A bloody hand reached out through the silt, clawing desperately at the hem of Kaelen’s robe.
Derrick Vance dragged his broken body forward on his elbows. Mud and gravel caked his face, mixing with tears of cold terror that washed pale streaks through the filth on his cheeks.
His iron scale armor was torn at the shoulder, revealing bruised, trembling flesh. Around him, the ruined basin of Old Mill Ravine lay in dead silence, littered with fifty unconscious bandits and the shattered pieces of star-iron axes.
“Kaelen... Mina...” Derrick gasped, his voice cracking into a ragged sob. “You can’t do this! I’m your blood father! I gave you life!”
Behind Kaelen, Mina stepped to the edge of the ox-cart bed.
Her young face was pale and hard as carved marble. Her dark eyes, ringed with faint azure light, looked down at the trembling man with total, unblinking stillness.
She did not flinch, nor did she speak.
Kaelen walked past Derrick’s outstretched fingers, his boots crunching softly on the wet stones. He walked back to the folding wooden tray beside his hammock.
