The air outside the cavern felt raw, like a wound exposed to the elements. Ash drifted on the wind, painting the scorched earth in a thin, gray haze.
Leo paused at the mouth of the fissure, machete hanging at his side, its rune dimmed but still warm. Every breath tasted of iron and smoke. He'd won—at least for now—but the fight had left its mark.
Behind him, the others climbed from the darkness. Kara's grin was slow in coming, but when it did, it felt real. "Well," she said, voice hoarse, "that was fun."
Jarek's broad shoulders slumped as he set his axe on the ground. His jaw was tight, eyes distant. "It's never over," he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else.
Aícha leaned on her staff, her face pale but calm. The glow in her runes had dulled, but a quiet determination still shone in her eyes. "We've seen the darkness," she said. "It saw us, too."
Leo turned, studying each of them. Their scars were fresh, but their eyes were alive. "And we're still standing," he said.
Loric shuffled in the background, the boy's face drawn and haunted. "They whispered to me," he said, voice thin. "Promised things. Told me to give up."
Kara's smile softened. "Then you told them to go to hell, right?"
Loric's lips twitched—almost a smile. "Yeah."
Jarek lifted his axe and rested it on his shoulder. "Let's keep it that way," he said.
The forest beyond the fissure was thick, branches gnarled and roots snarling across the path. Leo led the way, each step a promise not just to himself but to the people who followed.
They walked in silence, the memories of the cavern too fresh to banish just yet. The darkness might have fled, but its voice lingered in every crack of the earth.
Aícha's staff tapped softly on the ground, her gaze distant. "The Fallen Star is still out there," she said, her voice quiet. "Every step we take brings us closer to it."
Leo's grip tightened on his machete. "Then let's not stop," he replied.
Kara's laugh was brittle but defiant. "You always know how to make things sound easy," she teased.
Jarek grunted. "Nothing's easy," he said. "But we've made it this far."
The path led them through a tangle of brambles and vines that clawed at their clothes like greedy hands. Shadows pooled in the hollows of the trees, shifting with secrets best left unspoken.
They reached a clearing where the sky opened, gray clouds hanging like bruises. A lone figure waited at the center, wrapped in a tattered cloak.
Kara raised her rifle. "We've got company," she said.
Leo stepped forward, his eyes locked on the stranger. "Hold," he said.
The figure lifted its head. A face emerged—old, lined by age and battle, but eyes sharp with cunning. "Well, well," he rasped. "Didn't expect to see any light left in this forsaken place."
Aícha's staff glowed faintly. "Who are you?" she demanded.
The old man chuckled, the sound like bones rattling in the wind. "Just a traveler," he said. "Same as you, though maybe a few more shadows on my soul."
Leo studied him, every muscle coiled. "We've met too many liars to take that at face value," he said.
The old man's smile was a broken thing. "Wise," he replied. "But I've got something you want—news of the east. Of the Fallen Star."
Jarek's growl was low. "Talk," he rumbled.
The old man spread his hands. "A city—Arathis. Taken by the darkness. But rumors say something fights back. A resistance. Small, desperate, but alive."
Leo's pulse quickened. "Alive?"
The old man's eyes gleamed. "A spark," he whispered. "Might be the kindling you're looking for."
Kara's grin returned, fierce and bright. "Then let's go light a fire."
Leo's jaw set, his machete a silent promise at his side. "We leave at first light," he said. "Arathis is waiting."
Morning came with a bruised sky, the sun a pale wound bleeding light across the horizon. The forest around them smelled of damp earth and old battles—scars left by fires long since smothered.
Leo stood at the head of the path, machete strapped across his back. The old man's words echoed in his mind: a spark in Arathis. Hope, or another trap?
Kara adjusted the sling of her rifle, her eyes sharp and restless. "Think this city's real?" she asked. "Or just another ghost in the dark?"
Leo glanced at her, the corners of his mouth twitching in something close to a smile. "Does it matter?" he replied. "If there's a fight there, we'll find it."
Jarek trudged behind them, his axe balanced across his shoulders. "And if there's nothing but shadows?" he growled.
"Then we cut through them," Leo said, his voice steady.
Aícha walked at Leo's side, her staff's light a faint glow in the morning gloom. "The darkness is learning," she warned. "Every time we push it back, it finds a new way to strike."
Leo's eyes hardened. "Then we learn faster."
The path grew rougher as they climbed a ridge, the trees thinning to reveal a scorched valley below. Blackened husks of old buildings jutted from the earth like the bones of a dead god.
Loric stumbled, catching himself on a twisted branch. "I thought it would be better in the daylight," he whispered. "But it's just… ruins."
Kara reached out, steadying him with a hand on his shoulder. "Ruins can be rebuilt," she said. "We're proof of that."
Jarek's voice rumbled like distant thunder. "Nothing stays dead if we don't let it."
They descended into the valley, each step stirring ash and memories. The old man followed at a distance, his steps silent, his eyes hidden in the shadow of his hood.
Leo kept an eye on him, his instincts honed by too many betrayals. "You said Arathis had survivors," he called back. "You'd better not be lying."
The old man's laugh was a dry rattle. "Wouldn't dream of it," he said. "But whether they're still there—well, that's another matter."
Kara's grin turned sharp. "Guess we'll just have to find out."
The wind shifted, carrying with it the scent of burning oil and something fouler—something alive.
Aícha's staff flared, her voice taut. "Something's watching," she warned.
Jarek's axe rose in a fluid arc. "Let it come," he muttered.
Leo's machete slid free, its rune flickering like a dying star. "Stay sharp," he said. "This road's not done testing us yet."
The valley opened at last, giving way to a sprawling plain of cracked earth and broken stone. On the horizon, Arathis rose from the ruins—a city of jagged towers and crumbling walls, its skyline pierced by the spires of ancient cathedrals now blackened by war.
Smoke drifted from the rooftops, curling in the twilight air. Fires burned in alleyways, their glow too dim to warm the chill that hung over the city.
Leo stood at the crest of the rise, his machete resting against his shoulder. His eyes searched the city's edges, where shadows gathered like wolves at a carcass. "There it is," he murmured.
Kara stepped up beside him, her rifle balanced across her chest. "Looks like hell," she said. "Or maybe what's left after hell's had its way."
Jarek's axe rested across his broad back, his jaw tight. "The darkness is strong here," he rumbled. "I can feel it."
Aícha's staff glowed faintly, her face drawn. "But there's something else," she whispered. "Something… fighting back."
Leo's gaze sharpened. "The old man's spark," he said. "If it's real, it might be the only hope this place has."
Loric hovered behind them, eyes wide. "It doesn't look like there's much hope left," he said, voice small.
Kara's grin was tight, but fierce. "Hope's a funny thing," she said. "You don't need much to start a fire."
They moved down the slope, the ground shifting beneath their feet. Shadows danced along the ruins, slipping between broken pillars and cracked streets. Every step felt like a gamble.
Near the edge of the city, a barricade of broken carts and shattered furniture marked a line between the living and the dead. Figures moved in the gloom—armed men and women, faces smudged with ash, eyes bright with defiance.
A woman stepped forward, her hair tied in a ragged braid, a rifle slung across her back. "Who are you?" she demanded, her voice sharp as steel.
Leo met her gaze, his machete at his side. "Survivors," he said. "And maybe more."
She studied him, eyes wary. "More?"
Kara's grin returned, cold and dangerous. "Resistance," she said. "The kind that burns."
The woman's face softened—just a fraction. "We could use that," she said. "The darkness is everywhere. It's eating this city alive."
Jarek's axe glinted in the dying light. "Then let's cut it out," he rumbled.
Aícha stepped forward, her staff glowing faintly. "Where's your leader?" she asked.
The woman nodded toward a darkened alley. "Down there," she said. "But watch yourself. Trust is thin here."
Leo's eyes narrowed. "It's thin everywhere," he muttered.
They followed her through the barricade, the city unfolding around them like a wound. Fires smoldered in the shadows, and the smell of blood and rot hung thick in the air.
Leo's heart ached at the sight—families huddled in doorways, children with eyes too old for their years. But among the ruin, small lights flickered—candles in windows, whispered prayers in the dark.
Hope.
Leo gripped his machete, his voice low but certain. "We'll fight for them," he said.
Kara's grin was sharper now. "And we'll make them fight with us," she added.