprieve from their otherwise dire circumstances.

“But no, I’m grateful that you’re putting up with his antics.” He dismissed the notion, waving his hand in front of him. “Nah it’s fine, he’s helping me much more than I’m helping him.”

“That may be so, but in any case, seems like you’ve lit something inside of him. I’ve never seen him so enthusiastic before.”

“Now is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“I honestly couldn’t tell you myself.”

Silence followed once again. Those two subjects being exhausted, there was really only one other thing they shared in common.

“So uh, how d’you feel about the whole Niko situation?” He was assuming that she’d caught the details from another source.

“He’ll come back to us.”

Her expression was unchanging, and there was a certainty about her voice. Whatever the reason, it was blaringly clear that she held considerable faith in the guy.

“I’ll make sure of it.”

He looked over to her nodding, and nearly did a double take. She had a gentle, close eyed smile, but another, unidentifiable emotion lurked underneath. He couldn’t exactly pinpoint what it was, but it definitely meant trouble.

“...I can’t tell whether I should be happy or scared for him.”

“How so?”

He rubbed the back of his head with one hand, “I just kind of got the vibe that he didn’t have much of a chance. Don’t get me wrong, I was still gonna cheer him on though.”

She thought for a moment.

“He’s the only boy in the village whose company I enjoy, so I think it's only a natural progression from there.”

His brows raised in response to her straightforwardness, “Shit, okay...wait no I can kind of see it. He’s dumb as dog shit but he’s also loveable as hell.”

She turned to him, smiling.

“Right?”

They exchanged some more chit chat, and as a figurative weight was lifted from his shoulders, it became apparent just how important it was to talk with others. Seems like his latent anxieties had just been festering in his loneliness.

Before he knew it, they’d arrived in front of her home. She took out a sturdy looking key and unlocked the heavy gate with a clank, pushing it open and ushering him inside.

“Go ahead and go to the basement, I’ll bring down some tea for you two in a bit.”

Malt nodded, making his way inside of the neat home and down a flight of stairs that he’d been familiarizing himself with as of late.

The staircase was much longer than it appeared from above ground. As the light from above faded, it became obvious that this was no mere basement.

Once he’d finally made it to the bottom, a small corridor ending at a heavy looking door entered his view. He made his way there using his hands mostly, fumbling across the darkness and finally grasping his hand around the door’s lever.

He forced it up, and with a creak, the hefty steel door swung open, flooding his eyes with light.

The room was relatively small, maybe large enough to fit two, maybe three dozen people if they really squished together. It was evident how this room had been constructed by the walls, specifically the fact that they were literally just packed earth reinforced by horizontal boards of wood. Multiple glass globes, containing some form of magic within them, hung from the ceiling, bathing the area in dim yellow light.

The lamps revealed the racks and racks of arms and armor lining the walls. Bundles of spears leaned against one another, swords hung tip downward and by their crossguards on iron hooks embedded within the walls, there were literally just barrels filled with weapons either cleaned, rusted, or somewhere inbetween.

Piles of gambeson sat on ramshackle tables, along with entire baskets filled with mail, either of the loose kind or already fashioned into makeshift hauberks.

There were also what looked like provisions and barrels of water in one corner, as well as blankets and medical supplies, likely made by Anna herself.

Nasir stood hunched over a table, mulling over a pile of maps and documents. Upon hearing the door creak open, he turned around and took his glasses off.

Malt couldn’t help but look around the room in awe, even though this wasn’t his first time wenterring it. While most of the gear was stuff that he’d procured, there were plenty of others that Nasir had presumably already had.

“I’ve asked this before, but why keep such a dangerous looking room under your house?”

He shrugged, a wide smile adorning his face, “Old habits die hard. Plus, I knew it would come in handy for something, someday.”

He brushed the documents together, straightening them against the desk’s surface.

“Well that’s enough chit chat, let's get you geared up now.”

Malt’s brows raised as he leaned his crutches at the corner of the room.

“I think I can tell where this is going, but why?”

He rolled his sleeves up, already rummaging through the arsenal. “I’ve reason to believe they’re going to try and set up a forward operations base tonight.” He picked out a relatively clean looking kettle helm, tossing it into the boy’s arms. “It’d be a shame not to capitalize on this opportunity, no?”

A wry smile crossed Malt’s face, something he’d grown accustomed of as of late.

“Don’t you think you should slow down once in a while, gramps?”

“Negative. I don’t have tons of time like you young-folk, so I’ve got to make use of my time.”

“You’re just excited to be doing something dangerous, aren’t you?”

He shrugged sarcastically.

“Maybe, maybe not. I guess we’ll just have to see whether that’s true or not, yeah?”