Rhaine awoke to the sound of knocking. Still groggy, she dressed quickly and opened the door, surprised to find Katherine and the town blacksmith, Trevor, standing on her doorstep. Beside them was a large, lumpy object covered by a dusty blanket.
“How can I help you, Katherine?” Rhaine asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
“Nonsense, dear,” Katherine said in her warm, grandmotherly tone. “We know you’re leaving for Silver Falls soon. Trevor needs to make a few adjustments to this old suit of armor.”
She gave a nod toward the scruffy older man beside her, who simply grunted in acknowledgment.
Rhaine blinked, still half-asleep. “But I already have a suit of armor. You don’t need to go through the trouble.”
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But there was no persuading them.
“Dear, this is a gift from all of us,” Katherine said gently. “Now, be a good girl and let him take your measurements.”
Rhaine sighed, lifting her arms and stretching them out.
“If you’ll allow me,” Trevor said politely before stepping forward with his measuring tape.
Rhaine gave a small nod, and he got to work, quickly and professionally taking her measurements. When he finished, he gave a satisfied grunt. “Thank you, Lady Rhaine. I’ll meet you at the Command Center before you depart. We’ll personally help you into the armor.”
Rhaine blinked, caught off guard. She had always dressed herself or had a female aide. “Excuse me?” she asked, her face turning a bright shade of red.
WHACK!
Katherine smacked Trevor across the back of the head with her wooden spoon.
“What this dimwit meant,” she said sharply, “is that some of the church’s female attendants will help you dress. He’ll only come in afterward to check the latches and make any final adjustments.”
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Trevor rubbed the side of his head," You didn't have to hit me. " he said, then he looked at Rhaine, "Sorry, see you in the morning." Trevor said. Katherine and he left Rhaine, who still was confused, but needed to get some sleep.
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Later that day, the church bell tolled—a slow, solemn rhythm that marked the beginning of Father Lucas’s funeral. One of the local carpenters had crafted a simple yet elegant coffin for the fallen priest. The procession began at the church, led by a humble wagon bearing Lucas’s remains.
As was tradition in River Hallow, the wagon stopped at every home in the village. At each doorstep, a resident stepped forward and placed a small memento inside the coffin.. a token of love, remembrance, and gratitude. These were not grand offerings, but pieces of the people he had served: a carved wooden figure, a dried flower from a garden he had blessed, a child's drawing. It was believed that in the afterlife, the departed would carry with them a fragment of those who loved them, so they would never walk into the beyond alone.
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When the wagon stopped in front of the Tired Boar, Alex stepped out and placed a metal shield inside. It bore the engraving of a six-legged, roaring lion, its head adorned with a crown.
A moment later, Jirjin emerged, carrying one of his old weapons: a cedar-handled hand axe. He had spent the night restoring it, sharpening the blade, and ensuring it was ready for battle. He laid it beside the shield with quiet reverence.
As the wagon began to roll forward again, Jirjin called out, “Be careful. You don’t know what’s waiting for you.”
Alex smirked. “That’s so nice…you do care,” he said with a mockingly sweet smile.
Jirjin chuckled. “Nonsense. You still owe me for everything you’ve drunk.” He stepped forward and pulled his brother into a firm embrace. In a quieter tone, he whispered, “If you die… you stay dead. You’re not like me.”
Alex gave a small nod. “I’m the better swordsman anyway,” he said as he stepped back. “And the better-looking one. Rhaine won’t let me get too beat up.”
He turned his eyes toward the encampment in the distance.
“Looks like they’re ready to march on Silver Falls.”
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In the encampment, Dareth and Thomas stood near their gear, waiting for the order to move out.
“Well, Copper,” Dareth said, nudging him with an elbow, “looks like we’re finally going to see some action.”
Thomas gave a hesitant nod. “You can’t honestly tell me you don’t have a bad feeling about this.” His eyes flicked toward the funeral procession in the distance. “No one knows where the Usher is. For all we know, he’s waiting for us to leave.”
Dareth shared the same unease, though he didn’t say it aloud. “Focus on the task at hand,” he said gruffly. “Last thing we need is you running your mouth and getting into trouble again.”
He reached over and threw an arm around Thomas’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, Thomas. Stick close to me and you’ll be just fine.”
Thomas smiled at that. The fact that Dareth used his real name didn’t go unnoticed. He made a mental note to record the moment in his journals.
“You’re right, Dareth. This’ll definitely be one for the records.”
Dareth nodded confidently. “One day, people will sing the praises of Log Legs and Copper Thomas!”
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The encampment fell silent as the doors of the Command Center opened.
Rhaine stepped out, clad in a suit of breastplate armor. Sunlight gleamed off the polished metal, casting rays of silver and gold that danced across the eyes of the watching soldiers.
This wasn’t ceremonial.
It was armor meant for war…battle-worn and reforged. Trevor and his assistants had worked through the night, hammering out dents, reinforcing weak joints, and reshaping the plates to better fit her form, ensuring protection without discomfort. The chest plate bore the mark of the Creator, newly retooled and restored to near-pristine condition.
It was more than just armor.
It was a gift from the people of River Hallow—fitting for a commander.
Fitting for the one who now walked in the footsteps of Father Lucas, who once wore it when he saved the town.
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Nervous, Rhaine made her way toward the gathered army.
“Well, someone looks like a leader now!” a voice called out.
She didn’t need to turn around. She knew exactly who it was.
It wasn’t Orion. It wasn’t Jirjin. Honestly, at this moment, she would’ve preferred to be talking to Douglas.
No—this voice belonged to the one man she despised most.
Alex.
Whatever came out of his mouth next, she knew she’d have to summon every ounce of restraint not to murder him on the spot.
She turned, bracing herself for that smug face, that infuriating grin he always wore. But what she saw made her pause.
Alex stood with uncharacteristic formality, one arm folded across his waist as he bowed.
“Commander Rhaine,” he said, rising with a seriousness that caught her completely off guard.
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For a moment, Rhaine could actually see it—the truth in Alex’s claim of once serving in the Royal Guard. He stood with a posture that didn’t reek of arrogance or greed, but something closer to pride. For a brief second, he didn’t look like someone who was only here for the coin—he looked like a man who once took his service seriously.
“Hello, Rhaine.”
…Nope. Here it came.
“If you get this flustered when one person bows, I can’t wait to see the sendoff when the entire army does it,” Alex said, gesturing grandly toward the soldiers behind her.
“Just shut up for the rest of the trip,” she muttered, already fantasizing about strangling him.
When she reached her horse, Alex stepped forward and extended a hand to help her mount—a courteous gesture, completely unexpected from him.
And in that moment, out of sheer frustration, Rhaine made a terrible mistake.
She growled.
Her doom, she knew, would come from that sound one day.
Alex mustered every ounce of strength not to laugh. He could see it in Rhaine’s eyes—one wrong word and he’d be picking his teeth off the ground. So, for once in his life, he said nothing.
Once Rhaine was on her horse, Alex mounted his own and followed behind her as they made their way toward the assembled army. As she rode past the ranks, each soldier followed Alex’s earlier instructions, bowing in respect as their commander passed.
When she reached the head of the army, Rhaine turned to address them—but something caught her eye.
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The funeral wagon had stopped at the entrance to the encampment. From where she stood, she could see Lucas’ coffin, resting in the back.
She looked out over the sea of soldiers, her people. And in that moment, she knew exactly what to do.
She drew her sword from its sheath and raised it high above her head.
“One,” she said firmly.
Alex, and every soldier behind him, drew their blades and echoed her call.
“One!”
The driver of the wagon gave a solemn nod and continued on toward the cemetery. And as he departed, Rhaine turned back, leading her army in the opposite direction—toward war.
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