I don't know how long I sat there in the dirt.

  The scout was so heavy, like a big, wet sack of flour, and the smell was... it was sour and metallic, and it made my throat feel all tight, like I was going to be sick right on my boots.

  I was breathing in big, ragged gulps, and my fingers were twitching so much they didn't even feel like my fingers anymore. They were just shaking little sticks covered in red.

  "…Rick."

  I jumped, my heart giving a scary little thump against my ribs.

  I looked up through my messy, tear-streaked hair.

  Frans was standing there, looking down at me.

  His eyes weren't glowing with those scary rings anymore.

  They were just his normal, grumpy brown eyes. Just my big brother.

  For a second, I wanted to reach out and grab his cloak and never let go, but his face was as hard as a frozen pond.

  "Listen carefully," he said.

  He sounded so calm, it made me feel even more panicked.

  Why wasn't he shaking too?

  "If you get caught by them next time… that means we're dead. Both of us. So from now on, be careful."

  "…I know," I whispered.

  My voice felt like it was buried under a pile of sand.

  But then his eyes changed again.

  The blue, the white, the yellow, the red... they all came back, swirling like a storm.

  He didn't have to say anything else.

  I understood.

  This wasn't a game of tag in the woods anymore.

  This wasn't a "lesson", this was for "real-for real".

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  If we stopped, we died.

  If we weren't fast, we died.

  Frans walked over to the man I... the man on the ground.

  He reached down and picked up the heavy, wooden crossbow.

  He turned it over in his hands and then held it out to me.

  It looked huge and scary, like a mechanical spider.

  "…You can use this, right, Rick?"

  I stared at the weapon. It had bits of dirt and... other stuff on it.

  I looked at Frans's glowing eyes, and my tummy did a nervous flip.

  I didn't want to touch it.

  I wanted my sword.

  Father always used to stand in the training square with his massive greatsword, a blade so big I couldn't even lift the handle, and he'd look at the sun and say,

  "Rick, an Avenir meets the world face-to-face. A greatsword isn't just a weapon; it's a bridge of honor. You look into your opponent's soul, you feel their strength, and you overcome it with your own."

  He'd make me swing a heavy wooden practice sword until my arms felt like they were going to fall off.

  "Bows are for the weak-hearted, Rick," he'd say with a rumbling laugh that made his beard jiggle. "A bow is for someone who wants to hide. An Avenir stands tall. We don't strike from the shadows, we are the light that cuts through them!"

  I remember nodding and trying to look all brave and tall, even though I was secretly thinking about how much I'd rather be eating a honey cake.

  I wanted to go home and have Mother tell me everything was okay. But Mother wasn't here.

  "…Yeah," I said as I came back to reality with Frans, my voice wobbling.

  I reached out with my shaking hands and took it. It was heavy!

  I had to use both arms just to keep it from hitting my toes.

  I crawled over to the scout, trying really, really hard not to look at his face, and pulled the little bags of bolts off his belt.

  One quiver. Two. Three.

  They felt like lead weights hanging off me.

  Back in the village, using a bow or a crossbow was for... well, for people who weren't "real" warriors.

  Archery was boring.

  It was what you did when you were too tired to swing a blade.

  I used to hide in the hayloft whenever it was time for bow practice because it just wasn't cool.

  I wanted to be like the heroes in the songs!

  But the heroes in the songs didn't have blood on their sleeves.

  I'm sorry, Papa, I thought, and a fresh tear 100% escaped my eye and ran down my nose. I'm not being honorable. I'm just scared. I'm so, so scared.

  Frans looked straight at me, his four-colored eyes making me feel like he could see right through my skin to my scaredy-cat heart.

  "Listen," he said, his voice echoing in the quiet woods.

  "You hide while I fight. If someone tries to run, kill them. Don't try to be a hero. Do you understand?"

  "…Yes, brother," I squeaked.

  I gripped the cold wood of the crossbow.

  My knuckles were white, and the panic was still bubbling in my chest like a pot of boiling water, but I tucked the weapon under my arm.

  It felt like a coward's tool, a way to hurt people from far away where they couldn't see you...

  But if it meant Frans wouldn't end up like the scout, I'd carry a hundred of them.

  At least... at least I wasn't just a piece of lint anymore.

  Even if I was a coward. Even if I was shaking. I could help.

  "Run," Frans commanded.

  And we didn't walk.

  We didn't skip.

  We ran through the dark shadows of the trees, the heavy thump-thump of my heart matching the rhythm of our boots on the forest floor.

  The Cave of Honor was still so far away, and the Empire was everywhere.