Moonlight cut a thin, pale blade across the wardrobe floor as the doors swung open.
Cain squinted against the sudden brightness, adjusting to the world beyond the wardrobe’s dimness. The others behind him whispered softly, their voices carrying a hint of awe and fear.
On the other side of the doorway stood a faint humanoid shape that rapidly faded as Nick used Stealth and quickly moved away.
Trees stretched upward, black silhouettes against a dark, starry sky. Wind moved through the branches in slow breaths. The moon hung low, caught between two clouds. Cain stepped out first, his boots crushing fallen leaves.
Behind him, the rescued filed toward the doorway with hesitant steps.
Most of them acted nervous, but the foxkin simply stepped out and inhaled deeply, her tail curling in a slow arc.
“This air is clean,” she murmured. “What a wide place.”
“Wide?” Cain repeated.
It was the bandit clearing he’d found shortly after coming to this world. If bandits were able to use it as a hideout, even temporarily, then he figured it was a decent enough place to kick some people out of his wardrobe.
The place didn’t bring back any nostalgia like he expected it to. The entrance to the small cave was damp and unwelcoming, and the clearing itself was merely a brief respite from the endless sea of trees surrounding it.
As soon as the last of them were removed from his wardrobe, Cain ducked back in and shoved the large crate of clothes and food out through the opening. Stepping back into the clearing, he snapped his fingers and dismissed it.
The towering structure dissolved, leaving nothing behind but a faint indentation in the dirt.
A few of the rescued watched with varied expressions. Some seemed nervous, others seemed curious about his magic.
The foxkin stared at the air where the wardrobe had been with mild interest.
Cain dragged a hand through his hair. “Alright. We can’t stand around forever. Night travel sucks, but staying in the open is risky. We need to get far enough away from Cairel to be safe, and we need to set up shelter.
“Where?” someone whispered.
He shook his head. “I’m not very familiar with the geography around here. Is there anywhere safe that you guys can go? Maybe a haven for non-humans or something?”
The responses ranged from silence to thin, hopeless laughter.
Then a voice spoke up from the back, aged and resigned.
“We could… go to the Federation.”
Every head snapped toward the speaker: the bent-tusked orc.
“The Federation?” Cain asked.
“Across the border.” The orc lifted his chin. “Humans call it ‘the Wastes’. Those called monsters call it many different things.”
“Hell,” muttered a beastkin woman bitterly.
“Home,” someone else whispered.
Cain pondered their reactions for a moment.
Then he glanced at the foxkin.
Her reaction lagged as if she had to parse several conflicting instincts at once. Her tail puffed in alarm. Her ears flattened. She stepped backward, then forward, then froze in place with a frustrated expression.
“No,” she said. “Wait, yes! Maybe?”
Cain rolled his eyes. “Feeling indecisive?”
She frowned at him as if he were the one who had spoken nonsense.
“It’s a terrible place.”
“…But we should go?” he guessed.
“It’s a terrible place,” she repeated, “but shouldn’t the protagonists go to a terrible place?”
That earned her a few looks. But none of them dared to challenge her, a detail that Cain took note of.
“If we don’t die, the narrative development would be fascinating,” she added cheerfully.
Cain rubbed his eyes. “I feel like you’re mixing up priorities.”
“That’s because your priorities are too small,” she informed him.
Behind her, several beastkin exchanged nervous glances.
Takkar finally stepped forward. “We can’t go to the Federation,” he said, his voice tight. “They’ll force us into their cities and make us follow their rules.”
“That’s… bad?” Cain asked.
All of the beastkin nodded.
One goblin spat on the ground. “Any tribe that enters the Federation gets consumed. They make us into ‘citizens’ like it’s some sort of reward.”
“Better to follow the rules of good leaders than to rot in human cages,” the orc pointed out.
“‘Good leaders’ my ass,” Takkar muttered. “They have no respect for our ways.”
“No,” the orc agreed. “They’re civilized. They have buildings with rooms for sleeping, rooms for talking, rooms for eating. They get to eat at set times. They even have enough public order that people stand in lines.”
Takkar’s fur bristled along his arms. “You call it ‘civilized’, but that just means they force you to stop being yourself.”
The orc grunted. “And what you call ‘being yourself’ is starving in mud huts and fighting your neighbors every other season. Civilization is better than that.”
“My people weren’t starving,” Takkar snapped.
“Your tribe wasn’t,” the orc corrected. “Because the Bloodclaws sold others to the humans. You only hate the order of the Federation because they won’t stand for your tyranny.”
“It’s not tyranny, it’s hierarchy,” Takkar argued. “When there aren’t enough resources to go around, you take what you can get.”
The bent-tusked orc folded his arms. “There were never enough resources because the tribes are too eager to take from each other. The Federation enforces prosperity. That’s better than dying in a ditch.”
Takkar’s tail puffed up in outrage.
“You don’t understand what it’s like,” he muttered. “You don’t understand our ways.”
The orc snorted. “Boy, your ‘ways’ are what got you caged.”
Takkar flinched.
Cain stepped into the space before the boy could explode. He lifted a hand, halting the argument.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s slow down before everyone gets punched.”
A few of the rescued sighed in relief.
Cain turned toward Takkar. “You’re saying the Federation destroys beastkin culture?”
“They crush it,” he insisted. “They make everyone live in their cities. They force us to follow their rules. They act like our ways don’t matter.”
Cain nodded slowly. “And you’re worried you’d lose who you are.”
Takkar nodded.
Cain turned to the orc. “And you consider that an acceptable sacrifice for food and safety.”
“Culture means nothing if you’re dead.”
“And ‘civilization’ means nothing without freedom,” Takkar shot back.
The foxkin’s voice drifted between them like a thread of mist.
“You’re both wrong,” she said softly.
They all looked at her.
She stood with her arms folded behind her back, her tail flicking in mild irritation. Her voice was steady and soft, like she was reciting something she’d known for a long time.
“Culture doesn’t vanish because someone tells you to stop having it,” she said. “And order doesn’t save you if you forget how to live.”
Takkar scowled. “You don’t know anything about the Federation.”
“Yes, I do,” she said calmly.
He froze, realizing that he’d just spoken harshly toward her. His face twisted with primal terror.
“I’m sorry…” he muttered weakly. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”
The foxkin plucked a leaf off the ground and spun it between her fingers.
“The Federation is three cities ringed by thirty-six fortress wards,” she said. “It has three rulers—one wise, one strong, one cruel. People have all sorts of names for them. Saints. Monsters. Tyrants.”
Cain raised an eyebrow. “What do you call them?”
“Enemies,” she replied without hesitation. “Because they’re wrong.”
“Care to clarify?”
“It’s the only answer,” she said. “Some things are wrong even when they’re helpful. Some things are right even when they hurt. If you don’t understand that, the Federation will eat you alive.”
Cain smiled. “So you’re saying we should go there?”
“Yes.”
The group hovered in a tense cluster, the unwillingness apparent on several of their faces.
Cain rubbed his jaw. “Alright, I have a general idea of the issue. But let’s be practical. Where else can you go?”
The silence that followed was telling.
No one spoke.
No one had an answer.
A gust of night wind slithered through the clearing, rustling the leaves, making the moment feel heavier.
“Could we… stay in that space from earlier?” Takkar asked.
“The wardrobe? Absolutely not.”
He was not going to hide a bunch of random people in his wardrobe indefinitely.
The silence became stifling.
The foxkin finally broke the quiet.
“Cain,” she said. “You already know the answer. We have nowhere safe in the human domain. And any who choose to scatter will die.”
She looked up at him, eyes bright and unblinking.
“Take us to the border.”
A ripple of uncertainty ran through the group.
Hope.
Doubt.
Fear.
Relief.
Takkar shuffled his feet. “I don’t want to lose myself.”
“Then don’t,” Cain replied simply.
Takkar looked away. “Nobody can resist those tyrants.”
Cain smirked. “Have you tried?”
“No.”
“Then stop the bullshit and give it a shot.”
The foxkin girl beamed. “I knew you were my ideal protagonist.”
Cain pinched the bridge of his nose. “Are you going to keep comparing everything to story tropes?”
She leaned in. “Everything is a story if you stop pretending otherwise.”
Cain sighed. Then he looked around at the circle of exhausted, desperate, hopeful faces.
“Fine,” he said. “We go to the border. But we do it quietly. And if anyone draws attention to us—”
The foxkin gasped. “I will not! I am extremely subtle.”
“I wasn’t only talking about you,” Cain replied. “And no, you’re not.”
“I admit I’m a bit radiant…” she grumbled.
“Then keep it toned down. If we’re going to cross the plains unnoticed…”
“What about other options?” the bent-tusked orc asked.
“Other options?” Cain asked. “Like the lake?”
“Like the lake,” the orc agreed. “Or…” He trailed off, rubbing a hand over his face. “Nevermind, forget I said anything.”
“Well, now I have to ask,” Cain said. “Explain it to me as if I’m stupid.”
“You’re not stupid,” Takkar muttered.
Cain glanced at him. “Pretend harder.”
The orc cleared his throat. “As I’m sure you know, Cairel sits on the southern edge of the lake. The Federation lies on the far side of it. Humans patrol the roads leading south and north, and they watch the water. That’s why the city exists—to stop monsters from crossing the border.”
“So the obvious paths are watched,” Cain summarized.
“Yes.”
“Hmm…”
As far as he could see, they had three options: they could cross the plains south of the city and hope nobody noticed them, they could attempt to cross the lake, or they could wrap around the lake to the north.
“The plains are too dangerous,” a beastkin said. “There’s no cover. If they don’t see us from the walls, a patrol will notice us.”
“The lake is worse,” the orc said. “They have a naval force stationed there. It’s not very large since its just a lake, but they have watchtowers, military boats, and checkpoints in the water as well.”
“What about going around the lake to the north?” Cain asked.
“Another border city,” the goblin girl chimed in. “A little smaller than Cairel, but not by much. We’d be traveling further to take the same risks as crossing here.”
He scratched his jaw. All three options were pretty bad, but if he had to pick one…
Well, he never learned to swim, so the choice was obvious.
“Let’s—” he started.
“The mountains.”
An unfamiliar young voice interrupted him.
Cain turned.
The ‘broken’ beastkin boy stood a little apart from the others. His eyes remained dull, staring at nothing in particular, but he seemed a little more present than before.
“Mountains?” Cain repeated.
“The Voskeg Mountains,” he clarified. “It’s a mountain range south of the Cairel Plains. There are no roads or cities there.”
“I assume there’s a reason for that?”
“Because the mountains are a death zone,” Takkar snapped. “That’s not an option.”
The beastkin boy shrugged. “It’s a bad option, like all the others.”
Cain tilted his head. “What makes these mountains so bad?”
“Nobody really knows. Well, maybe the humans do, since they revive…”
“Shut up, Lorian!” Takkar growled. “We’re not crossing a death zone to go to the Federation. We might as well just stay here and take our chances!”
Cain shook his head. “I told you that you can leave if you want to. But if you stay with the group, then you go where the group goes.”
“That’s irresponsible,” Takkar replied. “You’re the one in charge here, so you should take charge. Or do you think if the majority vote to kill us all, we should just roll over and wait for death?”
“Live your life however you want to,” Cain answered. “If you want to die, do it somewhere where I can’t see you. I can’t save everyone, so I’ll focus my efforts on those who actually want to be saved.”
“…You think I want to die?”
“This isn’t about you, kiddo. I only care so long as you’re in front of me. If you go off on your own, I cannot express how little I care about what’ll happen to you.”
Takkar scowled. “Aren’t you a hero?”
Cain tensed, the corners of his lips curling down as he clenched his teeth. “I’m not a hero,” he growled. “Don’t you dare try to force me into that mold again.”
Takkar recoiled slightly, caught off guard by the heated response.
After a moment of awkward silence, the foxkin girl spoke up.
“You’re not a hero,” she said. “But you have no choice in whether you become one.”
Cain turned his glare on her. “Is this some nonsense about ‘fate’ or ‘destiny’?”
She smiled. “No, it’s semantics. If people start calling you a hero, then you’re a hero. You can influence your public image, but you don’t get to choose how other people interpret it.”
He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down.
“Damn it all…”
The foxkin and the others drifted into silence, allowing him a moment to refocus his mind.
“So,” he said eventually, keeping his voice level. “Realistically, we can either take the plains or the mountains.”
No one replied.
“The mountains,” he continued, glancing at Lorian, “are a death zone.”
“That’s what people say,” Lorian replied quietly.
Takkar snorted. “Because it’s true.”
Cain rolled his shoulders, feeling the night air settle against his skin.
“A death zone,” he repeated, tasting the words. “No patrols, cities, walls, or laws.”
The orc’s brow furrowed. “You’re not seriously—”
“And,” Cain added, almost to himself. “No witnesses.”
If there were no humans there, then he didn’t have to keep up his Cain persona so rigidly. He could use Nick’s fire magic to fight, for example.
He wasn’t sure if he would’ve lost so badly against Commander Aldric if he wasn’t holding back.
At the very least, he would’ve had more options.
Cain’s gaze drifted toward the dark line of the forest where the land began to rise, subtle at first, then sharper in the distance. He couldn’t see the mountains from here, but he could feel the impact of knowing they existed out there.
The thought of crossing a death zone sent a faint chill down his spine.
But…
“There’s another factor.”
Takkar crossed his arms. “What could possibly justify sprinting to our deaths?”
Cain grinned and tapped his temple. “I don’t know what lives in the Voskeg Mountains. But if they’re dangerous enough that even humans haven’t managed to take over, then they probably give a ton of skill points.”
The goblin girl frowned. “None of us can earn skill points.”
“You can’t,” Cain agreed. “But I can.”
“You’ll risk all of our lives so that you can get stronger?” the bent-tusked orc muttered. “I guess you really aren’t a ‘hero’.”
Cain shrugged. “I never claimed to be.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
Turning to address the group as a whole, Cain made his decision. “If you’re willing to brave the mountains with me, you can come along. Those who are too scared to follow me can stay and forge their own path.”
Their reactions were mixed.
Some seemed resolved, others scared. Almost all of them were nervous either way.
But one thing was true no matter what:
‘I’ll ask for the names of those who choose to stay.’
There was no point in bothering to learn about people who wouldn’t stick around. Once the long-term party was decided, he would start paying more attention to the people who stuck by him.
“Start packing up,” he ordered. “For those who are leaving with me, we set off in an hour.”
Of course, he conveniently hid the actual best option: he could try to have Nick sneak out to the other side of the border and summon the wardrobe to teleport everyone over.
While that option was certainly the safest, it was also the most boring.
Choosing to tackle the mountains definitely had nothing to do with the fact that he didn’t want to go back to Cairel just yet as Cain.
If he did, Lila would probably chew him out.
He walked away from the camp and found a tree to sit next to, quietly observing the panicked motion as the rescued made a decision that would likely change the entire direction of their lives.
Whether that change would be good or bad, only time would tell.
Project Knightfall 