The rain had stopped, but the sky was still dark, as if the clouds themselves mourned the fallen. Valen trudged beside the others, his legs heavy with exhaustion, armor caked in mud and blood, his own, and that of others. The remnants of his unit moved in silence, the once-proud column now reduced to a ragged line of survivors limping through the forest path. Every tree they passed whispered of death. The stink of rot clung to the air.
His hands still trembled.
He could see Kael's face when he closed his eyes, blood leaking from his mouth, his final breath a ragged whisper. Tolan's scream still rang in his ears, a sound no man should ever make.
Valen had stopped counting how many had died.
"We're close to camp," muttered one of the soldiers, Marrek, a stocky man with a missing eye. He glanced over his shoulder. "Home, for now."
Valen didn't speak. The word "home" rang hollow. Nothing felt like home anymore.
They emerged from the treeline, expecting the welcome glow of fires, the scent of boiled rations, the comfort of rough laughter. What greeted them instead was smoke,.thick, black, and billowing. Screams tore through the air, the crack of flames devouring canvas and wood. Their camp was under siege.
"No..." Valen breathed.
They ran. Weapons drawn. Wounds forgotten.
The sight was chaos: tents ablaze, bodies strewn across the dirt ,some burning, others torn apart by blades or arrows. Horses screamed as they fled or collapsed in their harnesses. Shadows darted through the smoke—enemy raiders, cloaked in red and black, cutting down anyone still standing.
Valen saw him, Malric. Their instructor. The grizzled veteran who had yelled at them in training, beaten discipline into their limbs, taught them how to hold a blade and where to strike to kill.
Malric was surrounded. His sword swung wide, cutting down two men, then three. Blood soaked his coat. His left arm hung uselessly, limp and bloodied. Still, he fought.
"Malric!" Valen shouted, but the words were lost in the din.
Another enemy lunged from the side.
Too late.
Steel pierced Malric's ribs. He dropped to his knees, eyes wide with shock. Another blade came down, splitting his skull.
"No!" Valen charged forward, but a hand yanked him back.
"Valen!" shouted Rhen, one of the few men left from their squad. "There's too many of them!"
Valen fought against his grip. "We have to help him!"
"He's gone, damn it!"
The group had scattered. Some fought. Some ran. Fires swallowed the camp whole.
"We need to retreat!" barked Rhen, rallying the handful of soldiers still alive. "We regroup, we return, we strike back! Staying here is death!"
"But the others—" someone protested.
"They're dead, or dying!" Rhen snapped, his voice hoarse. "You want to join them, be my guest!"
Tension thickened in the air, grief turning into rage.
Valen didn't speak. He stood there, staring into the flames, his spear clutched in his shaking hands. Dorin. Kael. Tolan. Malric. Their faces swirled in his mind like ghosts. Aris, where was she? Was she dead too?
His eyes were empty. Cold. The world felt distant, muted.
Rhen looked to him. "Valen. You with us?"
He nodded silently. Not because he agreed. Because there was nothing left to say.
They retreated. Through the forest, deeper into enemy territory, past burned fields and abandoned villages. The group dwindled to a dozen, then less. Hunger gnawed at their stomachs. Sleep became a luxury. Wounds festered.
Then they met them, enemy scouts, quick and brutal. The clash was sudden. Steel sang. Flesh tore. Screams filled the woods once more.
Valen moved like a ghost. Detached. Efficient. His spear pierced through throat and belly. He didn't register the faces of those he killed. They were just obstacles. Shadows. He fought with a precision that frightened even his comrades.
After the skirmish, they regrouped around a fallen log.
"We're not going to survive like this," Rhen said, breath ragged. "We need allies. Supplies. We need something."
One of the survivors, lean and gaunt, with a deep cut across his brow, spoke up. He wore the faded insignia of the southern division, armor barely held together. "I know a village not far from here," he said. "Abandoned last month. Might find shelter. Maybe even food."
Rhen nodded. "Lead the way."
They moved on.
As they walked, Valen trailed behind. His spearhead still red. He didn't hear their conversations. Didn't care for plans.
He only heard Kael's voice: "The gods give us strength to endure…"
He saw Tolan's last smile, full of regret.
He saw Dorin, his best friend, missing. Lost. Maybe dead.
And Aris. Brave. Fierce. Gone.
Valen clenched the spear until his knuckles turned white. The war hadn't just broken his body, it had shattered something inside. He didn't know if it could ever be mended.
But he would keep walking.
He would keep fighting.
And when the time came, he would make them pay.
All of them.