The night was a living thing, pressing against the fortress walls with a cold weight that seeped into every crack and crevice. The air smelled of blood and fear, a scent that clung to Leo's skin like a curse.
He stood in the courtyard, his machete resting across his shoulder. The rune etched along its blade glowed faintly, a promise that even in the blackest night, they would not bow.
Aícha's staff flickered with a weary glow as she approached, her face pale and drawn. "Leo," she whispered. "The wards are holding, but they're weaker than before. The darkness… it's getting stronger."
Leo's jaw clenched. "The Herald," he muttered. "That thing isn't just a messenger. It's a crack in the world, a promise that the Fallen Star is coming."
Kara appeared from the shadows, her rifle slung low, her grin nowhere to be found. "Boss," she drawled, her voice low. "Scouts came back from the eastern ridge. They found whole villages… empty. No bodies, just—gone."
A chill ran down Leo's spine. "Gone?" he rasped.
Kara's eyes were hard. "Like they were never there," she said. "Like something swallowed them whole."
Jarek's boots scraped across the stone as he joined them, his axe resting on his shoulder. "We can't hold this place alone," he rumbled. "Even with every blade we've got, that thing—" He shook his head. "It's not just a fight. It's a slaughter."
Aícha's staff trembled. "Leo," she whispered. "We need allies. Real ones. The Council is fractured, but there are other forces. The Arcanists, the Watchers… maybe even the Remnants."
Leo's gaze burned like embers. "And how many of them will betray us?" he asked, his voice like iron.
Aícha's eyes shone with tears she refused to shed. "We can't win this alone," she said.
Kara's grin returned, sharp and dangerous. "Then we'll fight every last bastard who tries to stop us," she said. "No mercy."
Jarek's voice was a hammer. "No surrender."
Aícha's staff flared, her voice trembling but strong. "No darkness."
Leo's heart thundered. "No fear," he finished.
And in that single breath, they found their purpose.
The fortress might have been a ruin, but its people were unbroken.
The night pressed harder, the wind carrying the Herald's laughter on its back.
Leo turned his gaze to the horizon, his machete glowing with defiance.
"Then let them come," he growled.
The fortress gates creaked open like a dying man's sigh, the iron hinges screaming against the cold wind. Beyond, the world lay in shadow—forests twisted into gnarled fingers, hills shrouded in mist that seemed to breathe.
Leo stood at the threshold, his machete slung across his back, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. The rune along the blade's edge glowed faintly, a reminder of every promise he'd made.
Kara leaned against the gatepost, her rifle gleaming in the dawn light. "So," she drawled, "we're just gonna stroll out there and ask for help? From people who probably hate us?"
Leo's jaw tightened. "We're not asking," he said. "We're giving them a choice."
Aícha's staff pulsed, its runes steady and strong. "The Remnants," she said softly. "They're the only ones who might understand what we're facing. They've fought the darkness before."
Jarek hefted his axe, his expression grim. "Or they'll try to kill us and take the fortress for themselves," he rumbled.
Leo's eyes burned. "Then we'll show them what happens to those who stand in our way."
A hush fell as the fortress walls receded behind them, the courtyard a memory of blood and defiance.
They traveled in silence at first, the wind biting at their faces, the road nothing more than a scar through the wilderness. Every tree seemed to watch them, every shadow a promise of violence.
Aícha walked at Leo's side, her staff a beacon in the gloom. "Leo," she said, her voice low. "If the Remnants refuse us—if they're too afraid—what then?"
Leo's grip tightened on his machete. "Then we stand alone," he growled. "But we stand."
Kara's grin was a knife. "That's my boss," she muttered. "No mercy."
Jarek's voice was a boulder rolling down a mountain. "No surrender."
Aícha's staff flared. "No darkness."
Leo's heart thundered. "No fear," he said.
They came to a crossroads where the land split like an old wound. Ahead lay the mountains—black teeth against the sky. Beyond them, the Remnants waited, a last hope in a world that had forgotten hope.
Leo drew his machete, the rune along its edge blazing like a promise. "Then let's show them who we are," he said.
And together, they stepped into the darkness.
The path into the mountains was a knife's edge, winding through jagged rock and ravines so deep they swallowed light. The wind carried a scent of ash and old blood, a memory of battles long forgotten.
Leo's boots ground against the stone, his breath steady but cold. Every step felt like a challenge, every shadow a test.
Aícha walked beside him, her staff's runes glowing like distant stars. "The Remnants live here," she whispered. "Hidden from the darkness… and from the world."
Kara's rifle swung low, her grin gone. "If they're hiding," she muttered, "they're either cowards or smarter than the rest of us."
Jarek's axe gleamed in the gloom. "Or both," he rumbled.
Leo's eyes burned. "We'll see," he said.
They crested a ridge, and the world opened before them. A hidden valley stretched out—a fortress carved into the bones of the mountain. Stone walls rose like cliffs, banners of tattered black cloth hanging from towers that touched the sky. Fires burned in the courtyards, the smoke a promise of warmth—or warning.
A gate loomed ahead, guarded by figures clad in blackened steel. Their helmets bore no crests, their eyes hidden behind visors like the dark.
One stepped forward, a massive blade resting across his shoulder. His voice was iron. "Who comes?"
Leo met his gaze, his machete at his side. "Leo Dormien," he growled. "Commander of the fortress. We come seeking an alliance."
A hush fell. The guard's gaze swept over them, taking in the grime, the scars, the defiance. "The darkness rises," he said at last. "And you bring it here."
Aícha's staff flared. "We bring a warning," she said. "And a chance."
The guard's laughter was a blade. "Chance?" he spat. "There's no chance left in this world."
Kara's rifle swung up, her finger on the trigger. "Then maybe you'd like to test that theory," she snarled.
Jarek's axe gleamed, his stance a fortress in itself.
Leo's voice was iron. "We've fought the darkness," he said. "We've bled for every inch of ground. And we've won."
The guard's gaze flickered. "Won?" he hissed. "Then why do I smell the dead on your boots?"
Aícha's staff trembled. "Because we're still alive," she said. "And so are you."
A hush fell. The wind whispered secrets only the dead could hear.
At last, the guard lowered his blade. "Come," he said. "But know this: the Remnants bow to no one. If you bring the darkness here, we will not bleed for you."
Leo's jaw tightened. "We ask for your strength," he said. "Not your obedience."
The guard's eyes met his, a flicker of respect—maybe even hope—there. "Then come," he said. "And we'll see if you're worth the breath you've stolen."
They passed through the gates and into the Remnants' sanctuary—a place of iron and stone, where the last warriors of a dying world gathered.
Leo's heart pounded.
Because even here, in this place of refuge, the darkness might already be waiting.
The Remnants' sanctuary was a fortress within a fortress—stone halls carved from the mountain itself, every corridor a maze of shadows and hidden paths. Fires burned in iron braziers, their light dancing like wraiths against the walls.
Leo leaned against a pillar, his machete across his knees. The rune on its blade glowed faintly, a heartbeat of defiance. Every breath felt like a weight pressing down on his chest.
Kara crouched nearby, cleaning her rifle with meticulous precision. "This place," she muttered, "feels like a tomb."
Jarek stood watch by the door, his axe resting on his shoulder, his gaze a wall of iron.
Aícha's staff glowed as she moved among the Remnants, offering words of caution and hope. Her voice was steady, but her eyes were troubled.
Leo watched the Remnants closely. Some were warriors with eyes like stone. Others were children of the dark, their faces hidden by masks of iron. Every one of them had fought the darkness—but at what cost?
A shuffle of movement caught his attention. A figure in Remnant black slipped through the shadows, heading deeper into the sanctuary. Something about the way they moved—the hush of their steps, the way their cloak shifted—felt wrong.
Leo rose, his machete in hand. "Stay here," he told Kara and Jarek.
Kara's grin was sharp. "Like hell," she muttered, rising to follow.
Jarek's axe gleamed as he moved in behind them.
They stalked the figure through the corridors, the air growing colder with every step. The stone walls seemed to pulse, alive with whispers only the dead could hear.
The figure ducked into a side chamber, a place lit by a single brazier. Leo pressed his back to the wall, his breath slow, his heart a drumbeat in the dark.
He stepped inside—and found the figure hunched over a rune-carved table, whispering into the darkness.
Leo's voice was a blade. "Who are you talking to?" he growled.
The figure spun, a Remnant helm hiding their face. But the voice that answered was no Remnant's. It was a whisper of silk and poison.
"The Fallen Star rises, Commander Dormien," the Herald hissed. "And your fortress will be the first to fall."
Leo's machete leapt to his hand. "Traitor," he snarled.
The Herald's laughter was a wound. "You think you can stop me? You think you can hold back the darkness? It's already here. It's always been here."
Kara's rifle barked, but the Herald twisted away like smoke, vanishing into the shadows.
Jarek's axe split the air, but found only stone.
Leo's machete slashed, but the darkness had no flesh to cut.
Aícha appeared at the door, her staff blazing. "Leo!" she cried. "They've opened the wards—the darkness is coming!"
Leo's eyes burned. "Then we fight," he said, his voice iron.
Kara's grin was a knife. "No mercy," she hissed.
Jarek's axe glowed in the firelight. "No surrender," he rumbled.
Aícha's staff flared, her voice a song. "No darkness," she said.
Leo's heart thundered. "No fear," he roared.
And in that moment, the fortress of the Remnants became a crucible once more—a place where the darkness would find no easy victory.
Because even in betrayal, they would not bow.