The fortress hall was heavy with tension. Flickering torchlight cast long shadows on the battered stone walls, each one a silent reminder of the battles they'd survived—and the ones still to come.
Leo sat at the head of the war table, his machete laid across the scarred wood. Aícha stood beside him, staff in hand, her face grim. Kara leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes sharp as a hawk's.
Varl loomed at the far end, his armor battered but unbowed. His arms were folded across his chest, his expression carved from stone.
Leo's voice was low. "Tell me again."
Varl's eyes burned. "We found them near the western ramparts," he growled. "Three of our own—passing messages to the enemy."
Aícha's breath caught. "Traitors," she whispered.
Varl's jaw clenched. "They claim they were forced—families threatened, bribes offered. But they gave them our patrol routes, Leo. Our supply lines. Everything."
Kara's eyes narrowed, her hand resting on her rifle. "They're dead men," she spat. "Every one of them."
Leo's heart ached. "And if we kill them, what are we then?" he asked. "Executioners? The same as the Régime?"
Silence fell, heavy as iron.
Aícha stepped forward. "Leo, we can't afford to be weak," she said, her voice trembling. "The fortress is fragile. Every betrayal brings us closer to collapse."
Leo's breath trembled. Every choice felt like a blade at his throat. "We have to be better than them," he rasped. "We can't lose our humanity to fear."
Varl's voice was low, a rumble of thunder. "Then what would you have us do?"
Leo's eyes lifted, fierce and unyielding. "Question them," he said. "Find out who they spoke to. And then—"
He paused, his breath catching. "And then we decide—together."
Kara's jaw tightened, but she nodded. "Together," she echoed.
Aícha's staff glowed, casting a pale light across the room. "Together," she whispered.
And as the fortress held its breath, Leo felt the weight of leadership press harder than ever before.
The dungeons beneath the fortress were a maze of damp stone and flickering torchlight. Leo walked with deliberate steps, the echoes of his boots mixing with the ragged breathing of the prisoners.
Varl led the way, his shadow stretching like a cloak behind him. The air smelled of sweat, fear, and old blood.
They reached a small cell at the end of the corridor. Three rebels sat on the floor, hands bound, eyes hollow.
Leo stopped just outside the bars. His gaze was hard. "You know why you're here."
One of the men—a wiry scout with a scar across his cheek—lifted his head, defiance in his eyes. "We did what we had to," he spat. "Our families—"
Leo's jaw tightened. "Your families?"
The man's voice broke. "They threatened them. Promised safety. I couldn't—"
Varl's eyes blazed. "And you gave them our patrols. Our supply lines. You sold us out."
The scout's head dropped. "We thought… we thought maybe they'd let us live."
Leo's heart ached. "Who are they?" he demanded. "Who gave the orders?"
Another prisoner—a woman with matted hair—lifted her eyes, tears streaking her cheeks. "A man in black," she whispered. "Armor like a nightmare. He… he knew everything."
Leo's blood ran cold. "What did he know?"
Her voice trembled. "He called you by name. He said… he said he'd watched you. That he'd see you fall."
A chill settled in Leo's chest.
Varl's hand gripped his sword hilt. "Let me deal with them," he growled.
Leo's gaze flickered to the prisoners. "No," he said softly. "We need them alive. For now."
Varl's eyes narrowed. "You think they can be trusted?"
Leo shook his head. "No. But they can still help us."
He turned to the prisoners. "I'm giving you a chance," he said. "Tell us everything—every route, every contact, every secret you've given them. And maybe—maybe—we can find your families before it's too late."
The woman's tears spilled over. "Please," she whispered. "Don't let them die."
Leo's voice was a blade. "You made this choice," he said. "Now help us fix it."
Varl's eyes smoldered, but he stepped back.
And as Leo turned to leave, his heart was a storm of fury and doubt. The darkness was closer than he'd ever feared—and it wore the faces of his own people.
The fortress corridors twisted like a labyrinth, every shadow stretching longer than it should. Leo's footsteps echoed in the hush of the night, a rhythm of doubt and anger.
Kara found him in the training yard, her rifle slung across her back, her eyes sharp. "We need to talk," she said.
Leo turned, his breath misting in the cold air. "I know."
She crossed her arms, gaze fierce. "This enemy knows too much, Leo. They're inside our heads."
He shook his head. "We're all that's left," he rasped. "If we start doubting each other—"
Her voice cut him like a blade. "They've already made us doubt each other," she snapped. "You think Varl's going to stay loyal forever? You think Aícha's the same woman you met on the road? You think Camille's not hiding something?"
Leo's jaw clenched. "They're all we have."
Kara stepped closer, her eyes hard. "And that's what scares me. Because if one of them turns—"
Leo's breath trembled. "Then we lose everything."
Silence hung between them, thick and heavy.
A scream split the night—a high, piercing wail from the fortress gates. Leo's heart seized.
Kara's rifle was in her hands in an instant. "That's no patrol call," she growled.
Leo's machete flashed in the moonlight. "Come on."
They ran together, boots pounding the stones. The fortress gates loomed ahead, open just a crack—enough for the darkness to slip in.
A figure stumbled through the opening—a young rebel, his tunic torn, his eyes wide with terror.
"They're here," he gasped. "They're—"
An arrow thudded into his chest, silencing his words. He fell, lifeless.
Kara's eyes widened. "It's started," she hissed.
Leo's breath trembled. "Then we fight," he said.
As the night erupted into chaos, Leo felt the darkness not just at the gates, but in every corner of his own heart.
The fortress roared with the sounds of battle. Shadows surged like a tide through the main gate, clawing at every weak point, testing every defense.
Leo's machete dripped with blackened ichor as he carved a path through the chaos. Sparks flew as steel clashed with rune blades. Kara's rifle cracked over and over, each shot a promise of defiance.
Aícha's staff glowed from the center of the courtyard, her voice a steady chant that held the shadows at bay. But even her light flickered now, weaker with every breath.
"Leo!" she cried, her voice raw. "They're pushing too hard!"
Leo's chest heaved, sweat stinging his eyes. "Hold them!" he roared. "Don't let them breach the inner walls!"
A scream tore through the night—Varl's voice, low and ragged. Leo turned in time to see the old warrior stagger, blood gushing from a gash in his side.
"Varl!" Leo shouted, lunging forward.
But even as he reached him, Varl's hand came up, palm slick with blood. "Leo," he rasped. "They knew… where we'd be… every step…"
Leo's eyes widened. "What?"
Varl's breath rattled in his throat. "Somebody… told them. One of us…"
His hand fell limp. His eyes stared sightless at the starless sky.
Leo's heart clenched, the weight of doubt crushing him.
Aícha's voice trembled. "Leo—"
He spun, his eyes wild. "One of us," he hissed. "One of us told them."
Kara's rifle clicked as she ejected a spent cartridge. "Who?" she demanded. "Who betrayed us?"
Leo's breath came in ragged gasps. Every face blurred together—Aícha's, Kara's, Camille's—each one a question mark, each one a potential dagger at his back.
"We don't know," he whispered.
Aícha's staff dimmed, the light fading. "Then how do we fight?"
Leo's jaw clenched, his voice breaking. "We fight anyway," he rasped. "Because we have no choice."
The fortress walls shook with another impact—stones cracking, the night alive with fire.
And as the darkness pressed closer, Leo realized that the battle was no longer just outside the walls. It was inside him too.
The night had become a living thing, its claws scratching at the walls, its breath a hot wind that smelled of smoke and ruin. Leo stood atop the inner parapet, his machete gleaming red in the firelight. Every muscle ached, but his resolve burned hotter than the embers at his feet.
Aícha's staff glowed faintly beside him, the last flicker of her magic casting a halo of pale light. Kara's rifle rested on the stone, barrel smoking from a hundred desperate shots.
Below, the courtyard was a battlefield of shadows and steel. Rebels fought with screams and iron, their courage the only thing holding the line.
Leo's voice rose above the din. "Hold the walls!" he roared. "Every shadow falls tonight!"
A cry answered him—a ragged cheer from men and women too stubborn to die.
Then he saw it.
From the darkness beyond the broken gate, a figure emerged—cloaked in shadows, eyes glowing with an unnatural light. Its voice was a rasp of hatred. "Leo Dormien," it hissed. "Your fortress is crumbling. Your people are weak. You are weak."
Leo's breath trembled, but his machete never wavered. "I'm still standing," he spat.
The figure's laugh was a jagged thing, broken and cold. "For now," it sneered. "But the darkness is inside you. It always has been."
Leo's heart thundered. Every fear, every doubt he'd buried came roaring back. The shadows inside him, the darkness of the System's touch.
But then Aícha's hand found his, warm and steady. "You're stronger than it," she whispered.
Kara's voice was a growl. "We're with you."
Leo's machete rose, the blade catching the firelight like a beacon. "Then let's end this," he roared.
He leapt from the parapet, boots slamming into the courtyard. Shadows lunged at him, but his blade was a whirlwind of steel and fury. Every stroke was a promise: that no darkness would ever own him.
Aícha's staff flared, light searing the darkness. Kara's rifle barked, each shot a defiance.
Together they fought, the fortress trembling around them.
And in that moment, as the night screamed and the darkness howled, Leo knew that trust was a blade—one he would wield, even if it cut him.