Everett snarled as he yanked his sword free from the side of a soldier, blood splattering across his face. The emblem of Bridgevault, proudly worn on his chest—the inverted colors of Orerha—was now stained with gore. His eyes darted around at the soldiers surrounding him, their longswords glinting in the flashes of lightning.
"Arawn!" Everett roared for help as the men closed in. But as he spun around, he saw the blonde-haired Masavoran sprinting toward a hill, away from the fight.
"Where the fuck are you going, Arawn?" Everett bellowed again. The soldiers were closing in, and there was no time to think. He shifted his weight and ran after Arawn, armor clanking with every step, the weight of it dragging him down and making every breath more ragged. But he kept pushing forward. He had to. He was a survivor.
"Just keep up—there’s another exit!" Arawn finally shouted over the deafening storm.
The hell there is! Everett thought, but with no other choice, he followed, gritting his teeth as they ran. The soldiers were right behind them, and stopping wasn’t an option.
His boots sank deep into the mud with every step, sticking to the ground like glue. Each footfall slowed him down, but he forced himself onward. Thunder crashed overhead, echoing across the hills like the booming of cannon fire, shaking the very earth beneath them.
Everything had fallen apart so fast. Too fast. Everett could hear the screams, the clash of steel, the dying breaths of men left behind. The battle had been lost before they even realized it. He had rushed over to reinforce the line, only to be ambushed by the kingdom’s soldiers who had already broken through. How could we have fucking lost like this?
Everett breathed deeply through his nose as they reached the top of the hill, eyes scanning the steep mountain wall before them. His heart sank. A dead-end? He led us into a dead fucking end.
But then he spotted it—a narrow opening in the rock, barely visible in the darkness, but unmistakable now that they were close. It was narrow, but wide enough to squeeze through.
Arawn slipped inside with ease, narrowly avoiding a sharp overhang of stone, before turning to call out, “Come on!” His voice echoed as Everett skidded to a stop just before the entrance.
“What the hell is this?” Everett muttered, but there was no time to demand answers. The soldiers were right behind them.
He turned sideways, trying to squeeze through the gap. His armor made it almost impossible, scraping painfully against the rock as he forced his way in, the harsh sound of metal on stone filling the narrow passage. For a moment, he thought he might get stuck, but with one final shove, he stumbled into a larger cavern beyond.
“Fuck…” he gasped, leaning against the wall, catching his breath. The tight space had taken everything out of him. His armor was scratched up horribly, but at least they were inside—hidden, for now.
The passageway remained tight, but Everett was able to adjust his body and walk upright. It was pitch-dark, the kind of blackness that seemed to swallow sound as well as sight. But then Arawn muttered something under his breath, and with a faint whoosh, a distant torch flared to life further down the cavern, casting long shadows across the rocky walls.
"Huh," Everett shook his head in disbelief. "You’ve kept this hidden from us?"
Arawn clicked his tongue, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Hidden is... subjective,” he said, the tone casual. “You and Adira never set foot on that hill—at least not when I’ve been around. So no, not hidden, just... unnoticed.” He paused, his words trailing off.
Everett’s eyes narrowed, catching the shift in Arawn’s demeanor. The air in the cavern seemed heavier now. Arawn’s gaze fell to the floor, and the silence pressed in. The rebellion was gone—the people, the fight, the years of blood, sweat, and tears—all of it wiped away, like it had never existed. Everything they had sacrificed felt meaningless, as if their struggle had never mattered.
The rebellion they had fought for, died for, was now just a fading memory, obsolete. "All in vain," Everett whispered, more to himself than to Arawn, voice bitter.
They continued forward, their pace a slow meander. The distant yelling of the soldiers, the booming thunder, and the cold, piercing rain faded into the background, muffled by the thick rock walls surrounding them. It felt as though the outside world was slipping further and further away with each step.
A damp, almost moldy stench clung to the air, relentless in its persistence. The air was stagnant, unmoving, carrying the staleness of a place long forgotten. The ceiling of the cavern shifted unpredictably. Rising high one moment, forcing them to duck low the next.
The cool air inside the cave was unnervingly cold, much colder than it had been outside, though the storm had already chilled them to the bone. The air thinned, making each breath feel strained, though Everett knew that it was more from exhaustion than the cave itself. The running, the fighting, the weight of his armor—all of it bore down on him.
Eventually, they came upon what seemed to be a solid stone wall, blocking their path. Behind them, the unmistakable sound of heavy boots echoed, growing louder. Everett huffed, frustration boiling over. "Arawn—this... this is a dead fucking end."
Arawn, however, remained silent. Instead of answering, he placed his hand against an odd symbol etched into the stone. His jaw clenched, and he seemed to hesitate, his fingers trembling slightly against the cold rock.
“Arawn?” Everett repeated, an eyebrow raised in suspicion.
Without a word, Arawn pressed his palm deeper into the sigil, his lips moving in a whispered incantation—words that Everett couldn’t begin to understand. The symbol illuminated with a faint purple hue, so dim it barely cut through the gloom of the cave. Then, the wall in front of them began to rumble.
Arawn gasped, leaning heavily against the wall, clearly drained. Everett instinctively stepped forward to help, but the sudden shift of the stone made him pause. The solid rock began to shift, cracks forming along its surface as chunks of stone crumbled to the ground. Slowly, the wall slid to the left, dirt cascading down in small streams as it revealed a passage—a small slope leading upwards, spilling out into a section of forest just beyond the ridge.
Everett stared, wide-eyed. "What the hell...?"
“Hurry,” Arawn groaned, pushing himself out of the cavern, using the wall for support. Moonlight filtered through the light canopy of trees, casting a pale glow on the grass below, just enough to guide their way.
Everett, still breathing heavily, placed a boot on the sloped ground and launched himself upwards, pulling his body out of the cavern. He landed with a grunt, catching his breath easily as his chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. "You shouldn’t have..." he started, his voice low and distant.
“What?” Arawn asked, glancing over, expecting Everett to finish, but the man shook his head. Whatever Everett was about to say, he swallowed it down. It didn’t matter anymore. Not much did.
"Can you close it?" Everett asked, scanning the forest for any signs of movement.
Arawn shook his head weakly. “Too much energy.”
"Then we better move. Let’s get your ass going." Everett wrapped an arm around Arawn, steadying him, and together they began moving forward at a brisk pace. Each step felt heavier than the last, the forest transitioning from flat ground to a steady incline. Branches scratched at them, and rocks jutted from the earth, making the path treacherous, but they pressed on.
The question gnawed at Everett as they trudged through the wilderness. Where do we go now? And worse—How do we even know if anyone else made it?
Arawn came to a sudden halt, his boots skidding slightly as Everett continued forward, oblivious at first. Arawn’s eyes flickered between the shadows cast by the trees, scanning the landscape with an immediate focus.
"What?" Everett whispered, noticing Arawn’s change in demeanor.
“There’s someone here,” Arawn muttered, taking a cautious step in another direction, his gaze narrowing on something hidden in the dark.
Everett immediately let go of him, his instincts kicking in as he unsheathed his sword, careful to make no noise. The seconds dragged on. There was nothing—no movement, no sound—until a sharp crack split the silence, the snap of a twig echoing in the distance.
Everett spun toward the noise, sword raised, but as the figure stepped into the faint light, he exhaled and lowered his blade. “It’s Lydus... and...” Everett’s words trailed off, his eyes locking onto the sight before him.
Lydus stood there, his arms burdened with the limp body of Alex. The boy’s skin had turned pale, almost ghostly, and though the wound on his stomach had stopped bleeding heavily, it was still red and raw, the blood drying and staining his clothes. Alex’s arms dangled, lifeless, swinging gently with each of Lydus’s steps. His legs dragged, following in a somber, rhythmic motion.
Everett opened his mouth to say something, but the words wouldn’t come.
It was Arawn who finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m so sorry,” he muttered.
Lydus didn’t respond at first. His eyes were locked on Everett, face twisted in grief. Without a word, he knelt and gently propped Alex’s body against the trunk of a tree, positioning him with care that belied his bitterness.
“Don’t be sorry,” Lydus finally muttered, his voice low and hard as he turned to face them.
“Why are you—” Everett began, but his words were cut off by the sharp impact of Lydus’s fist. The punch landed squarely on Everett’s jaw, the force of it snapping his head back. He grunted in pain, a bright red mark blooming across his skin, but he didn’t stumble, standing his ground even as his vision briefly blurred.
“You got him killed,” Lydus spat, his voice trembling with fury. “You’re the reason those fucking soldiers were on our doorstep. If you hadn’t...” His words trailed off, “If we hadn’t gone out there, if you weren’t so reckless then...then...”
Everett remained silent, his hand still rubbing his jaw where Lydus's punch had landed, but his expression was cold, devoid of guilt or remorse. His eyes shifted toward Emmelia, who stood apart from them, staring at Alex's lifeless body with a distant, hollow look. Blood stained her hands, and her gaze was fixated on them as if what she had done was unforgivable, a weight she couldn't shake.
After a long, tense pause, Everett finally spoke, his voice flat. “Did Adira make it?” He met Lydus’s eyes, but the question was met with disbelief.
“I don’t know,” Lydus admitted, his voice quieter now. "I'm not sure if anyone did." He stepped back, his breath misting in the cold night air. “Even us.”
The silence that followed was thick. Dirty. Oppressive. Disgusting in the absolute meaning of the word. Remorseless Everett, lost Emmelia, broken Lydus. Everyone but the magic wielder.
And, after several moments, Arawn finally broke the silence, “The nearest settlement is Ellenmave.”
No one replied. No one made a noise. Not a cough, nor a movement.
How could any of them? Their home was just fucking destroyed. Their people, their family, massacred by the very force that only half a decade before they fought against.
“We should look for Adira,” Everett finally spoke, breaking the strained silence.
“No,” Lydus muttered, shaking his head. “We could run into more soldiers. Ultriver is our best option.”
“Ultriver?” Everett scoffed, as if the suggestion were laughable. “That’s miles away.”
Lydus remained firm. “Adira spoke of another group there.”
Everett gasped, incredulous. “She guessed, Lydus. No one’s left this mountain for months! It’s just a gamble based on old news—those people could be dead for all we know.”
“And you want to go looking for her?” Lydus took a step closer, the crunching of leaves underfoot, his voice rising. “Be reckless again? Like you did with—”
“You came out too,” Everett shot back, his finger jabbing toward Lydus accusingly. “And so did Arawn! We all wanted to do something... anything.” He hesitated, his voice faltering. “And maybe...”
“Maybe?” Lydus snapped, eyes narrowing.
“Maybe Adira was right all along,” Everett admitted.
Emmelia rubbed the drying blood against a tree stump, trying to get the stain of death ridden from her skin anyway she could, but it remained. Her mind was lost from their conversation.
“Emmelia.”
Lydus’s voice cut through her thoughts, sharper than usual, a tone she rarely heard from him.
The mention of her name made her jolt, pulling her back to reality. “Uhm...” she began, hesitating, “We can’t leave Adira behind, Lydus.”
“Unbelievable.” He groaned frustratingly. “She was at the forefront of the attack. I—I...” His gaze flicked to Alex’s lifeless body, a wave of anguish washing over him. “We can’t afford to lose anyone else here. Please, Everett, please.”
“Then you stay here,” Everett replied, his voice stubbornly firm. “We’ll look for her and return within the hour. Does that sound okay?” His tone was meant to be reassuring, but it came off as condescending.
“It’s not wise to split him off like this—perhaps I could...” Arawn offered, yet Everett shot it down.
“He’s made up his mind.”
Lydus didn’t care anymore. In fact, the world seemed to crash down at that moment. What the fuck was he supposed to retort with? His one goal was to protect Alex. What the hell did he have left? He treaded with heavy steps to the body, dropping to his knees and placing a hand against its cold skin.
“I’ll stay with him,” Emmelia whispered, her voice barely above a murmur. Part of her wanted to comfort Lydus, but another part wanted to avoid confrontation altogether. One death was enough for her, and she wasn’t ready to face another.
Reluctantly, Everett agreed. After a few more terse discussions, he and Arawn set off, their footsteps disturbing the sodden grass and dirt as they moved deeper into the tree line and foliage.
The rain began to ease, the storm slowly passing over them, but it felt all too late for Lydus.
“I don’t know...” he began, his voice trembling as Emmelia knelt beside him. “What am I supposed to do now? What’s left to live for?”
Emmelia strengthened her voice, wishing it not to quaver. “It wasn’t your fault. There were just too many soldiers, and...” She sensed her words fell flat, failing to provide the comfort he needed. She offered another thought, “What about a burial? A proper Bridgevault ceremony, like the one we gave your father?”
Lydus inhaled sharply, his nose clogged as fresh tears fell, mirroring the rain above. “No.” His voice was flat, bitter.
“No?” Emmelia said, her brow furrowing.
“I mean... yes, but...” He tilted his head. “How?”
“You mean...let go?” Emmelia replied. “You have to find a new purpose, even if it’s just to get you through the day.” She hesitated. “When my mother died, you were the only one I had left. You still are. I want to make sure you’re okay... mentally. Because you’re crazy as shit.”
She let out a weak laugh, and to her relief, Lydus joined her.
The words hurt her to say. There was truth in them, but not all the words prevailed that way. She herself wanted to be comforted, told it wasn’t her fault, yet knew Lydus would never do that. Whether he was too oblivious, or simply did not care to.
“One day at a time.” Lydus repeated.
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