When Judgment Learned to Kneel

Following the trail deeper into the Cloud Peaks was every bit as miserable as expected.

The path narrowed fast, cutting between stone teeth and wind-carved ledges where one bad step meant becoming a smear somewhere far below. I had no idea how far ahead Windwalker and his chosen little bastards had gotten, but the new acolytes behind me tried to keep my pace.

Admirable, in a sad sort of way.

Finding the traps Windwalker left behind was less admirable.

One acolyte decided to grab my pack and shove past me on a bend. The rockslide that answered him came down fast and ugly, crushing him on the slope and taking half my remaining provisions with him.

Unfortunate.

The others gave me more space after that, especially once they realized I had deliberately triggered the mechanism on the idiot who robbed me. None of them could match me in a fight. They knew it. I knew it. The mountain knew it too.

That first night after being abandoned, I learned we were only half a day behind Windwalker. I know because I flew ahead.

Petty?

Yes.

Calling it anything else would be lying.

I wanted to know how far the bastard had gone. Once I found his camp and saw the shape of the path ahead, I set three traps of my own and hid them under glamour. Nothing poetic. Nothing overly clever. Just enough to bruise, scare, and inconvenience men who deserved worse.

By the time the sun began to bleed over the horizon, I flew back at breakneck speed and dropped into my place near the cliff’s edge, exactly where I had been before.

The first acolyte to wake found me standing there.

I was baiting someone to push me.

Cruel? Absolutely.

Useful? Also yes.

“Um… Caelen, right?”

A young woman stood behind me, probably just shy of twenty. She fidgeted with her pack, then held out a small piece of bread. It had a bit of mold on one edge.

“Thanks,” I said, taking it.

The gesture surprised me. Around us, the others still watched me like they were deciding whether fear or hunger would win first.

“What’s your name?” I asked, biting into the cleaner side of the bread.

She gave me a quick smile, then blushed and looked down.

“Fara. My name is Fara.”

She held out her hand.

As she did, the other acolytes passed us. One spat in my direction. Another woman shoved Fara aside hard enough to make her stumble, either jealous or disgusted that kindness had survived this long.

Fara recovered quickly, cheeks red.

“Don’t mind them,” she said. “We were taught that helping someone only matters on the battlefield against evil. Small kindnesses just breed weakness.”

So I was right.

The thought made me tired in a way the climb had not. Simple decency was treated like rot here. No wonder Olyra had drugged me even after looking at me like she wanted something more than survival.

Fara had that same look.

Not desire. Not yet.

Wonder.

“I don’t mind,” I said. “Honestly, if they’re so insecure that a helping hand frightens them, they’ll never overcome anything meaningful. Not anything truly threatening.”

She stopped walking for a moment.

The words hit her like doctrine spoken backward.

“What do you mean?” she asked. “How does helping someone make hardship easier? How does that give enlightenment?”

Not a simple question.

Fortunately, the answer was.

“Because it gives you someone to fight for.”

She frowned, still trying to untangle it.

I sighed and started up the trail, forcing her to walk if she wanted the rest of the answer.

“What do you fight for, Fara?”

“The people of Faerûn,” she said immediately. Then, after a beat, “Why?”

“Good answer. Now tell me who you fight for.”

She looked at me like I had changed the language halfway through the conversation.

“When you’re facing something you can’t possibly beat,” I said, “when every sane part of you says stay down, who do you think of? Who makes the impossible worth attempting?”

Her eyes lit up.

Like a child hearing a myth for the first time.

That joy put a weight in my chest. They had stolen so much from these people that even the idea of personal love as strength felt revolutionary.

“So,” she said slowly, “if I had someone like that, someone I fought for, I could be as strong as you?”

There was skepticism in her voice, but hope too.

I did not crush it.

“Someday? Maybe. For now, I’d settle for you surviving your colleagues before you try taking me on.”

She laughed.

A real laugh.

Another surprise this place had not managed to beat out of her yet.

“Okay,” she said. “Then I’ll think of you for now.”

She held out her fist, simple and earnest.

A gesture of companionship. Maybe one she had learned before the monastery taught her tenderness was a liability.

I looked at it for a moment.

“I’m not so weak that I need your protection,” I said. “But if this means you’ll have my back, then I’ll think of you too.”

I bumped her fist lightly.

“I will, Caelen,” she said.

Looking back, I wish I had never done that.

The rest of the day was harsh.

The acolytes ahead of us bickered over who would cross the next suspicious stretch of trail first. It was obviously trapped. Too clean. Too quiet. A patch of gravel laid just wrong over a narrow shelf.

Apparently godhood makes arrogance easy, because when we reached them, I simply walked past everyone, stepped around the trigger mechanism, and disarmed it with one hand.

“Clear,” I said.

Fara crossed first.

That was all it took.

Trusting me openly placed a target on her back I had not meant to paint.

Night came cold and sharp. The wind screamed through the pass, swallowing smaller sounds and making every shadow feel closer than it was. We made camp against a rock wall, no fire, no warmth except body heat and spite.

It did not take long for someone to test her.

A heavyset male acolyte shoved toward Fara and demanded her provisions. His name was Eamon. Same sect as her, which explained the entitlement in his voice. He knew her. Knew where she bent. Knew where she had been trained not to resist.

When I stood, he backed away.

Coward.

I thought that was the end of it.

I was wrong.

The wind in those mountains did something strange to sound. It broke it apart. Shifted it. Made even clumsy feet feel silent until they were too close.

I should have heard him sooner.

I will hate that forever.

Fara’s scream tore through the dark.

“Caelen!”

I was moving before thought finished forming.

Thirty feet.

That was all.

Thirty fucking feet from camp, and the bastard had dragged her into the lee of a stone shelf. One hand had been clamped over her mouth. Her clothes were pulled loose, and she was fighting with everything she had. Blood ran from his nose where she had smashed her forehead into his face. She had managed to spit the gag free just long enough to call my name.

The sight made every restraint in me go quiet.

Not break.

Quiet.

I grabbed Eamon by the throat and lifted him clean off the ground.

He kicked, clawed, choked.

“I was wrong,” he gasped. “I won’t do it again. I swear. I swear!”

Fara was curled against the rock wall, shaking, trying to cover herself with trembling hands.

The camp had woken behind me.

They watched.

Good.

I carried Eamon to the cliff edge.

His pleading became frantic.

“Please. Please, I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

I looked past him, straight at the others.

“Tell it to someone who gives a fuck.”

Then I let go.

His scream fell with him.

The wind swallowed it before the impact could reach us.

For a long moment, no one moved.

I turned back to the acolytes.

“Follow me,” I said, “and you die like that fat bastard did.”

Then I went to Fara.

She flinched when I came close, and that hurt more than I expected. I slowed, crouched, and kept my hands where she could see them.

“I’m going to pick you up,” I said. “Only if you let me.”

She nodded once.

Barely.

I gathered her into my arms and lifted her carefully, cradle-style, then slung her pack over my shoulder. She was shaking so hard I could feel it through my chest.

As I started down the trail, she whispered against my ear.

“Thank you.”

I did not answer.

There was nothing good enough to say.

I walked for hours with her in my arms.

The mountain passed in black stone, knife-wind, and pale strips of cloud. Every so often I looked back. No one followed. They had listened, then. Or feared me enough to imitate wisdom.

Either would do.

Fara fought sleep the whole way. I felt it in the way her fingers tightened in my tunic whenever her eyes began to close. She did not want darkness. Not yet. Not while the world still had hands in it.

So I kept walking.

By sunrise, I had found a narrow hollow between two walls of stone, sheltered enough that the wind could only hiss at us from above. I sat with my back to the rock and kept her in my arms until she finally drifted off.

Only when she could see nothing but me and stone around us did she surrender to sleep.

I stayed awake.

Watching the trail.

Listening to the mountain.

Thinking about Windwalker.

Thinking about what kind of sanctuary teaches children to become wolves, then acts surprised when the pack starts eating its own.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

Hours passed beneath an overcast sky as I carried Fara through the winding trails of the Cloud Peaks.

I never considered waking her.

After everything she'd endured, sleep was the closest thing to mercy she had left, and I refused to steal that from her. Every so often her fingers tightened around the fabric of my robe, as though some part of her feared I'd vanish if she let go. More than once I caught myself glancing back down the mountain, half tempted to return and butcher every last one of those miserable little bastards simply to spit in Windwalker's face—and in the faces of every self-righteous "Master" who had twisted my friends' monastery into this mockery of itself.

The temptation lingered longer than I'd care to admit.

Around midday, I felt a light tap against my shoulder.

"You can put me down now."

I crouched carefully and let her find her footing before releasing her. Even then I kept a steadying hand on her arm until she found her balance. She brushed the dirt from her clothes, straightened her tunic, and tried to pull some semblance of composure back around herself.

Then her cheeks reddened.

"Um... could you give me a minute?" she asked quietly. "I... need to relieve myself."

A smile tugged at my lips.

"Of course."

I turned to leave, but before I'd taken more than a couple of steps, she caught the back of my shirt.

"Don't go far."

I glanced over my shoulder.

"Just... face the other way."

"...And either cover your ears or hum something."

A laugh escaped before I could stop it.

"As you wish."

I pressed my fingers against my ears and hummed an old draconic marching tune that had survived somewhere in the back of my mind for far longer than I had expected. It echoed softly through the cliffs until a gentle tug on my sleeve told me she was finished.

She rubbed her hands on her trousers and offered an embarrassed smile.

"Thanks... for carrying me, Caelen."

"You don't have to thank me."

"I do."

I shrugged.

"I told you I'd have your back."

"I don't make promises I don't intend to keep."

The tension in her shoulders eased.

For a brief moment she simply looked at me.

Then she stepped onto her toes and placed a quick, hesitant kiss against my lips before immediately spinning around and marching ahead with far more determination than stamina.

I watched her for several seconds before shaking my head.

"Walking that fast isn't going to make this any less awkward, Fara."

She stumbled slightly before letting out a groan.

"I know."

She laughed despite herself, then straightened her posture.

"We're taught to keep looking forward."

She glanced back over one shoulder.

"So... take that as my thank you."

"And maybe a little more."

She held out a fist.

I bumped it lightly with my own.

"You're welcome."

The mountain fell quiet again as we continued climbing.

Eventually she pointed farther up the trail.

"I think that's one of Master Windwalker's camps."

I narrowed my eyes, pretending to strain against the distance despite having spotted it several minutes earlier.

"I think you're right."

"Let's stop there for a while."

The campsite had only recently been abandoned.

The ashes still glowed beneath a layer of white soot, and a few lengths of cut rope lay scattered around the fire pit. Whoever had left hadn't bothered hiding their trail.

Interesting.

Either Windwalker had finally decided the mountain itself would finish us...

...or he'd simply run out of ways to amuse himself.

Fara gathered a handful of dry branches wedged between the rocks and coaxed the fire back to life.

Orange light danced across the cliff walls.

She hugged her knees.

"It's getting late."

"Do you think we should stay here until morning?"

The question surprised me.

She was letting me decide.

"I'd rather keep moving," I admitted. "We're close enough that we might catch Windwalker before we reach the monastery."

My gaze drifted down to her feet.

The wrappings were stained through.

She'd walked herself raw trying to keep pace with me.

"...But if you're exhausted," I continued, "we stay."

She followed my eyes before quickly hiding her feet beneath her robes.

"Thanks."

A small smile crossed her face.

"You really aren't like us."

"No."

"I'm not."

"But that doesn't mean I can't leave you with something better than what they taught."

She stared into the fire for a long while before shuffling closer.

Resting both hands on my thighs, she searched my face with unsettling intensity.

"Caelen..."

"I need you to tell me the truth."

"What is it?"

"Why did you help me?"

"Really."

The question caught me completely off guard.

She searched my eyes desperately, waiting for the lie she'd clearly been taught every kindness concealed.

"I helped because it was the right thing to do."

She frowned.

"That's it?"

"That's enough."

"It can't be."

"No one does something for nothing."

I sighed.

"Fara..."

"I don't understand why that's so difficult to believe."

She studied me another long moment before slumping back against the stone wall.

Then she asked something I never expected.

"Were you after my body..."

"...like Eamon was?"

The disgust on my face answered before my mouth did.

"Gods, no."

"I helped because you were frightened."

"Because you needed someone."

"Nothing more."

Her expression hardened.

"So you only saved me because I was helpless?"

She wasn't listening anymore.

She was arguing with everything she'd been taught.

"I never said that."

"But that's what you mean."

She struck the ground with a clenched fist hard enough to split the skin across her knuckles.

"I don't understand any of this."

"Eamon wanted something from me."

"I understood that."

"I knew exactly what he wanted."

She looked up at me.

"But when I thought I was going to die..."

"...all I could think about..."

"...was you."

The confession settled between us.

Heavy.

Fragile.

At the time, I didn't understand it either.

Years later I would.

The aura I carried—the certainty of justice, the promise that someone stronger stood beside you—reached people whether I wished it to or not. Even these people, raised inside a monastery that had beaten compassion out of them, felt something in its presence they had never known before.

Safety.

"I didn't do anything," I said quietly.

"I just offered you my hand."

She stared into the fire.

Neither of us spoke again for a long while.

The sun disappeared beyond the mountains, and darkness settled over the camp. The flames cracked softly between us until, hours later, Fara finally rose to her feet and walked toward me.

"Caelen."

I looked up.

"Fara?"

She didn't answer.

Instead, she stepped closer until she stood between my knees. Her hands trembled as they reached for the front of my robe, fingers bunching the fabric like she needed something solid to hold on to before she lost whatever resolve had carried her this far.

She leaned down.

I caught her wrists before she could come any closer.

"You need to stop, Fara."

My grip was gentle, but firm enough that she couldn't mistake my meaning.

"This isn't you."

She tried to look away.

"This isn't the answer to what happened."

For the first time since I'd pulled her away from Eamon, the mask she'd been forcing over herself shattered completely.

Her eyes filled.

"I know..."

Her voice cracked.

"I just..."

She swallowed hard, shaking her head.

"I just can't do it."

The words barely escaped her before she folded forward, collapsing against my lap as the sobs she'd been holding back finally tore free.

Raw.

Ugly.

Human.

I thought about wrapping my arms around her.

Gods knew she probably needed it.

But something told me she didn't need another person deciding what comfort looked like for her. She needed the freedom to break without someone trying to put the pieces back together before she was ready.

So I stayed still.

I let her cry.

Minutes slipped by.

Every sob grew quieter than the last until the only sound left was the crackle of burning wood and the slow rhythm of her breathing.

Eventually she wiped at her face with the sleeve of her tunic and pushed herself upright.

Her eyes were red.

Her cheeks streaked with tears.

She didn't apologize.

She didn't explain herself.

She simply gave me one long look—a mixture of gratitude, embarrassment, and something else neither of us understood yet.

Without another word, she walked around the fire and curled into herself beneath her blanket, facing away from me.

The silence that followed felt different.

Not hostile.

Just... exhausted.

I leaned back against the stone wall and closed my eyes.

For the first time since entering the Cloud Peaks, the wind had stopped.

No howling through the passes.

No restless branches scraping against the cliffs.

Nothing.

Only an unnatural stillness settled over the mountain, heavy enough to press against my skin.

It should have helped me sleep.

Instead, it left me with the distinct feeling that the mountain itself was holding its breath.