RED HOOD ✔

THE CROOKED BLADE

A week? There's no way I've been out for a week. "Is this a joke?" I glance around at everyone's faces, and the weight of their expressions sinks in. Even Susanna, who's usually all business, looks particularly grim.

Apsychos seems lost in thought, staring at the ceiling as if he's searching for the right words. But before he can speak, Aunt Liza cuts in. "Vincent, a lot has happened since you fainted. If something had happened to you, especially at this age and time..." She trails off, her concern evident.

"My age?" I frown. What does that have to do with anything?

She offers a forced smile, brushing off my question. "That's a matter for later. The important thing is that you're awake now. We should let you rest." As I try to stand, Apsychos steps in to help, but I shrug him off. "Seriously, I'm fine. Actually, I feel great," I insist, though he still looks pretty downcast.

Glancing around, I realize everyone's suited up in armor. Right, there's a war brewing. "It's starting, isn't it?" Susanna nods grimly. "We sent out some scouts three days ago, and only two returned. One of them told us there are about eight hundred in number, but he wasn't really in the right state of mind at the time."

"What do you mean by one of them?" I press, dreading the answer.

She shakes her head, sorrow lining her face. "The other committed suicide and left us a note." She hands me a folded piece of paper. I open it and read aloud, "Brace yourself?" Susanna nods. "Whatever they saw out there, it must've been terrifying. The surviving scout kept ranting about how 'the village shall be painted red with the blood of our families' and telling everyone to 'run while you still can.' Most villagers have either fled or are hiding. Those who stayed want to fight, but not all are skilled enough. We're about four hundred strong."

Her voice quivers, betraying her fear. Just days ago, she seemed invincible, but now... Seeing her like this makes me feel like I can't just stand by. "We might not make it," she admits, sounding defeated.

"Don't say that," I snap, more boldly than I feel. "The war hasn't even started, and you're already digging our graves. I'm not giving up that easily. My mum fought for this village and didn't stop until she—until she..." My voice cracks.

"Till she died, Vincent. We're all going to die," Susanna interjects, her tone flat.

Great, thanks for the pep talk. Apsychos finally speaks up, "Then we have to call them, Anna."

Who? Before I can ask, Susanna's expression shifts from sorrow to anger. "No, Apsychos, we can't. Are you even thinking?"

He turns to Aunt Liza, desperate. "We need them. It's the only way we can win."

I break in, needing to understand. "What are you guys talking about?"

Susanna answers, not so much to inform as to caution. "He wants us to call The Crooked Blade. They're a group of brigands—criminals. They've committed every crime imaginable. They grow their numbers by recruiting kids, eight and up, offering them a 'family' and a chance for revenge against a society that wronged them. They make you feel important..."

A tear escapes down her cheek. It clicks for me then. "You were with The Crooked Blade, weren't you?"

She wipes away the tear and nods. "Yeah, and that's why I know they're bad news. I was left here as a kid, alone at five. I had to do some crazy stuff to survive. But they took advantage of that."

"So how did you get out?" I ask, though I have a feeling it wasn't easy.

"I fought my way out. That's why bringing them in is like making a deal with the devil."

Apsychos is seething. "You think I like The Crooked Blade? You think I enjoy hanging out with Marshall Crane? I hate them. But we need them. Our army is too small to fight a force twice our size."

Aunt Liza finally weighs in. "Apsychos is right. They're our only hope."

Susanna's fury is palpable. "Fine, go ahead. But when they betray us—and they will—I won't be here to pick up the pieces." She storms out.

Apsychos murmurs he'll go after her, and I realize there's more to their relationship than meets the eye.

But right now, none of that matters. What matters is the fight ahead. "Don't worry, Aunt Liza, we'll win this," I say with more confidence than I feel.

Then she drops a bombshell. "Vincent, you are not fighting this war. You're going back to your father."