The Company You Keep

The morning mist clung to the forest, curling through the trees like ghostly fingers. The further they walked, the colder the air grew. River adjusted his burgundy-lined coat, the hood of his cloak pulled up against the creeping chill. His gloved fingers flexed, stiff from the cold.

“…Grimhelm’s closer than I thought. Can already feel my fingers going numb.”

Fiora, walking beside him, shrinked into her deep-blue winter coat. The fur-lined hood framed her face, strands of auburn hair slipping loose from beneath it. Her gloves and grey fitted leggings also kept her warm enough but her tone didn’t match.

“Oh, stop acting like you’re freezing to death,” she scoffed, “This is barely a chill.”

“You know, if we die out here, it’ll be because of that attitude.”

“Oh, please. It’s invigorating! Would it kill you to enjoy something for once?”

River made a vague motion toward their surroundings.

“I enjoy… things.”

“Name one.”

A long pause. River tilted his head, pretending to think.

“Hmm. Silence.”

Fiora was about to retort—but then, her footsteps slowed. The trees thinned, and suddenly, the world opened up before them, like a flower blooming.

Fiora froze.

A vast expanse of white stretched toward the horizon, a land shaped by ice and stone. Jagged peaks loomed in the distance, their snow-covered summits kissed by the afternoon light. Valleys of frozen rivers carved through the hills, shimmering faintly beneath the pale sky.

Grimhelm.

Fiora exhaled softly, her breath curling in the air like a wisp of silver.

“I’ve never seen anything like this…” she murmured.

River glanced at her, then back at the landscape. He studied the way her eyes reflected the snow-glazed hills, the flicker of awe that softened her usually sharp features.

“…It’s something.”

A silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just quiet.

Then—

A sharp clash of steel rang through the crisp morning air.

River stiffened. Fiora snapped from her trance, her gaze darting toward the sound. Another clash. A heavy, metallic thud. A cry of displeasure.

They exchanged a glance. Then, without hesitation, they ran toward the source.

As they crested a small hill, the trees gave way to an open clearing—and the sight before them sent Fiora’s breath hitching. A young man, barely older than a boy, was sprawled in the dirt, struggling to push himself up. His daggers lay discarded, and his dark red hair was muddy.

And looming over him was an otherworldly beast.

The hulking beast reared back, its exoskeleton gleaming like a suit of darkened mail. Its jagged pincers snapped hungrily, each one serrated like a butcher’s blade. But the real danger came from its tail—long, barbed, and poised to strike.

An Ironclad Scorpion.

The boy rolled just in time as its stinger slammed down.

Fiora gasped. “By the flames, that thing is huge!”

River moved. “And ugly. Get the kid out of there—I’ll handle the rest!”

Fiora didn’t hesitate and darted forward. The young man, dazed but still aware, glanced up sharply as she approached.

“Can you stand?” Fiora asked, already reaching for his arm. For a split second, the boy hesitated. Then, he took her hand.

Behind them, the scorpion shrieked as River closed the distance.

The beast’s tail snapped forward, a lethal blur aimed straight for the mercenary.

He dodged, twisting to the side as the venomous point slammed into the ground leaving a deep gouge in the dirt, the force enough to shatter bones.

River unsheathed his sword in a blur, rolling his wrist around, “Alright… Let’s see how tough you really are.”

The Scorpion’s armor was near-impenetrable—its iron-plated shell could deflect steel, and normal strikes wouldn’t leave so much as a scratch.

But River knew what he was facing. And he also knew… Every beast had a weak point.

He watched as the scorpion coiled its tail again, preparing for another lunge. River didn’t move. He was waiting. A heartbeat later—the tail lashed out again. With a sharp step back, the mercenary let the stinger miss him by mere inches. And then, he rushed in.

The beast hesitated—confused by the sudden shift in proximity. The scorpion reared back, its pincers snapping wildly—but River wasn’t aiming for its claws.

He was aiming for its back. River jumped forward, over its serrated arms.

Fiora, watching the figt unfold next to the young boy, widened her eyes in alarm, “River—?! Are you insane?!”

His boots landed against the beast’s armored shell, gripping tight against the slick iron plating. The scorpion let out a piercing shriek, thrashing violently to shake him off but River held firm.

He reached for his belt, pulling free a familiar monster slaying dagger. Moonbite. River adjusted his grip aiming steadily for the only part of the Ironclad Scorpion that wasn’t armored— Its stinger.

Using the momentum of his run, Moonbite tore through the thick flesh of its tail, severing the stinger with one clean sweep. The Ironclad Scorpion screamed. Black, venomous ichor gushed from the open wound, spilling onto the dirt. The beast thrashed violently, limbs twitching, its body convulsing in pain.

Then, it collapsed.

River exhaled, as he stepped off the carcass. “...That’ll do.”

“You’re….” Fiora gawked, struggling to find the right words.

River flashed her a smirk. “Practical’s the word you’re seeking.”

“No, it’s insane!” She finally sighed. Choosing to ignore him, Fiora turned to the young man, concerned.

“Are you alright?”

The boy dusted himself off, his deep red eyes unreadable. “I’m fine.”

“Oh…” Fiora nodded.

“…Thank you.” The boy managed to say, almost as if out of obligation. Even still, the noble girl smiled.

“You’re welcome.” Then she turned to River, hands on her hips. “We need to escort him to the nearest town. Like you did for me, correct?”

She grinned, clearly proud that she’d be the escort now.

The boy however tensed slightly at the suggestion. “That’s not necessary,” he said, tone polite but distant.

“Let him be. The kid clearly has the beasts in this forest under control.” River scoffed.

The boy then stopped, exhaled through his nose, and sighed.

“…The nearest town is half a day’s walk from here. The sun will set soon.”

Fiora brightened. “Then a camp it is!”

River sighed, muttering something under his breath, but didn’t argue. The silent treatment confirmed the plan had no argument.

“What's your name?” Fiora asked, her grin still present.

“Francesco… Cissoti.”

“I’m Fiora. And that grumpy one is River.”

As dusk settled over the hills, the three of them—mercenary, noble, and stranger—headed toward the tree line.

✾

The fire crackled softly in the forest clearing, casting flickering shadows over the three figures huddled around it. River crouched close, stirring a battered tin pot with the handle of his spoon. Steam rose into the air, carrying the faint scent of something vaguely edible.

Francesco sniffed the contents of his bowl, one brow twitching.

“This could use… anything.”

River didn’t even look up. “Feel free to look for any spice growing in the snow. I’ll wait.”

Fiora stifled a laugh, “He’s not wrong, you know. You’ve made some truly abysmal meals, but this one might take the crown.”

“Last time your highness cooked you almost charred the pot.” River shot back, causing Fiora’s grin to sour.

“That was one time!”

“Thank the flames there wasn’t a second.”

Francesco was silent during the exchange, but he couldn’t help but note how close the two of them seemed.

For a moment, the forest was quiet save for the crackling of firewood and the occasional clink of metal against bowl.

Fiora glanced at Francesco, head tilted curiously. “So… where are you headed anyway? Someone waiting for you back home?”

The boy stiffened for the briefest second. His gaze dropped to the soup in his hands.

“That is… I’d rather not talk about it.”

River didn’t comment. Just kept eating.

Fiora, sensing the line drawn, nodded gently. “Well as for us…” She continued, her tone lightening, “We’re heading to Grimhelm!”

River muttered, “He didn’t ask.”

“Spoilsport.”

Francesco was taken aback by Fiora’s honesty and River’s bluntness, so much so he was stunned to silence. Yet their easy presence made it easier for him to talk. So he posed a question.

“How did you know how to kill that thing?”

Francesco wasn’t a mere teenager. He knew when to strike and how. But that beast… it was out of his league. The fact that man made its elimination look so easy baffled him to no end.

River raised a brow. “The Ironclad Scorpion?”

Francesco nodded.

“Ironclad Scorpions are armored head to tail—except for the stinger. That’s the only weak point. You can’t get too close or too far. They’ve got a limited range they can sting in. Outside it? You’re safe. Inside it? It can’t bend.”

Francesco’s brows knit. “So you stayed just outside the arc… then closed in when it lunged.”

River nodded. “Jump on its back, go for the tail. That’s the trick.”

The boy was quiet for a long moment, absorbing every word.

“That is… rather genius.”

River tried not to let the praise get to his head.

“Hm.”

“He grinned.” Fiora gave him away.

Francesco looked between them again, his voice measured.

“You’re a mercenary,” he said slowly. “So what are you doing traveling with a noblewoman?”

River’s eyes narrowed slightly. Fiora, however, smiled.

“I wanted to see the world,” she answered simply. “…Before it’s gone. And River’s been… helping.”

Francesco’s eyes flicked to hers. There was something almost vulnerable in her honesty—and something so absurdly noble in the way she said it, like it was the most reasonable thing in the world. He hadn’t expected such a direct answer. He hadn’t expected her to sound so free.

He wished he could say something like that. That he had the freedom to choose what he wanted in the end.

But he didn’t.

He only hoped his master would grant him the chance, if he succeeded.

River shifted, glancing up at the moonlit sky. “Enough talk. Get some sleep. I’ll take the first watch.”

Fiora frowned. “We don’t usually take shifts—”

River shot her a look.

She fell silent.

Francesco laid down without another word, curling into his cloak. Fiora did the same a few feet away.

River sat alone by the fire, unmoving. Eyes open and watching.

✾

The next morning was quiet. The three of them went through the normal preparations and headed off to the closest town. The new addition to the mercenary-noble duet wasn’t long lived however, as they reached the town called Velbrunn in the early noon.

While River and Fiora decided to resupply and be on their way, Francesco was to stay. And thus, it was time to say goodbye.

Fiora smiled and stepped forward. “Take care of yourself, Fran.”

He blinked. “Thank you, but… Fran?”

“It fits you,” she said simply, “Don’t you think so, River?”

The mercenary however was already scouting ahead with his eyes, “Sure.”

While the reply was dry, the noble girl didn’t lose the smile.

“You take care too.” Francesco nodded, tightening his grip on his own thin pack, “Goodbye.”

“Bye! It was nice to meet you!”

“Later, kid.”

While Fiora waved enthusiastically, River gave a short but firm nod of his head.

“Would it kill you to be nicer?” Fiora nudged him, as Francesco’s silhouette grew thinner.

“That kid carried some pretty deadly daggers. So yeah, it might.”

“Come on, you can’t believe that a 15-year-old boy could harm you!”

“Coming from someone who jumps at creaking branches? I’ll pass.”

“Hey— I don’t! That’s a lie!”

✾

Francesco moved quickly through the streets, heading straight to a quiet post station tucked between two stone buildings. Inside, he handed a sealed envelope to the clerk, then waited. Minutes later, another envelope was slid across the counter toward him.

He took it without a word, stepping back out into the alley behind the building. There, where no eyes could see, he broke the wax seal.

Inside was a single folded page.

Two sketches. One of a black haired man, with violet eyes and a sharp face. Another of a girl with red curly hair tied up, and big round blue eyes.

Beneath them, a message in a familiar, elegant hand.

Tail them to Grimhelm. Let them find what they’re looking for. Then eliminate them.

At the bottom, the sender’s name read…

Lothar Vitale.

Francesco’s fingers tightened around the parchment.

His face showed nothing. But his eyes darkened.

Francesco Cissoti had no home. No one to go back to. But he was a paid killer. And he had a master.

One who had spoken. One who had chosen. And the next names etched into Francesco’s path were clear.

Fiora… and River. The only ones who had shown him kindness without judgment, even when he showed his true self— Were the ones who now had to meet the end of his blades.

Francesco didn’t want it. But he would do it. Because if that was the price to meet his family before the world ended…

He’d pay it in full.