The air smelled of burnt metal and sweat as Kael dragged himself through the rubble, his left arm numb from the blast. Blood trickled down his temple, warm and insistent, but he ignored it. The battlefield was a graveyard of shattered stone and smoldering banners, the remnants of the Twelfth Legion scattered like broken toys.
"Move, damn you!" he growled, shoving aside a fallen beam. His fingers brushed the hilt of his sword—still intact, though the blade was chipped. A small mercy.
A groan echoed from the wreckage ahead. Kael's breath hitched. *Lira.*
He scrambled forward, ignoring the fire in his ribs. She was pinned beneath a collapsed wall, her dark hair matted with dust and blood. One of her daggers lay just out of reach, its spirit-gem flickering weakly.
"Took you long enough," she muttered, her voice hoarse.
Kael exhaled sharply, relief and irritation warring in his chest. "Next time, I'll let the rubble keep you."
She smirked, but her eyes were tight with pain. "Help me up before the bastards come back."
He gripped her forearm, hauling her free with a grunt. She hissed as her leg buckled—broken or sprained, he couldn't tell. Didn't matter. They couldn't stay here.
The enemy had struck at dawn, their mages weaving fire and shadow through the Legion's ranks before the sentries could sound the alarm. Kael had seen the runes on their armor—black suns, the mark of the Void Sect. Fanatics who believed magic was meant to be seized, not earned.
Lira leaned against him, her breath ragged. "Where's the rest?"
Kael scanned the ruins. A few figures stirred in the distance—survivors, maybe. But no sign of their captain, no rallying horn. Just silence.
"Gone," he said flatly.
Her grip on his arm tightened. "Then we're on our own."
---
The forest beyond the battlefield was dense, the canopy thick enough to mute the sun. Kael kept his sword drawn, his senses sharp. The Void Sect wouldn't leave survivors unchecked.
Lira limped beside him, her jaw set. She'd bound her leg with a strip of cloth torn from her cloak, but every step was a struggle.
"We need to find shelter," she said. "Before nightfall."
Kael nodded. The woods were safer than the open road, but not by much. The tribes here worshipped the old gods—spirits of root and rock—and they didn't take kindly to outsiders. Especially ones trailing blood.
A twig snapped.
Kaela whirled, blade raised.
A figure emerged from the undergrowth—a boy, no older than fourteen, his skin painted with ash and ochre. A hunter's markings. He held a bone knife, its edge serrated with tiny teeth.
Lira tensed. "Easy," Kaela murmured.
The boy's gaze flicked between them, wary. Then he spoke, his voice low and guttural. "You are wounded."
Kael didn't lower his sword. "We mean no trouble."
The boy tilted his head, studying them. "The black suns hunt you."
It wasn't a question.
Lira exhaled. "Yes."
For a long moment, the boy was silent. Then he turned, gesturing for them to follow. "Come. The elders will decide your fate."
---
The village was hidden in the heart of the forest, its huts built into the trunks of ancient trees. The air hummed with the scent of herbs and damp earth.
The elders sat in a circle around a fire pit, their faces lined with age and wisdom. One—a woman with eyes like polished flint—studied Kael and Lira as th e boy spoke in their tongue.
"You are legionaries," she said at last, her Common heavily accented.
Kael inclined his head. "What's left of us."
The woman's lips thinned. "The black suns burned our southern grove. Killed our guardians."
Lira shifted. "We didn't know."
"Does it matter?" The elder's gaze was sharp. "You fight the same enemy."
Kael met her eyes. "Then help us."
A murmur rippled through the elders. The fire crackled, casting long shadows.
Finally, the woman stood. "We will give you shelter. But in return, you will take something with you."
She reached into the folds of her robe and withdrew a small wooden box, its surface carved with runes Kael didn't recognize.
Lira frowned. "What is it?"
The elder's smile was grim. "A weapon. One your enemies fear."
Kael hesitated, then took the box. It was lighter than he expected.
"Use it wisely," the elder warned. "Or it will consume you."
---
Night fell like a shroud.
Kael sat by the fire, the box heavy in his hands. Lira slept fitfully beside him, her breath uneven.
He opened the box.
Inside lay a single seed, black as obsidian. It pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.
Kael swallowed. He didn't know what it was. Didn't know if he wanted to.
But the Void Sect was coming. And the Twelfth Legion was gone.
He closed the box.
Tomorrow, they would run. Or they would fight.
Either way, they were unbroken.