The first light of dawn broke like a promise over the fortress, but it felt fragile—a pale thread holding back the darkness.
Leo stood in the courtyard, boots crunching on broken stone. Smoke drifted in the cold air, carrying the bitter scent of burnt wood and blood.
Rebels moved like ghosts through the wreckage—bandaging wounds, clearing rubble, searching for the dead. Their faces were hollow, their eyes ringed with exhaustion and grief.
Aícha moved among them, staff glowing dimly. She paused to kneel beside a young man, his leg bound in a crude splint. Her hands glowed faintly as she whispered a healing chant, her voice low and worn.
Kara leaned against the parapet, her rifle slung across her back. She met Leo's gaze with a weary smirk. "Hell of a night," she muttered.
Leo's chest ached. "We survived," he said.
She snorted. "Some of us."
His breath trembled. Every loss was a weight on his soul. "They fought for something," he whispered. "We can't let that die."
She pushed off the wall, boots scuffing the dirt. "We won't," she said, her voice iron. "But you need to see this."
She led him through the rubble to the main gate—splintered wood and bent iron, the barrier that had held back the worst of the darkness.
A small group of survivors waited there—faces grim, eyes sharp. Camille was among them, his hands blackened with soot and oil.
"Leo," he said, voice low. "We found something."
Leo's eyes narrowed. "What?"
Camille gestured to a battered crate, its sides scorched and marked with the Régime's insignia. "Salvage from the enemy," he said. "Old tech. Runes. Data modules."
A flicker of hope ignited in Leo's chest. "Can you read it?"
Camille's grin was tired but fierce. "Give me a day," he said. "Maybe less."
Leo nodded. "Do it," he said. "Anything that can give us an edge."
As Camille bent to his work, Leo turned to the horizon. The fortress was battered, his people wounded—but they were still standing.
And in that fragile dawn, Leo found something he hadn't felt in a long time.
Hope.
The sun had barely risen, casting long, cold shadows across the fortress walls. Leo moved through the courtyard, each step heavy with the weight of the night's cost.
Rebels worked in small clusters—stacking salvaged weapons, bandaging wounds, burning the bodies of the fallen. Their eyes flicked to him, some with respect, others with a haunted suspicion that stung deeper than any blade.
Aícha met him near the ruined gate, her staff dim but steady. "They're scared," she said softly.
Leo's jaw tightened. "They should be," he said.
She searched his face, eyes troubled. "They think there's still a traitor among us."
Leo's breath caught. "They might be right," he whispered.
Kara emerged from the shadows, her rifle slung low, her expression sharp. "Rumors are spreading like wildfire," she growled. "Varl's death hit them hard—and now they're looking for someone to blame."
Leo's gaze swept the courtyard—each rebel a potential suspect, each friend a potential enemy.
"Fear makes people dangerous," he said. "We have to be careful."
Kara's voice was hard. "Careful won't cut it if they turn on each other."
Aícha's staff glowed faintly, the light flickering like a candle in the wind. "What will you do?" she asked.
Leo's eyes were shadows, deep and cold. "I'll remind them who they're fighting for," he said. "And I'll find whoever's feeding the enemy our secrets—no matter who it is."
Kara's jaw tightened. "You think it's one of us?"
Leo's breath trembled. "I think it could be anyone," he said.
A silence fell, the weight of doubt pressing on them all.
Aícha's staff dimmed, her voice barely a whisper. "Then we stand together," she said.
Leo's machete rested at his side, a reminder that trust could be a blade. "Together," he echoed.
But even as the word left his lips, Leo felt the darkness shift within the fortress walls—and knew that this battle was far from over.
The fortress workshops were a chaos of broken metal and shattered glass. Camille hunched over the battered crate, his fingers blackened with soot and grease, eyes narrowed in concentration. Sparks danced as he teased apart the old Régime tech.
Leo stood beside him, machete at his hip, the tension in his shoulders coiled like a spring. Every sound—the drip of water, the scrape of tools—felt like a threat.
Camille muttered to himself, his grin a razor's edge. "They thought they could hide this from me," he rasped. "Idiots."
Leo's gaze swept the room—shadows lurked in every corner. "What did you find?"
Camille's fingers worked a delicate rune into place. A flicker of light flared, casting strange shadows on the walls. "This," he said, voice low. "Data module. Fractured, but readable."
Leo leaned in, heart pounding. "What's on it?"
Camille's grin vanished. "It's… it's a list," he said. "Names. Routes. Supply caches. Patrols."
Leo's breath caught. "Ours?"
Camille nodded grimly. "Ours."
A cold fury settled in Leo's chest. "Then it's real," he said. "We've been feeding the enemy—maybe for weeks."
Camille's eyes darkened. "There's more," he whispered. "A signature—encrypted, but I cracked part of it."
Leo's heart thundered. "Who?"
Camille's voice was a razor. "It's someone close, Leo. Someone with clearance—someone who knows our routes, our supply lines, everything."
Leo's machete felt heavy in his hand. Every face in the fortress flashed before his eyes—Aícha's gentle smile, Kara's iron resolve, the weary eyes of the men and women he'd bled with.
"Can you finish it?" he demanded.
Camille's grin was a snarl. "Give me a few hours," he said. "And a stiff drink."
Leo's hand fell to Camille's shoulder, his grip iron. "Do it," he rasped. "We end this—tonight."
And as he turned back to the courtyard, every shadow felt like an enemy.
Night had fallen, a cold wind hissing through the broken battlements. Fires burned low in the courtyard, their light a fragile shield against the darkness.
Leo gathered Aícha, Kara, and Camille near the old forge, their faces lined with exhaustion and worry. Sparks crackled in the dying embers, casting dancing shadows on the stone.
Camille's hands were black with soot as he held out the data module, the glow of its runes fading. "I decrypted what I could," he said. "It's someone close, Leo. Real close."
Aícha's staff trembled in her hands. "Who?" she whispered.
Camille's eyes met Leo's, grim and steady. "I couldn't get the name," he said. "But it's someone with full clearance—someone with your trust."
Kara's rifle clacked as she checked the magazine. "You know what this means," she growled. "If we can't find them—"
Leo's jaw clenched. "Then we burn this place from the inside," he finished.
Aícha's eyes shimmered with tears. "We can't turn on each other," she said. "That's what they want."
Leo's breath trembled. Every decision was a blade in his chest. "We can't let them tear us apart," he said. "But if we don't find them—"
His gaze met each of theirs, searching for answers he couldn't find.
Kara's voice was steel. "Then the fortress falls," she said.
Leo's machete rested at his side, heavy as a thousand regrets. "We hold the line," he said. "No matter what."
Camille's grin was bitter. "Then I'd better get back to work," he said. "Because whoever this is—they're good."
Aícha's staff glowed faintly, a defiance in the darkness. "We'll find them," she whispered. "Together."
Leo's jaw tightened. "Together," he echoed.
And as the fires burned low, Leo drew a line in the sand—one that no shadow could cross without paying the price.
The fortress seemed to hold its breath. Every crack in the stone, every creak of old wood, felt like the ticking of a clock counting down to disaster.
Leo stalked the main hall, machete at his side, his mind a maelstrom of rage and fear. Every face he passed was an accusation—every voice a whisper of suspicion.
Camille burst through the door, his hands trembling, eyes wild. "Leo!" he gasped. "I found it—the signature, the one feeding them our supply lines!"
Leo's heart slammed against his ribs. "Who?" he demanded, voice sharp as a blade.
Camille's breath rattled. "It's—"
A thunderous crack split the air. Camille's eyes went wide. Blood bloomed across his chest.
Leo's world turned red.
"No!" he roared, lunging to catch him.
Camille collapsed, his grin gone, eyes glazing over. His hand twitched once, then fell still.
A figure stepped from the shadows—a silhouette wrapped in darkness, a blade dripping with fresh blood.
Aícha's staff flared, her voice a raw scream. "Traitor!"
Leo's machete flashed, rage a living fire in his veins. "You!" he roared.
The traitor's face glimmered in the dying torchlight—one of their own, eyes hollow, mouth twisted in a bitter snarl.
"You trusted me," the traitor spat. "But you were weak, Leo Dormien. Weak!"
Leo's machete rose. "And you were family," he rasped.
Steel met flesh. Shadows screamed.
When it was done, Leo stood alone in the blood and the darkness, his breath ragged, his heart shattered.
Camille's lifeless eyes stared up at the ceiling, a question he would never get to ask.
Aícha's staff flickered, her face streaked with tears. "Leo," she whispered. "We're losing ourselves."
Leo's jaw clenched. "No," he said, his voice hoarse. "We're finding out who we really are."
He lifted his machete, its edge catching the dying firelight.
"And I will never be afraid of the darkness again."