The sun rose over Arathis, casting its weak, uncertain light across a city that smelled of smoke and blood. From the cathedral's shattered steps, Leo surveyed the ruins below. The night had claimed more than darkness; it had claimed lives, trust, and whatever innocence might have lingered in the city's bones.
Brask moved through the courtyard, his armor spattered with soot and ichor. He paused to speak with survivors, his voice low and steady. Even in victory, his eyes carried the weight of the fight—and the burden of what would come next.
Leo leaned on his machete, the rune dull now, its glow faded with exhaustion. He watched Kara kneeling by a broken wall, her rifle resting on her lap. She was patching up Loric's arm, her movements brisk and efficient.
"Hold still," she snapped as the boy flinched. "It's just a scratch."
Loric gritted his teeth, tears smudging the dirt on his cheeks. "It burns," he whispered.
Jarek stood behind them, arms folded, his axe resting against his leg. "That's the taste of survival," he rumbled. "Better to feel pain than nothing."
Aícha approached Leo, her staff dim. "The darkness is gone from the cathedral," she said quietly. "But it's not gone from the city. I can still feel it—like smoke in the cracks."
Leo nodded. "It's wounded," he replied. "But it's not dead."
Aícha's gaze was steady, her eyes reflecting the broken sky. "Neither are we," she said.
Brask reached them, his face drawn but determined. "The people need time," he said. "Time to see that this wasn't just another fight that left them worse than before."
Leo's jaw tightened. "How many did we lose?"
Brask's silence was an answer in itself. "Too many," he said at last. "But enough lived to matter."
Kara rose from Loric's side, her grin sharp but weary. "Then let's make their survival count," she said.
Jarek's voice was low, almost a growl. "The darkness will come back," he warned. "It always does."
Leo met his gaze. "Then we'll be ready," he said.
Aícha's staff glowed faintly, a promise of light in the morning haze. "We have to be," she whispered.
Leo looked at the skyline—towers broken like the teeth of a dying beast, smoke drifting from rooftops. He felt the weight of every life saved and every one lost.
Because even in victory, the cost was written in blood.
The morning air tasted of ashes and hard-earned survival. Arathis's streets, once echoing with screams, now held only the shuffle of survivors gathering their dead, the scrape of boots on stone, and the whispered prayers of those too tired to shout.
Leo walked alongside Brask through the ruined streets, their boots crunching on shattered glass. The ache of the battle still pulled at his shoulders, a constant reminder that victory was never free.
Brask's jaw was tight, his eyes scanning every shadow. "They say you killed the Dread Knight," he said. "They're calling you a hero."
Leo's machete swung at his side, its rune dull. "We all fought," he said. "And the darkness will be back. Maybe not tomorrow, but it always finds a way."
Brask stopped at a barricade—a makeshift wall of broken carts and scorched crates. His men labored over the structure, hammering planks and reinforcing the gaps. "That's why we make it bleed for every inch," he replied.
Jarek's voice rose behind them. "The darkness likes to hide in the quiet," he said. He ran a finger over a blackened sigil carved into the stone—a sign of the darkness's presence. "We need to burn it out."
Aícha's staff glowed as she joined them. "Some wounds take more than fire," she said. "The people here… the darkness touched their hearts. You can see it in their eyes."
Leo turned, his gaze sweeping the street. Faces peeked from behind broken doors, children clinging to ragged blankets, men and women with the look of the hunted.
Kara leaned against the barricade, her rifle balanced across her knees. "We won a fight," she said. "We didn't win the war."
Leo's jaw clenched. "Then we keep fighting."
Brask's hand rested on the barricade. "We'll need more than weapons," he said. "We'll need the people to believe they can stand on their own."
Aícha's staff pulsed. "Give them a reason," she said. "A candle in the dark."
Leo nodded. "Then we build it," he said. "Every wall, every shield, every heart."
Jarek's axe swung onto his shoulder. "And when the darkness comes back?"
Leo's eyes were hard. "We'll be waiting," he said.
The wind through Arathis carried the scent of smoldering ruin—a bitter reminder of the battle won, and the ones still to come. Leo moved through the market square, its stalls reduced to skeletal frames, each one a monument to what the city had lost.
Children darted between the broken beams, their laughter too thin, too forced. Women gathered water from a cracked fountain, their eyes hollow. Every face told a story of survival, but none spoke of hope.
Aícha walked beside Leo, her staff glowing faintly. "They're afraid," she murmured. "Not of us—of what's inside them."
Leo's jaw tightened. "What do you mean?"
Aícha's gaze flicked toward a young man hunched in the shadows, his face pale and drawn. "The darkness," she said. "It didn't just break the city. It planted seeds. Some of them—"
Her voice trailed off as the boy looked up. His eyes glowed faintly—an unnatural flicker of black.
Leo's breath caught. "Shit," he whispered.
The boy flinched at his voice, but didn't run. Instead, he staggered forward, hands trembling. "I—" he began, but his words dissolved into a strangled sob.
Kara's rifle swung up, her voice hard. "Leo—"
"Hold," Leo snapped, his machete low but ready. He stepped forward, his own voice calm but cold. "Tell me your name," he said.
The boy's lips trembled. "D-Darin," he stammered. "I—I tried to fight it. I swear. But it's still there, in my head—"
Jarek appeared at Leo's side, his axe heavy on his shoulder. "The darkness," he growled. "It's using him."
Aícha's staff glowed brighter, her voice trembling. "He's not lost yet," she insisted. "We can—"
Suddenly, the boy's eyes rolled back. A shadow flickered across his skin, his mouth twisting into a ragged snarl. His scream echoed through the square, a raw, ragged sound.
Leo lunged forward, his machete slashing a clean arc. The blade's rune flared, slicing the shadow loose. The darkness burst like smoke, leaving the boy crumpled and gasping on the ground.
Silence fell.
Leo stood over Darin, his breath heavy. "He's alive," he said.
Aícha knelt, her staff casting a soft glow over the boy's face. "The darkness is inside them," she whispered. "Every one of them, Leo. We have to be ready."
Jarek's eyes were cold. "We can't save them all," he muttered.
Leo's hand tightened on his machete. "Then we save who we can," he said.
Kara's rifle lowered, her face pale. "And we make sure we don't become what we're fighting," she added.
Leo nodded, his gaze sweeping the ruined city. "We hold the line," he said. "No matter what."
Night fell over Arathis like a silent tide, washing the city in cold moonlight. Fires burned in makeshift braziers, their glow painting the ruins with flickering shadows.
Leo sat on the edge of a broken fountain, his machete resting across his knees. The night air smelled of old smoke and new blood.
Aícha stood nearby, her staff dim, her expression clouded. "What we did today…" she began, her voice soft. "That boy, Darin—he's safe, for now. But how many more are like him?"
Jarek loomed at the edge of the square, his axe balanced on one shoulder. "Too many," he rumbled. "And some won't be saved."
Kara crouched near the brazier, her rifle propped beside her. "We can't save everyone," she said, her tone hard. "If we try, we'll drown."
Leo's jaw clenched. "We can't turn our backs on them either," he replied. "If we do that, we're no better than the darkness."
Aícha's eyes shone, the firelight catching the tears she refused to shed. "Sometimes mercy is harder than the fight," she whispered.
Jarek's face was a mask of iron. "And sometimes mercy is a luxury," he said. "One we can't afford."
Kara's grin was a pale thing. "Funny how we always end up here," she muttered. "Deciding who gets to live—and who doesn't."
Silence fell like a blade.
Leo's eyes drifted to the darkness beyond the square, where the city slept uneasily. "We fight because someone has to," he said at last. "But we have to remember why."
Aícha's staff glowed faintly. "Because if we lose that," she murmured, "we lose ourselves."
Jarek's axe shifted on his shoulder. "We hold the line," he said.
Leo nodded, his grip tightening on the machete. "And we never forget what we're fighting for."
Kara's grin returned, small but defiant. "Then let's get some rest," she said. "Because tomorrow, the fight starts again."
Leo stared into the fire, its flames dancing like ghosts. He knew the darkness wouldn't stop. It would find new faces, new ways to break them.
But he also knew that every battle won was one more chance to push it back.
And that, for now, would have to be enough.