Ias stood back, his dark eyes hollow. Acheron could hear the man’s thoughts as clearly as if they were in his own mind.

The man’s pain reached out to him, making his own stomach tighten in sympathy.

“How long has it been since you men were created?” Acheron asked them.

“A few weeks for me,” Kyros said.

Callabrax nodded. “I was created about the same time.”

Acheron looked to Ias.

“Two days ago,” he said, his voice empty.

“He’s still sick from the conversion,” Kyros supplied. “It was almost a week before I could…adjust.”

Acheron stifled the urge to laugh bitterly. It was a good word for it.

“Have you killed any Daimons yet?” he asked them.

“We tried,” Callabrax said, “but they are very different from killing soldiers. Stronger. Faster. They don’t die easily. We already lost two men to them.”

Acheron winced at the thought of two unprepared men going up against the Daimons and the horrific existence that awaited them when they had died.

It was followed by the memory of his first fight…

He blocked the thought out of his mind.

“Have the three of you eaten tonight?”

They nodded.

“Then follow me outside and I’ll teach what you need to know to kill them.”

Acheron worked with them until it was almost dawn. He shared with them everything he could for one night. Taught them new tactics. Where and how the Daimons were most vulnerable.

At the end of the night, he left them to their cave.

“I shall find you a better place to hide in daylight,” he promised them.

“I’m a Dorian,” Callabrax said proudly. “I require nothing more than what I have.”

“But we’re not,” Kyros said. “A bed would be most welcomed to me and Ias. A bath even more so.”

Acheron inclined his head, then motioned for Ias to join him outside.