The moon hung low over the battlefield, casting silver light over the debris-strewn ground. Smoke drifted lazily from the smoldering remains of broken constructs, and the air still carried the metallic tang of blood and burnt steel. Kiel stood with his back straight, his cloak torn and stained, his breathing deep but steady. His eyes were fixed ahead, unyielding despite the chaos around him.
"You're still standing," Lucien said as he approached, his sword dripping faintly with the remnants of his last kill. "Good. I was starting to think you'd be buried under rubble by now."
Kiel gave a faint, humorless smile. "It'll take more than this to bury me." His voice was calm, but there was a weight behind it—a weight Lucien recognized.
Before either could speak further, a sharp whistle split the night air. From the distant ridge, a volley of glowing arrows arced toward them, streaks of light against the dark. Lucien reacted instantly, swinging his blade to deflect the first that came within reach, while Kiel raised his left hand. A thin, shimmering barrier flared into existence, deflecting the arrows with bursts of blue sparks.
"They're regrouping," Kiel muttered. "The ones we drove back are pulling in reinforcements."
A figure emerged from the shadows—Alira, her cloak fluttering like smoke. "You two are wasting time talking. We move now, or they'll have us pinned here." Her gaze swept over the scorched ground and broken machinery. "We can't hold this position any longer."
Kiel nodded once. "Where's the rest of the unit?"
"Splitting up," Alira replied. "We sent Ryn and Cera to flank. They'll buy us some time, but not much."
Lucien sheathed his sword with a sharp click. "Then we go for the heart. Take down their commander, break their coordination, and the rest will scatter."
Kiel's eyes narrowed. "Risky. We don't know how many guards he has."
Lucien smirked. "Since when did we care about odds?"
Alira sighed. "You two are hopeless." Still, she fell in step with them as they started moving, weaving between wreckage and fallen bodies. The ground beneath them crunched with broken glass and fragments of shattered armor.
They moved quickly, their pace silent and precise. The deeper they went into enemy territory, the heavier the tension became. Shadows shifted in the corners of their vision, but each time, they found nothing—only the whisper of movement, as though something unseen was watching them.
When they reached the ruined watchtower, Kiel raised a hand, signaling for them to halt. He crouched, brushing his fingers over the dirt. The faint shimmer of runes glowed under his touch—traps, designed to trigger if stepped on.
"They've laced this entire approach," he murmured. "Give me a moment."
While Kiel worked to unravel the magic, Lucien scanned the surroundings, eyes sharp. Alira stood just behind him, her bow drawn, arrow ready.
Then, a sudden flare of light erupted to their right—three enemy scouts bursting from the shadows, blades raised. Lucien moved like a storm, meeting the first with a sweeping strike that knocked the man back. Alira's arrow flew true, taking the second between the ribs before he could close in. The third lunged for Kiel, but Kiel's hand snapped up, and a pulse of energy sent the attacker flying into a broken wall.
The moment passed, and silence reclaimed the ruins. Kiel stood, brushing the dust from his palms. "Done. Traps are disabled."
"Good," Lucien said, already stepping forward. "Let's end this before they realize we're here."
They pressed on, the ruined keep now in sight. Beyond its crumbling gates, torchlight flickered, and voices carried on the wind—orders barked, armor clinking. Somewhere inside, the enemy commander awaited, surrounded by his loyal guard.
Kiel glanced at his companions, his expression unreadable. "Once we go in, there's no turning back."
Lucien's grin was sharp. "Perfect. I hate turning back."
And with that, they stepped into the shadow of the keep, ready to strike at the heart of the enemy.