The tunnels beneath Vane’s stronghold spat Kade Shen into a night black as pitch, the peaks’ jagged teeth gnashing at a starless sky. He stumbled from the cavern’s mouth, the orb’s pack slung tight, blood crusting his torn shirt and seeping from whip-lashed skin. No saber, no knife—just him, the orb’s faint hum, and a fire that refused to gutter out. Ryle’s trackers would hunt—hooves would thunder soon—but the wild swallowed him first, a tangle of pines and shale that hid his trail in shadow. He ran, half-blind, until his legs gave, collapsing in a hollow beneath a fallen log, the orb’s warmth a pulse against his chest.

Dawn crept in, gray and thin, painting the forest in muted streaks. Kade woke to pain—a symphony of it—ribs cracked, skin raw, thigh graze throbbing under its rag. He checked the pack—orb intact, glowing soft, a tether to Jian’s sacrifice. No food, no water, just the clothes on his back and a resolve forged in chains. Lila’s face flashed—this saves you—her sticks on his throat, her eyes pleading. Betrayal stung deeper than Ryle’s whip, but he shoved it down, fuel for the fire. Vane had the saber, had her—Kade had himself, and that’d have to be enough.

He rose, wincing, and scanned the hollow—pines thick, a creek gurgling faint in the distance. Shelter first, then strength. He limped to the water, kneeling to drink, the cold biting his split lip but clearing his head. The orb’s hum steadied him, a whisper of Starfall’s will, and Wei’s voice echoed—flow, not force. No steel, but he had hands, feet, a body unbroken despite the bruises. Vane wouldn’t wait; Kade wouldn’t either.

He started small—stripping bark with a sharp stone, weaving a crude mat to shield the hollow’s mouth. The work tore at his wounds, blood smearing his fingers, but he gritted through, each twist a defiance of Ryle’s chains. By noon, the mat hung, blending with the log’s rot, and he turned to the creek—fish darted in its shallows, silver flashes of life. He waded in, boots off, and struck—hands clumsy, missing twice before snagging a trout, its thrash ended with a rock. Raw, it tasted of mud and blood, but it fueled him, a spark to keep moving.

Training came next—weaponless, but not helpless. He stood in the hollow, the orb at his side, and shadowboxed the air—slow at first, ribs screaming, each punch a test of will. Wei’s drills burned in his memory—balance, precision—and he shifted, feet light, flowing despite the pain. Fists became blades, kicks arced like the saber’s swing, and the forest watched, silent but alive. A pine’s trunk took his blows—knuckles split, bark splintered—until his hands bled anew, toughening with every strike.

Days bled into a rhythm—fish, train, rest, repeat. He scavenged a branch, whittling it with the stone into a crude staff—six feet, rough but balanced—and worked it like Wei’s, spinning, striking, its heft a shadow of the saber. The orb’s hum grew, syncing with his pulse, and visions crept in—Jian’s stance, his fluid cuts, a dance Kade mimicked in the dirt. “For him,” Jian had said, and Kade swung harder, the staff cracking a sapling clean in half.

By the fifth day, hunger gnawed less, pain dulled to a constant ache, and his body hardened—muscle tightening under battered skin, moves sharpening with each dawn. He felled a tree—ten inches thick—with a single kick, the crack echoing through the peaks, a roar of his own making. The staff felt alive, an extension like the saber had been, and he carved K.S. into its wood, a vow reclaimed.

Lila haunted him—her betrayal a ghost in the quiet. He saw her pinning him, Ryle’s grin, the dust swallowing her duster—this saves you. Was it truth, a desperate lie, or Vane’s leash snapping tight? The orb’s visions showed no answers, just Jian’s fall, Vane’s shadow, and Kade swung the staff harder, splitting air, splitting doubt. She’d chosen—right or wrong—and he’d choose too: Vane’s blood, the saber back, the orb safe.

Night fell, the sixth since the cavern, and Kade sat by the creek, staff across his knees, orb glowing beside him. The peaks loomed, Vane’s stronghold a day’s trek east—closer now, its pull undeniable. He’d lost the saber, lost Lila, but not himself—not yet. The forest rustled, a deer bolting through the brush, and Kade stood, staff in hand, a lone blade rising from the wild.

Footsteps crunched—soft, deliberate—and he spun, staff up, as a shadow emerged: Lila, duster torn, face pale but eyes fierce. Blood streaked her arm, fresh, and her sticks hung limp, one cracked. “Kade,” she rasped, halting ten feet off. “We need to talk.”

He gripped the staff, heart pounding—rage, relief, a tangle he couldn’t name. “You’ve got nerve,” he growled, stepping forward. “Come to finish it?”

“No,” she said, voice breaking. “Came to fix it. Vane’s moving—tomorrow, with the orb’s power. I got out—barely.” She lifted her arm, wound glistening. “Ryle’s dead. I killed him.”

Kade’s stance wavered, the staff steady but his mind reeling. “Why should I believe you?”

“Because I’m here,” she said, stepping closer, defenseless. “Betrayed you to save you—Ryle’d have shot you dead if I’d fought. Gave ‘em a ghost, bought you time. Hated every second.”

He glared, the staff trembling, Jian’s honor clashing with her words—strength’s what you fight for. “You handed me to chains.”

“And broke ‘em getting here,” she shot back, eyes wet but unyielding. “Vane’s got the saber—plans to twist the orb tomorrow. We stop him, or it’s over—for both of us.”

The orb pulsed, a call cutting through his fury, and Kade lowered the staff, slow and heavy. “You’re with me, or you’re dead,” he said, voice steel. “No more games.”

“None,” she agreed, nodding once. “Together—or I walk.”

He exhaled, dust settling in his lungs, and tossed her the staff’s splintered end—a crude truce. “Rest,” he said, turning to the creek. “We move at dawn.”

Lila sank against a pine, clutching the wood, her blood staining it red. The peaks loomed, Vane’s shadow sharper now, and Kade gripped the staff, the lone blade risen, ready to reclaim what was his.