Ashen sat alone at the edge of the camp as dusk swallowed the sky, his gaze distant, the remains of the battle smoldering in the fields beyond. The air was thick with the scent of burnt wood, scorched earth, and something deeper — the heavy iron tang of blood.
The fire in his soul was slow and steady now, no longer raging, but never truly extinguished.
His body ached from the fight. His mind spun with questions.
How many more would come?
How long could they endure?
Footsteps approached — slow, deliberate. Ashen didn't need to look to know it was Lyra.
She sat down beside him without a word, her crutch falling to the grass with a soft thud. She wore a fresh tunic, the sleeve pinned up where her arm was missing, the wound neatly wrapped. She looked exhausted but alive — fiercer now, in a way that only those who survived death could understand.
"You fought like hell today," she said finally, breaking the silence.
Ashen gave a small, humorless laugh. "You're one to talk. You almost stood up and fought with one arm."
She smirked. "Almost. Then I remembered I'm not completely insane."
For a few minutes, they sat there, letting the soft breeze carry away the heaviness. The stars began to appear overhead, brilliant against the velvet sky. Somewhere in the trees, an owl hooted.
Ashen finally spoke, voice low. "We can't stay here much longer. They know where we are now."
Lyra nodded slowly. "Riven said there's a fortress — an old place built during the first Mana Wars. Half a day's journey east, tucked into the mountains."
"Abandoned?"
"Mostly." She paused. "But safer than an open clearing. And defensible."
Ashen mulled it over. Moving the wounded would be a nightmare, but staying here was a death sentence.
He nodded. "We move at dawn."
Silence fell again.
Ashen glanced sideways at her, studying the way the firelight painted gold into her hair, the way her jaw tightened every time she shifted — hiding pain behind sheer stubbornness.
"You're different," he said quietly.
Lyra snorted. "Losing an arm will do that to you."
"No," he said, shaking his head. "Not that. You're... stronger. Fiercer."
She gave him a sidelong look. "You're not so bad yourself, flame-boy."
He chuckled under his breath. Then his smile faded, replaced by something more serious.
"I meant what I said before, Lyra. I'll protect you. No matter what."
She looked at him — really looked at him — and for a moment, the walls between them crumbled.
"I know," she whispered.
Without thinking, Ashen reached out and took her hand — her remaining hand — in his. Her fingers curled around his instinctively, gripping tight.
They leaned toward each other, closer, drawn like moths to flame.
For a heartbeat, Ashen thought this time, nothing would interrupt them.
That maybe, just maybe—
The ground rumbled beneath them, a deep, throaty tremor.
Ashen jumped to his feet, senses flaring. Lyra was already grabbing her crutch, face grim.
From the north, a column of dark smoke rose against the night sky.
Ashen's gut twisted.
That wasn't just a fire.
That was an army.
A low horn sounded in the distance — deep, guttural, filled with malice.
The enemy was already moving.
They were coming.
And they wouldn't wait for dawn.
Ashen turned to Lyra, fire crackling faintly at his fingertips. "We have to get everyone ready. Now."
Lyra nodded sharply, her exhaustion forgotten, replaced by the cold focus of survival. "Let's move."
Together, they raced back toward camp, shouting orders, rallying the others.
Ashen's voice rose above the chaos, steady and commanding.
"Pack only what you can carry!" he barked. "Wounded to the center line! Everyone else—get ready to move!"
The survivors sprang into action, their bodies battered but their spirits unbroken. They had survived worse. They would survive again.
Ashen caught a glimpse of Riven coordinating the scouts, of Kael lurking at the edges, eyes shadowed and unreadable. A dozen names flashed through Ashen's mind — people who had fought, bled, and endured alongside him.
This was more than a war now.
It was family.
It was survival.
The world might burn. The darkness might rise.
But Ashen would fight until the last ember of hope turned to flame again.
He cast one final glance at Lyra, who met his gaze with a fierce nod.
Together, they would endure.
Together, they would ignite a new legend.
And tomorrow?
Tomorrow, the war would begin in earnest.