The dawn sun bled weak light across Arathis, painting the city's broken spires in gray and gold. Smoke still rose from the barricades, curling around shattered walls and scorched stone like a living thing.
Leo moved through the square, his machete strapped to his back. Every step felt like an echo of the battle's toll—a weight he carried in every breath.
Aícha's staff glowed faintly as she tended to the wounded—refugees with torn clothes, eyes glazed with shock. Her hands moved with practiced calm, but her eyes were rimmed with exhaustion.
Jarek stood at the barricade's edge, his axe resting against the wall. His face was hard, but his eyes scanned the survivors with a wariness that went deeper than the shadows.
Kara's rifle was slung over her shoulder as she surveyed the perimeter, her grin nowhere to be found. "They're rattled," she muttered. "I can't blame them."
Leo stopped near the old fountain, the water long dried up, its basin cracked and blackened. He traced a finger over the stone, feeling the grit beneath his skin. "We all are," he said quietly.
Brask approached, his armor streaked with ash. "Supplies are low," he said. "We're down to half rations."
Leo's jaw tightened. "What about the eastern wards?"
Brask shook his head. "Nothing but ruins. And the darkness is getting bolder—some of the patrols haven't come back."
Aícha stood, her staff trembling. "The darkness doesn't rest," she said. "It's learning. Changing."
Kara's eyes flashed. "Then we change faster."
Jarek's growl was low and deep. "We've lost too many already," he said. "And if we start tearing at each other—"
Leo cut him off. "We're not there yet," he said, his voice sharp.
Silence fell like a blade.
A scream cut through the hush—a raw, jagged sound from deeper in the city. Leo spun, his machete a blur in his hand.
"Stay here," he ordered Brask. "Hold the line."
He turned to Kara, Aícha, and Jarek. "With me," he said.
The scream led them through a labyrinth of broken alleys and shattered doorways. Smoke clung to the air like a living thing, wrapping each corner in doubt.
Leo's machete was ready, his steps light but sure. Every sound—every echo—set his nerves on edge.
Kara moved ahead, rifle raised, eyes scanning every shadow. "Whatever made that noise," she muttered, "it wasn't human."
Jarek's axe glinted as he advanced, his bulk filling the narrow passage. "Or it was once," he growled.
Aícha's staff glowed faintly, her light catching on the grime-slicked walls. "Don't jump to conclusions," she warned. "Fear makes monsters of us all."
They reached a crumbling archway—what had once been a grand entrance to the Council Hall, now a ruin of scorched stone and splintered wood. The scream had come from inside.
Leo signaled for silence, raising a hand. They moved as one, every step measured. The air grew thick with the scent of damp earth and old blood.
Inside, the darkness pooled like a living thing. Leo's machete glowed faintly, its rune a feeble beacon.
Kara swept the chamber with her rifle. "Clear—" she started to say.
A sob cut her off—a thin, broken sound that rose from the shadows.
Aícha's staff brightened as she stepped forward. "Wait," she whispered.
From the darkness emerged a girl—no older than fifteen, her face streaked with grime and tears. Her eyes were wide, her hands trembling.
"Please," she gasped. "Help me."
Leo's heart clenched. "What happened?" he asked.
The girl's voice cracked. "They came out of the walls," she said. "They… they took them. My family. My little brother. Please."
Kara's jaw tightened. "Where did they go?"
The girl shook her head. "I don't know," she whispered. "They went deeper. Into the tunnels."
Jarek's growl was low and dangerous. "It's a trap," he said. "They're using her."
Aícha's staff dimmed, her eyes soft with pity. "Or she's all that's left," she said.
Leo weighed every word, every tremble in her voice. "We can't leave her," he said.
Kara's rifle lowered. "Then we go after them," she said.
Jarek's axe swung onto his shoulder. "And if it's a trap?"
Leo's machete rose. "Then we spring it," he said.
The entrance to the tunnels gaped like a wound in the earth, the air thick with damp rot. Leo's machete glowed faintly, its rune a beacon against the encroaching dark.
Jarek's axe gleamed in the gloom, his bulk filling the narrow passage. "This place smells like death," he muttered.
Kara moved lightly beside him, her rifle at the ready. "That's because it is," she said.
Aícha's staff pulsed, her magic weaving a fragile glow that pushed the shadows back by inches. "Stay close," she warned. "This darkness is alive."
They moved in a tight formation, every step measured, every breath a quiet prayer. The tunnels twisted and turned, walls slick with old water and etched with symbols that whispered of lost worlds.
Leo's hand brushed one of the markings—a spiral of jagged lines that bled darkness. "The corruption runs deep," he said.
Jarek's jaw tightened. "Deeper than the city above," he growled.
A sob echoed from ahead—a thin, broken sound that cut through the darkness like a blade. The girl.
Kara's eyes narrowed. "This feels wrong," she muttered. "Too easy."
Leo's machete rose. "Or too late," he said.
They reached a larger chamber—a cavern of broken stone and rotting beams. A faint light flickered from a corner, a small fire casting long shadows.
The girl crouched near the flames, her face pale and drawn. She looked up as they entered, eyes wide with fear.
"They're here," she whispered. "They're in the dark."
Leo's gaze swept the chamber, every nerve alight. "Where?" he demanded.
Her eyes darted to the shadows behind him.
A hiss rose—a whisper of silk on stone—and the darkness lunged.
Leo spun, his machete slashing through a tendril of shadow. Kara's rifle barked, each shot a burst of light in the gloom. Jarek's axe swung wide, carving a path of blood and smoke.
Aícha's staff flared, her magic a wave of white fire that split the dark.
But the darkness was waiting—twisting around their blades, learning their moves. It struck from every angle, its tendrils coiling around ankles and wrists, its whispers clawing at their minds.
Leo's machete cut through another shadow, but a voice—soft and cold—brushed his ear. "You can't save them," it said.
He shook his head, rage flaring. "I can!" he roared.
The darkness laughed—a low, hungry sound that filled the cavern.
Kara fired, her shots sparking off the walls. "They're everywhere!" she shouted.
Jarek's roar was a hammer against the chaos. "Hold the line!"
Aícha's magic flared brighter, her voice a sharp command. "Stay with me!"
The shadows pressed closer, each tendril a promise of oblivion.
Leo's arms trembled as his machete swung again and again. His heart thundered. "We don't give up," he growled. "We don't bow."
The darkness shrieked—its voice a thousand whispers—then burst apart in a storm of smoke and fire.
Silence fell.
Leo's breath came in ragged gasps, his eyes burning with sweat and ash. The girl lay curled near the fire, eyes wide and empty.
Aícha fell to her knees, her staff dimmed. "She's gone," she whispered. "The darkness took her."
Kara's face was hard. "Then we make it pay," she said.
Jarek's axe rested on his shoulder, his jaw set. "And we remind it whose city this is," he growled.
Leo's gaze swept the cavern, the shadows receding like a dying breath. "And we don't stop," he said, his voice low. "Not now. Not ever."
The silence that followed was heavier than any scream. Leo's breath came in ragged gasps, his machete dark with blood and shadows. The air was thick with the scent of scorched stone and fear.
Aícha knelt beside the girl's lifeless body, her staff dimmed to a faint glow. "We were too late," she whispered, her voice a fragile thread. "The darkness took her."
Kara's rifle hung limp in her hands, her face hard but her eyes bright with anger. "Then we make it pay," she said.
Jarek's axe swung onto his shoulder, his gaze sweeping the chamber. "And we make sure it never takes anyone else," he growled.
Leo's heart twisted as he looked at the girl's face—so young, so lost. "We keep fighting," he said, his voice low. "For her. For everyone we couldn't save."
Brask emerged from the tunnel behind them, his armor streaked with soot. "The barricade's holding," he reported, his voice rough. "But we lost more good people."
Leo's jaw tightened. "We'll lose more before this is done," he said. "But we won't lose ourselves."
Aícha's staff pulsed softly. "We have to hold on to who we are," she said. "That's how we win."
Kara's rifle clattered as she checked the magazine. "Then let's remind the darkness who we are," she muttered.
Jarek's voice was a deep rumble. "We stand. No matter what."
Leo met each of their gazes—Aícha's quiet strength, Kara's iron will, Jarek's unwavering defiance. "We stand," he said. "And we fight. Every breath. Every step."
Outside, the wind rose—a low, hungry moan that rattled the broken walls. Leo turned his face to the darkness, his machete steady.
"We're not done," he whispered. "And neither is the darkness."