EMPIRE OF THE CASTAWAYS

Chapter 5: Tracks in the Snow

Arc I: The Nameless Child

Human tracks are different from animal tracks.

Ravindra crouched in the snow, finger tracing the edge of a footprint already half-covered by fresh snow but still clear enough to read. Boot. Thick leather with iron sole. Heavy. Adult male, maybe. Or large woman. Hard to tell from tracks alone.

What mattered: human. In Frostreach. In his territory.

Three months had passed since the first lesson about fear. Three months of brutal training that made his small muscles hard as stone, reflexes quick as predators, mind sharp as ice blades. The mammoth bone training staff now felt like an extension of his own arm. He had even once succeeded in touching Auratigris's blue eye in sparring.

The guardian didn't praise. Only nodded and said, "Again."

But today was different. Today Auratigris sent him hunting alone, not animals, but tracking practice. Follow any interesting tracks, learn how to read stories left in snow, then return home before sunset.

Ravindra hadn't expected to find human tracks.

He stood slowly, steel-gray eyes scanning the area. Tracks came from the east, from the mountain pass route rarely used, too dangerous for ordinary caravans. Only fools or desperate people used that path in winter.

The tracks led west. Toward the chasm.

Something tightened in Ravindra's stomach, not fear, but anticipation. Anxiety. He hadn't seen another human in eight years except blurred reflections in water. Eight years hearing only Auratigris's voice and his own.

What would he feel, seeing a human face?

The decision came quickly. He began following tracks slowly, carefully, like tracking fox or deer. One hand on the staff he always carried now, eyes scanning not just tracks but also surroundings. Auratigris taught him: never focus on just one thing. Threats can come from any direction.

The tracks led him across open snowfield, then climbed to rock formations where wind was less harsh. Tracks became clearer, no longer half-covered by snow. Fresh. Maybe an hour ago. Maybe less.

Then he heard sound.

The scraping of metal on stone. Heavy breathing. Human voice muttering, but not a language he knew. Rough. Guttural. Ravindra stopped, pressed against a large boulder, peeking slowly.

And he saw them.

Two people. Adult men, or what looked like men, hard to tell under thick layers of fur and leather. Tall, large, with tangled beards and faces hard as mountain stone. They carried large packs on their backs, weapons, longswords and axes hanging at waists.

Travelers. Or soldiers. Or...

Ravindra's eyes narrowed when he saw a detail that made his stomach tighten: on one man's wrist hung a small chain. And at the chain's end, shackles. Open slave shackles.

Slave hunters.

Something froze in his chest, not Frostreach cold, but different cold. Cold that came from understanding that these people, if they found a child alone in the mountains, wouldn't ask his name. Would only fasten shackles and sell.

Like they did to his parents, perhaps. Or what they would do to anyone foolish enough to be alone and helpless.

"Damn eyes. How long must we search this mountain?" One man's voice rough, complaining. Ruskan language. Ravindra didn't understand all words, but Auratigris had taught some phrases. Enough to catch general meaning.

"Until we find anything valuable. Or freeze to death. Orders say there are rumors of ancient artifacts at the peak. Guardian's treasure." The second man, voice deeper, more authoritative. Leader, maybe.

"Guardian's treasure is fairy tales for children."

"Fairy tale or not, we're paid to search. So we search."

They moved, not toward Ravindra, but parallel, following the ridge. Searching for something. Ravindra didn't know what, didn't care what. What mattered: they were too close to the cave. Too close to home.

Too close to Auratigris.

The decision should be easy: hide until they leave. Two armed adult men versus an eight-year-old child with a staff. No contest. Auratigris would say: don't be foolish, don't get involved, survive to fight another day.

But something in Ravindra, something that had grown during the last three months, something shaped by brutal training and guardian philosophy, whispered something different.

They don't belong here.

This is his territory. His home.

And he wouldn't let them pass just like that.

Ravindra retreated slowly from the rock, mind moving quickly. Two against one. Adults against child. Armed against... wait. Not just staff. He had terrain. Had knowledge of the mountain. Had surprise.

Had something they didn't have: he knew how Frostreach killed.

The path they followed, the ridge, led to an area Ravindra knew well. There was a section where rocks were loose, where snow piled at unstable angles. Avalanche trap, Auratigris called it. Nature's weapon for those who knew how to use it.

Ravindra moved fast now, no longer stalking but running. He knew faster routes, shortcuts that would bring him above the ridge before the slave hunters reached the dangerous section.

Feet found footing automatically, body memory from eight years living on rock and ice. Breath controlled though heart beat fast. Combat excitement, but not panic. Action despite fear, as taught.

Five minutes. He reached above the ridge, looking down on the path the two men would take. Snow here was deep, piled against the rock wall at dangerous angles. Only needed one disturbance, one vibration large enough, and the entire section would slide.

Ravindra took position, waiting. Staff in hand, breathing controlled. Eyes focused on the path.

They appeared five minutes later, two large figures moving carefully on the narrow path. Too focused on footing, not alert enough about what was above them.

First mistake.

Ravindra waited until they were directly below the most unstable section. Then he moved.

Staff struck stone with all his strength, once, twice, three times. Sharp sound echoed between rock formations. Vibrations spread.

Snow began to move.

"What..." One man turned upward, eyes widening as he saw the white wall beginning to collapse.

Too late.

The small avalanche, not large enough to bury mountains but enough for a narrow path, rushed down with force that ordinary humans couldn't resist. Snow, ice, small rocks, all becoming one mass moving like a living creature.

Ravindra didn't wait to see results. He was already moving, descending via different route, circling to see consequences from safe distance.

When he reached the observation point, he saw: one man buried to waist, screaming in Ruskan, curses and panic. The second man, the leader, buried deeper, only head and one arm visible.

They were alive. But trapped.

Ravindra could leave now. Let Frostreach finish the job, cold would kill them in hours if they couldn't free themselves.

But then he saw something that made him stop.

The partially buried man, not the leader, managed to reach the axe at his waist. Was trying to dig out. Might succeed. Might be free in ten minutes.

And if free, would return to whoever sent them. Would tell about the mountain, about traps, maybe about the child they glimpsed before snow collapsed.

Would bring more.

The decision should be difficult. This wasn't wounded fox. Not animal for food. These were humans, two humans who hadn't directly harmed Ravindra.

But they were slave hunters. They came to steal. To take what wasn't theirs.

And Auratigris taught: Don't kill without purpose. But if there's purpose, don't hesitate.

Ravindra descended from hiding, moving toward the partially buried man. Staff in hand, no longer training tool but weapon.

The man saw him and froze. Eyes widening, not from fear of the child, but from shock. A child? Here? Alone?

"You..." The man began speaking, voice startled.

Ravindra didn't let him finish.

Staff struck the head with full force, not to the face but to the temple, where skull bone was thinnest. Auratigris taught that: efficient killing isn't about brutality, but knowing where to strike.

Sound of cracking. Man collapsed, not dead instantly, but unconscious. Would die from cold or head trauma in hours.

The second man, the leader buried deeper, was screaming now. Curses. Threats. Pleas.

Ravindra walked toward him, face expressionless. No anger. No sadistic pleasure. Just necessity.

"You don't belong here," he said in Common tongue, the language Auratigris taught, trade language most people understood somewhat. His voice flat. No emotion. "This isn't your place."

"Wait, wait, child. Listen, we can negotiate. We have gold. You want gold? We..."

Ravindra raised the staff.

The man screamed.

Staff descended.

Sound of dull impact, final.

Silence.

Ravindra stood between two bodies, one already unconscious and dying, one dead with crushed skull. His breath emerged in white clouds. Hands trembling, not much, but visible.

Not like killing fox.

Not at all.

Fox didn't beg. Fox didn't offer gold. Fox didn't look with eyes saying: you're a monster.

But Ravindra didn't feel the same guilt as before. No tears this time. Just emptiness. And certainty that he did what was necessary.

He began the pragmatic process: checking bodies for anything useful. Gold, there was some, he took it. Didn't know its use but Auratigris said gold was valuable. Chain and shackles he left, didn't want to touch. Sword too heavy for him now. Small knife, this he took, better quality than his bone knife.

Then he began the covering process, not burying bodies, too much work, but pushing them into a deep ice crevice where they would be hidden. Nature would handle the rest.

When finished, sun was already beginning to set. Ravindra turned, began the journey back to cave.

Auratigris waited at cave mouth, already knew somehow. The guardian always knew.

Blue and gold eyes scanned Ravindra, expressionless face, slightly trembling hands, frozen blood at staff's end.

"You killed." Not a question.

"Yes."

"How many?"

"Two. Adult men. Slave hunters from Ruska."

"Why?"

More complex question than it sounded. Why kill them? Self-defense? Revenge? Because he could?

Ravindra thought about it, really thought before answering.

"Because they were threats. Because if I let them live, they'd return with more. Because..." He stopped, searching for right words. "Because this is my home. And I won't let anyone take that."

Auratigris was silent for very long. Then, something rare: the great guardian lowered her head, touching Ravindra's forehead with her muzzle in an almost gentle gesture.

"You're not a child anymore," the deep voice echoed. "Today you crossed a threshold. From survivor to something else."

"Warrior?"

"Not yet. But not a child either." Auratigris retreated, eyes not leaving Ravindra's face. "How do you feel?"

Loaded question. Ravindra didn't lie.

"Empty. I feel empty. But also right. Like I did what I had to do."

"Good. Stay like that." The guardian turned, entering the cave. "Empty is better than paralyzing guilt. Right is better than doubt. But don't forget you killed humans today. Keep that memory. One day, when you kill hundreds, you'll need to remember each death has weight."

Ravindra followed into cave warmth, placing staff in corner with new respect. No longer training tool. Weapon now. Weapon that had tasted human blood.

That night, he didn't dream of fire or revenge.

He dreamed of two pairs of human eyes, startled, pleading, dying.

He woke once, breath fast, cold sweat on forehead.

But didn't cry.

Only lay in darkness, staring at ceiling, and asked himself:

Was he a monster now?

Or just someone who did what was necessary to protect home?

The answer didn't come.

But maybe it didn't need to.

Maybe it was enough to know that tomorrow, he would wake again. Train again. Survive again.

And if another threat came, he would kill again.

Without hesitation.

Because that's what survivors do.