The first light of dawn broke across Arathis like a thin blade, cutting through the smoky haze that clung to the city. Fires smoldered in half-burned buildings, the scent of charred wood mixing with the tang of fear.
Leo stood at the edge of the square, his machete strapped across his back. His eyes swept the gathering crowd: Brask's fighters tightening armor straps, refugees with makeshift weapons, children clutching rags like talismans.
Kara crouched beside a battered cart, cleaning her rifle with practiced efficiency. "They look more like a funeral procession than an army," she muttered.
Jarek's axe rested on his shoulder as he watched a group of refugees share a crust of bread. "Hope doesn't feed a man," he said, his voice low. "But it keeps him standing."
Aícha moved among the survivors, her staff glowing faintly. She touched a young girl's cheek, whispered words of comfort to an old woman. "They need more than weapons," she murmured. "They need to believe we can win."
Leo nodded, his jaw set. "Then we give them that."
Brask approached, his armor bearing new dents and scratches. "They're scared," he said without preamble. "Some are talking about leaving—heading north to the ruins of Saren."
Leo's eyes narrowed. "And what waits for them there?"
Brask's grimace was answer enough. "Nothing but bandits and dead soil," he said. "But fear makes men run."
Kara's grin was sharp. "Then we give them something to fight for," she said. "A reason to stand."
Jarek's gaze was steady. "They'll follow if they see we're not afraid," he rumbled.
Leo turned to Brask. "We need more than speeches," he said. "We need a plan."
Brask nodded. "We've started setting up outposts in the eastern wards," he said. "Scouts, barricades. But it's not enough. Supplies are running low. Morale's worse."
Aícha's staff pulsed softly. "We can organize them," she said. "Teach them to fight, to watch for the darkness."
Leo's hand rested on the hilt of his machete. "And if the darkness comes?"
Brask's eyes were hard. "Then we bleed for every inch," he said.
Leo's gaze swept the survivors. "Then let's make sure every inch is worth fighting for," he said.
A ragged cheer rose from the crowd—a spark of defiance that flickered in the gray dawn.
Kara's laugh was short but fierce. "I think they're ready," she said.
Leo's voice was quiet but firm. "Then let's make sure we are," he replied.
The square bustled with activity: makeshift barricades were reinforced, weapons sharpened, and refugees assigned watch posts. Even in the grim dawn, the survivors moved with a purpose they hadn't shown in days.
Leo stood near the old fountain, his machete resting across his back. His eyes tracked every movement, every shadow. Something felt wrong—a thread of tension that tugged at his gut.
Aícha approached, her staff glowing faintly. "The people are scared," she whispered. "They trust us—for now. But trust is fragile."
Leo nodded. "And fragile things break," he muttered.
Jarek emerged from the shadows, his axe resting on his shoulder. "There's talk among the guards," he said. "Someone's been slipping away at night. Supplies missing. Words whispered in the dark."
Leo's jaw tightened. "A traitor."
Kara's voice cut in from behind, sharp as her rifle. "Or worse—a spy for the darkness."
They exchanged a glance, the unspoken truth hanging between them.
Brask appeared, his face drawn. "We found this," he said, holding out a scrap of parchment. It was torn and bloodstained, marked with a black sigil Leo recognized too well—the mark of the darkness.
Leo took the paper, his fingers trembling. "Where?"
Brask's eyes were grim. "Near the food stores," he said. "If the darkness is inside our walls—"
Kara's voice was a blade. "Then we gut it," she said.
Aícha's staff glowed brighter, her expression pained. "If it's one of ours, we can't just—"
Jarek's growl was low and dangerous. "If we hesitate, we lose this city," he rumbled.
Leo's eyes burned as he looked at each of them. "Then we find the traitor," he said. "And we make sure this ends."
The air in Arathis was heavy, thick with smoke and the tang of fear. Leo moved like a shadow through the alleys, his machete balanced in his hand. Every creak of wood, every flicker of movement set his nerves on edge.
Kara stalked beside him, her rifle raised, eyes sharp. "This city's a maze," she muttered. "If he's smart, he's long gone."
Jarek's boots crunched on the broken cobblestones, his axe resting against his shoulder. "Or he's waiting to gut us in the dark," he growled.
Aícha moved with a quiet grace, her staff casting a faint glow that painted the walls in soft gold. "We can find him," she whispered. "If we listen."
Leo paused at a broken archway, his gaze sweeping the shadows. "We're not just hunting a man," he said. "We're hunting the darkness itself."
A scuffle echoed ahead—a sharp, ragged sound that set every nerve alight. Kara raised her rifle, eyes narrowed.
"There!" Jarek rumbled, pointing toward a collapsed building.
Leo signaled for silence. He led the way, every step measured, every breath controlled. The ruin loomed, half-swallowed by shadows, its door hanging from a single hinge.
Inside, the air was close, heavy with the scent of damp stone and old fear. Leo's eyes adjusted to the dark—and there, near the back wall, he saw movement.
A figure hunched over a crate, rummaging with frantic, trembling hands. A tattered cloak hid his face, but the shape was familiar.
Leo's voice was a blade. "Step away from the supplies."
The figure froze. Slowly, it turned.
A young man—no older than twenty—met Leo's gaze. His eyes were wide, pupils dilated, sweat glistening on his forehead.
"Please," he gasped. "I—I didn't mean—"
Kara's rifle trained on his chest. "Didn't mean to betray us?" she spat.
Aícha's staff glowed brighter, her face a mask of sorrow. "Let him speak," she said.
The boy's voice cracked. "They said they'd spare my sister," he whispered. "If I left the gate open—if I gave them the map—"
Jarek's growl was low and dangerous. "And you did."
Tears streaked the boy's face. "I had no choice," he sobbed. "I just wanted to save her—"
Leo's heart twisted. "And how many died because of that choice?" he demanded.
The boy shook his head, trembling. "I didn't know," he pleaded. "I swear—I didn't—"
Kara's finger tightened on the trigger. "Liar," she snarled.
Aícha's staff dimmed, her shoulders slumping. "He's just a boy," she whispered.
Jarek's axe gleamed. "And he's a traitor."
Leo's gaze met each of them—Kara's rage, Jarek's fury, Aícha's sorrow. He felt the weight of every life lost to the darkness, every soul betrayed.
The boy's tears fell like rain. "Please," he begged. "Don't—"
Leo raised his machete, his voice a cold whisper. "The darkness used you," he said. "But it ends now."
The blade fell.
Silence crashed through the ruin, heavy and final.
Leo's hand trembled as he lowered his machete. The boy's body lay still, eyes open but empty.
Aícha's staff cast a pale light, tears streaking her cheeks. "We're losing ourselves," she whispered.
Jarek's axe swung back onto his shoulder. "Or we're finding what we're made of," he growled.
Kara's rifle lowered, her face hard. "We can't let this happen again," she said.
Leo stared at the corpse, the darkness's mark still faint on the boy's skin. "Then we fight smarter," he said. "We fight harder. And we make damn sure the darkness knows we're coming."
Outside the ruined building, the city seemed to breathe in ragged gasps—smoke drifting through broken windows, the air heavy with unspoken pain.
Leo stepped into the gray dawn, his machete darkened with shadow and blood. His hands shook, though he forced them still.
Kara followed, her rifle lowered but her eyes still hard. "He was just a kid," she said. Her voice was hoarse, but there was no mercy in her tone. "But he made his choice."
Jarek's boots thudded heavily on the stone, each step a verdict. "The darkness doesn't care how old you are," he growled. "It'll use anyone."
Aícha's staff glowed faintly, her face a mask of quiet grief. "We're supposed to be better than that," she whispered.
Leo turned to her, his eyes hollow. "We are," he said, though the words felt thin. "But if we hesitate, the darkness wins."
Brask joined them, his armor dented and streaked with sweat. "The people are talking," he said. "They're scared. Some think we're no better than the monsters we fight."
Kara's laugh was sharp and bitter. "And maybe they're right," she muttered.
Leo's machete trembled in his grip. "We can't be," he said. "Because if we are—if we let the darkness twist us—then there's nothing left to fight for."
Aícha's staff pulsed. "Then we show them," she said. "Every day, every battle—we prove that we're still human."
Jarek's axe swung onto his shoulder. "We hold the line," he rumbled.
Leo's gaze swept the horizon, where the sun fought to rise behind clouds of ash. "And we make sure they know we're here," he said.
Kara's grin returned, small but defiant. "Then let's get to work," she said.
Brask nodded, a thin smile breaking through his weariness. "We've still got a city to save," he said.
Leo felt the weight of the moment settle on his shoulders—every choice, every death, every hope.
He raised his machete, its rune a faint glow in the morning haze. "Then we fight," he said. "Together."