The sun was a dull smear behind slate-gray clouds as Kade Shen and Lila Mei picked their way through the foothills east of Hollow Bend. The trader’s path had faded into a tangle of rocks and scrub, forcing them to climb over shale-strewn slopes and skirt gullies carved by old runoff. Kade’s legs ached from the half-day trek, his boots scuffing loose stones that clattered down behind him, but he kept moving, the broken saber swinging at his hip like a metronome counting down to blood. Old Wei’s words rang in his ears—prove your worth—and the promise of a reforged blade drove him harder than hunger or fatigue ever could.

Lila led the way, her duster flapping in the brisk wind, her sticks tucked into her belt with a casual ease that belied their deadliness. She’d been quiet most of the walk, tossing him a stale biscuit from her pack at noon but offering little else. “Save your strength,” she’d said when he tried to ask about Iron Hand. “You’ll need it.” Now, as they neared the old mine Wei had pointed them to, her pace slowed, eyes scanning the ridgeline ahead.

“There,” she said, nodding toward a shadowed notch in the hills. A crumbling shaft entrance yawned from the rock, framed by weathered timbers, its mouth half-blocked by a rusted cart. Smoke drifted from somewhere inside, faint but sharp, and the low murmur of voices carried on the breeze—gruff, careless, alive with menace.

Kade crouched beside her, peering through a gap in the scrub. Three figures lounged near the mine’s mouth: two lean men in tattered coats, sharpening knives by a small fire, and a third—a giant of a man, easily six-and-a-half feet, his bulk dominating the scene. His right hand gleamed in the dim light, a crude iron gauntlet strapped over his fist, its edges dented and stained. Iron Hand. Even from here, Kade could feel the weight of him, a presence that promised pain.

“That’s him,” Lila whispered, her voice a blade’s edge. “Big bastard runs this crew. Likes to crush skulls for fun. Those other two are just dogs—mean, but sloppy.”

Kade’s grip tightened on the saber’s hilt, the jagged steel cold against his palm. “How do we take him?”

“We?” Lila arched a brow, smirking. “This is your trial, Shen. Wei wants your proof, not mine. I’ll handle the dogs if they jump, but Iron Hand’s yours.”

He glared, heat rising in his chest. “You’re just gonna watch?”

“Earned my keep saving your ass on the road,” she said, twirling a stick. “You want that blade fixed, you step up. I’ll cheer if you don’t die.”

Kade swallowed a curse, turning back to the mine. She was right—damn her—but it didn’t make the odds feel any lighter. One scout had nearly ended him; this brute was a different beast. Still, the saber’s weight at his side steadied him, its broken edge a vow he’d carved into the dirt of his family’s graves. Iron Hand was a wall between him and Vane. He’d tear it down, one way or another.

“Fine,” he said, easing the saber free. “How do I get close?”

Lila pointed to a gully snaking left, its lip hidden by boulders. “Circle round there. They won’t see you ‘til you’re on ‘em. Hit fast—Iron Hand’s slow to start, but once he’s moving, he don’t stop.”

Kade nodded, slipping into the gully’s shadow. The ground was slick with mud, forcing him to move slow, each step a test of silence Lila had hammered into him. The voices grew clearer as he closed in—rough laughter, a crude joke about a trader they’d robbed. He peeked over the rim, ten yards out now, the fire’s glow flickering across Iron Hand’s scarred face. The man chewed a strip of dried meat, his gauntlet resting on a knee the size of a ham, oblivious.

Kade took a breath, steadying his pulse, and charged. He vaulted the gully’s edge, saber slashing down at the nearest lackey—a wiry man with a pockmarked face. The blade caught him across the shoulder, a shallow gash, but enough to send him sprawling with a yelp. The second dog lunged, knife flashing, and Kade ducked, ramming his elbow into the man’s gut. He crumpled, gasping, but Iron Hand was already up, slow and deliberate, like a boulder rolling downhill.

“Well, damn,” the giant rumbled, voice deep enough to shake the dirt. He cracked his neck, grinning through a mess of crooked teeth. “Got a live one, huh?”

Kade didn’t answer, lunging with the saber aimed at Iron Hand’s chest. The gauntlet swung up, impossibly fast for its size, and steel met iron with a screech that jarred Kade’s arm to the bone. The blow knocked him back, feet skidding, and Iron Hand laughed—a low, guttural sound that promised worse to come.

“Pretty toy,” the brute said, flexing his gauntlet. “Let’s see it break.”

He charged, a mountain of muscle and malice, swinging the iron fist in a wide arc. Kade dove, rolling under the strike, and slashed at Iron Hand’s leg. The saber bit shallow, scraping leather, and the giant barely flinched, pivoting to slam his other hand down. Kade twisted away, the fist cratering the dirt where he’d been, but the move cost him—his footing slipped, and Iron Hand’s gauntlet caught his ribs in a glancing blow.

Pain exploded, white-hot, and Kade hit the ground hard, breath gone. He rolled, barely dodging a stomp that cracked stone, and scrambled up, clutching his side. The saber trembled in his grip, its jagged edge mocking him. Iron Hand loomed, grinning wider, and swung again. Kade dodged left, then right, each miss a hair’s breadth, the giant’s strength turning the fight into a game of survival.

“You’re quick, runt,” Iron Hand growled, circling. “But quick don’t last.”

Kade spat blood, tasting copper, and forced his stance steady. Lila’s voice cut through the haze—balance, precision—and he gritted his teeth. Rage had carried him against the scout, but this was different. He couldn’t outmuscle this beast. He had to outthink him.

Iron Hand charged again, gauntlet high. Kade waited, then sidestepped at the last second, letting the fist whistle past. He swung low, aiming for the knee Lila had called slow—steel met flesh this time, deep enough to draw a grunt. Iron Hand stumbled, and Kade pressed, slashing at the arm, the side, anywhere he could reach. Each hit was small, a nick, but they added up—blood streaking the giant’s leathers, his grin fading to a snarl.

“Enough!” Iron Hand roared, lunging wild. Kade ducked, and the gauntlet smashed the rusted cart, splintering wood. The opening was there—Kade rammed the saber up, under the arm, where muscle met bone. The jagged tip sank deep, and Iron Hand bellowed, staggering back, blood pouring.

Kade yanked the blade free, panting, and swung again—this time at the gauntlet’s straps. Steel severed leather, and the iron clanged to the dirt, useless. Iron Hand clutched his arm, rage twisting his face, but he was slowing, bleeding out. Kade circled, saber raised, and drove it into the giant’s thigh. The brute dropped to one knee, gasping, and Kade kicked him square in the chest, sending him sprawling.

He stood over Iron Hand, saber at his throat, chest heaving. “Where’s Vane?” he snarled.

The giant coughed, blood flecking his lips. “Go to hell, runt.”

Kade pressed the blade, but a shout stopped him—Lila, striding from the gully, the two lackeys bound and groaning at her feet. “He’s done, Shen. Take the gauntlet and let’s go.”

Kade glared down, then stepped back, sheathing the saber. He pried the gauntlet from the dirt, its weight heavy in his hands—proof for Wei. Iron Hand wheezed, alive but broken, and Kade turned away, the fight’s ache settling into his bones.

Lila smirked as they started back. “Not bad. Sloppy, but you lived.”

“Didn’t feel like living,” he muttered, ribs throbbing.

“Means you’re learning,” she said, clapping his shoulder. “Come on. Wei’s waiting.”

The sun dipped low as they trekked west, the gauntlet slung over Kade’s pack, a trophy earned in blood. The saber hung at his side, still broken but sharper in his grip, a tool he was forging himself to wield. Vane was out there, and Kade was closer—step by brutal step.