Morning came reluctantly, the gray sky pressing low and heavy over Arathis like a lid. Smoke drifted from shattered windows, mingling with the scent of burnt iron and damp stone.
Leo moved through the city's alleys with purpose, his machete strapped to his back. Every corner held secrets, every shadow a memory of battle. But in the fragile calm, he felt something else—a tension, like a storm building beneath his feet.
Kara walked beside him, her rifle slung across her shoulder. "It's too quiet," she muttered, eyes darting. "Every time it's quiet, something's waiting."
Leo grunted agreement. "We've been lucky," he said. "That luck won't last."
They rounded a corner and nearly collided with a pair of Brask's fighters—young men with faces smudged with dirt and fear. One carried a rusted spear, the other clutched a knife like it might bite him.
"Captain Brask needs you," the taller one blurted. "It's urgent."
Leo's jaw tightened. "Where?"
"Old council chamber," the boy said. "He said—he said it's about the refugees."
Kara's grin faded. "Refugees," she echoed. "That's not good."
Leo felt a chill crawl up his spine. "Let's go," he said.
The old council chamber was a shell of scorched stone and shattered glass. Brask stood near the broken dais, his armor battered but his posture rigid. A cluster of refugees huddled near the walls—women, children, and old men, their eyes hollow.
Brask's face was grim. "We have a problem," he said as Leo approached.
Leo's eyes swept the refugees. "What is it?"
Brask gestured toward a woman in tattered robes. Her eyes were wide and fever-bright, her hands trembling as she rocked a small child in her arms. "She claims her husband turned," he said. "She says he… changed."
Aícha's staff glowed as she stepped forward. "Where is he now?" she asked.
The woman's voice was a thread of panic. "He's gone," she whispered. "He left last night—said he heard voices in the dark."
Kara's jaw tightened. "Voices," she muttered. "Great."
Leo felt a cold weight settle in his chest. "If the darkness is still in him, he's a threat," he said.
Brask's eyes were hard. "We can't let him bring it back," he said. "But these people—" His voice faltered. "They're already on the edge."
Aícha's voice was gentle but firm. "We can't treat them all like enemies," she said. "We have to be better than that."
Jarek's growl came from the shadows. "But we can't be fools, either," he said. "One spark and this place burns."
Leo looked at each of them, the weight of leadership pressing on his shoulders. "We find him," he said. "We stop whatever's inside him."
Kara's grin returned, brittle but determined. "And we remind these people what we're fighting for," she added.
Brask's nod was slow. "I'll gather my best," he said. "But be careful. Trust is thin here."
Leo's hand rested on his machete. "It always is," he said.
They moved through Arathis with weapons ready, every step a test of will. The streets twisted and buckled beneath their feet, old stones cracked by fire and time. Shadows pooled in the alleys, hiding secrets that even the darkness seemed afraid to touch.
Kara's rifle swept from side to side, her eyes sharp. "This place gives me the creeps," she muttered. "Feels like the darkness is watching."
Jarek's axe rested across his broad back, the blade catching the dim light. "It's always watching," he growled. "You just can't always see it."
Aícha's staff glowed softly, her expression distant. "We're close," she murmured. "I can feel it—like a heartbeat."
Leo's machete hung at his side, his fingers tight on the worn hilt. "Stay sharp," he said. "If he's turned, he'll be dangerous."
They turned a corner into a narrow street, its walls scorched black and marked with strange runes—symbols of the darkness, drawn in trembling hands.
Kara shuddered. "Someone was desperate," she whispered. "Or maybe mad."
Jarek's boots crunched on broken glass. "Sometimes it's the same thing," he said.
A scream tore through the air, sharp and ragged. Leo spun, machete rising. The sound came from a collapsed building half-hidden by rubble.
"Move!" he barked.
They reached the ruin in seconds. Smoke drifted from the broken beams, the scent of burnt flesh thick in the air.
A man crouched near the center, his face hidden by shadows. His hands clutched his head, his body trembling with each ragged breath.
Aícha stepped forward, her staff glowing. "Sir?" she called softly.
The man's head jerked up, his eyes wild. Black veins pulsed beneath his skin, spreading like poison. His mouth opened in a snarl that was too wide, too hungry.
Kara's rifle swung up. "Leo—"
"Wait," Leo said, holding out a hand. "Let's see if there's anything left."
The man's eyes locked on Leo's, flickering between human and something else. His voice was a rasp, torn from a throat that had screamed too long. "It's inside me," he gasped. "It wants to get out."
Aícha's voice trembled. "We can help you," she said. "Just—"
But the man screamed, the darkness tearing free. Shadows burst from his skin like oil, clawing at the air.
Jarek roared and swung his axe, the blade cleaving through the nearest tendril. Kara fired, her rifle barking like thunder.
Leo lunged, his machete a silver arc. The rune flared, slicing through the darkness. The shadows recoiled, but not before a tendril caught Leo's arm, its touch like ice and rot.
Pain flared, but Leo gritted his teeth and drove his blade deeper. The darkness shrieked, dissolving in a burst of black smoke.
The man's body collapsed, his eyes glassy and empty.
Silence fell.
Leo stood over the corpse, his breath ragged. "We're too late," he said.
Aícha's staff dimmed, her shoulders slumping. "We tried," she whispered.
Kara's face was pale, her rifle lowered. "The darkness is learning," she said. "It's not just attacking—it's hiding inside them."
Jarek's axe rested on his shoulder. "It means we can't trust anyone," he growled.
Leo's gaze hardened. "No," he said. "It means we fight smarter. We look for it before it strikes."
Aícha's eyes glistened. "And what if we can't?"
Leo's voice was quiet but firm. "Then we fight anyway," he said.
The sun dipped low behind the shattered towers of Arathis, painting the city in bruised gold. Fires crackled in the streets, casting wavering shadows that danced like ghosts.
Leo leaned against a broken wall, his machete resting at his side. The weight of the fight—and the choices it demanded—settled heavy on his shoulders.
Kara stood nearby, her rifle slung across her back. Her eyes were sharp, scanning the restless crowd that had gathered near the barricades. "They're scared," she said, her voice low. "Scared of us."
Jarek's axe gleamed in the firelight as he scowled at a knot of Brask's fighters arguing with refugees. "Fear breeds anger," he rumbled. "And anger makes fools of us all."
Aícha's staff glowed faintly, the runes a soft, unsteady light. "It's not just the darkness now," she whispered. "It's doubt. It's in the way they look at us—like we're not the same as them."
Leo's jaw tightened. "We're not," he said. "We've seen what the darkness can do. We've fought it. They… they've only survived it."
Kara's eyes met his, hard and unflinching. "That doesn't mean we get to decide who lives and who dies," she said.
Brask approached, his face drawn, his armor stained with sweat and ash. "Word's spreading," he said. "Some of the survivors think the darkness is in all of us—that we're infected. They're talking about a purge."
Jarek's growl was a deep, dangerous sound. "They want to kill their own to feel safe," he muttered.
Leo's machete trembled in his grip. "We can't let that happen," he said.
Brask's eyes were hard. "Then we need to lead," he said. "We need to show them we're not the enemy."
Aícha's staff brightened as she stepped forward. "We can heal them," she said. "We can teach them how to fight the darkness inside."
Kara's grin was bitter. "And if they don't listen?" she asked.
Silence fell like a blade.
Leo looked at each of them—Brask's resolve, Kara's defiance, Jarek's fury, Aícha's quiet strength. "Then we stand between them and the darkness," he said. "And we hold the line."
Jarek's axe swung onto his shoulder. "It's what we've always done," he said.
Brask nodded, his expression fierce. "Then let's do it," he said. "Before this city tears itself apart."
Leo's eyes burned with determination. "Gather the survivors," he said. "We talk to them. We remind them who the real enemy is."
Kara's grin returned, a glint of steel in her eyes. "And if the darkness shows its face?"
Leo's machete rose, its rune catching the faintest glow. "Then we cut it down," he said.
They gathered in the heart of the city—a half-collapsed plaza framed by broken statues and the smoldering husks of old homes. Survivors huddled in ragged lines, their faces pale in the torchlight, their eyes darting from shadow to shadow.
Leo stood at the front, his machete strapped across his back, his gaze sweeping the crowd. The weight of their fear pressed on him like iron chains.
Kara stood by his side, her rifle balanced against her hip. Her grin was nowhere to be found. "They're looking at us like we're the monsters," she muttered.
Jarek's axe gleamed in the torchlight, his arms crossed over his chest. "Fear makes fools of good men," he said. "And good men can do terrible things when they're afraid."
Aícha's staff glowed softly, her voice steady but low. "We have to reach them," she whispered. "If we don't—"
Leo's eyes hardened. "We will," he said.
Brask stepped forward, his armor battered but his presence unbowed. He raised his voice, the tone carrying over the crowd. "People of Arathis!" he called. "We've won a battle—but the war is far from over!"
A murmur rippled through the survivors—a mixture of doubt and desperation.
Brask continued, his voice firm. "The darkness is cunning. It hides in the cracks of our city, in the shadows of our minds. But it does not win unless we let it."
A woman near the front raised her hand, her face pinched and drawn. "How can we fight it?" she demanded. "It's inside us! Inside everyone!"
Leo stepped forward, his voice calm but resolute. "Then we fight it inside ourselves first," he said. "We stand together. We watch for the signs—and we don't turn on each other."
A man in tattered robes shook his head. "That's easy to say," he spat. "But what if it's already too late? What if it's in all of us?"
Jarek's growl rumbled through the plaza. "Then we fight anyway," he said. "We fight until there's nothing left but us."
Aícha's staff brightened, her voice clear. "We can help each other," she insisted. "We can learn to fight the darkness inside."
Kara's eyes were cold. "But we have to trust each other," she added. "Or we're finished."
The crowd shifted, eyes darting between Leo's team and Brask's fighters. Doubt flickered like embers in the dark.
Leo raised his voice, every word a hammer blow. "The darkness wants us to turn on each other," he said. "It wants fear. It wants betrayal. We can't let it win. Not here. Not now."
A hush settled over the crowd. For a heartbeat, the city seemed to hold its breath.
Then Brask lifted his sword, its battered blade catching the torchlight. "Arathis stands," he declared. "And we stand with it."
A ragged cheer rose from the crowd—a spark, but enough to ignite hope.
Leo met Kara's gaze. She nodded, her grin returning at last. "We've got a chance," she said.
Leo's machete rose, its rune catching the faintest glow. "Then let's make sure we don't waste it," he said.