The night air reeked of smoke and blood. From where they crouched on a hillside ridge, the 4 could see Valdyr burning. Entire stretches of coastline glowed orange, the black plumes rising like specters into the storm-streaked sky. The wind carried faint cries — of steel, of terror, of homes crumbling to ash.
Below them, Plugish banners fluttered in the moonlight. Dozens of soldiers stalked through the ruins of small villages, dragging screaming locals through the dirt. Fires roared where cottages once stood, and the smell of charred wood mixed with something fouler.
A woman was forced to her knees beside a smoldering hut, her hands trembling as a Plugish officer drew his blade. The sound of the strike — quick, cold, final — echoed even from a distance.
Charolette's hand shot up to her mouth, her nails biting into her lip as she swallowed back the bile threatening to rise. Her face paled beneath the flicker of distant firelight.
"Gods…"
she whispered.
Chauncey said nothing, his fists tightening on his knees. A dark shadow fell over his eyes, his usual calm replaced by something far heavier — disgust, fury, helplessness.
Zayn's knuckles whitened around his sword hilt. The veins in his arm pulsed, his jaw tightening as he watched the cruelty unfold below. His heart pounded with rage — not just for what he saw, but for how familiar it all felt.
Beside them, Jasmijn's gaze stayed fixed on the carnage. Her expression was quiet, almost detached, though her eyes told a different story — the gaze of someone who'd seen war before.
"Plugish methods…" she murmured under her breath. "I'd forgotten how monstrous they can be."
A tense silence fell.
Then — clink. A soldier below turned suddenly, glancing toward the ridge. The 4 immediately ducked low into the brush, hearts hammering as torchlight swept dangerously close to their hiding spot. The soldier stared into the darkness for a moment too long before finally turning back toward his squad.
They waited. Breaths shallow. Muscles taut.
Finally, Jasmijn broke the silence, her voice barely above a whisper. "If the 6 aren't dead, they're likely cooped up in Sigurd's fortress."
Zayn glanced at her, whispering back. "The same one they imprisoned us in when we got here?"
"Yes," she replied. "That one."
Charolette's voice wavered slightly. "We'll never make it! That's beyond far from where we are right now. It won't take a few minutes before they—"
"Well, looks like we're gonna have to." Jasmijn's tone cut clean through her panic — steady, commanding.
"Its the only way we even have a chance."
Their eyes met in the dim light. No words, just a shared understanding. The risk didn't matter anymore. If they waited, Valdyr would fall.
They moved.
The 4 descended from the ridge in silence, weaving through broken trees and bloodied bushes. The ground was slick beneath their boots — mud mixed with blood, the scent of iron heavy in their nostrils. They passed burnt-out wagons, shattered helmets, lifeless hands still clutching weapons.
Every few meters, they froze — listening for the crunch of Plugish boots, the jingle of metal. When a patrol came too close, they melted into the shadows, movements deliberate and soundless.
In one such moment, a Plugish soldier lagged behind his group, stopping to adjust his armor strap. Zayn crept up behind him, a shadow in the smoke. A quick, precise slice across the neck — silent. The man crumpled into the underbrush before he even realized he was dead.
Chauncey dragged the body deeper into the dark, his face emotionless.
They pressed on, slipping through a half-collapsed barn, past rows of scorched fences. From a distance, the clang of swords and the booming of Plugish horns rolled across the ruined landscape.
Then — voices. Close.
The 4 ducked into an alleyway, pressing against the cold stone walls.
Ahead, torchlight illuminated a small scene of horror. A woman clutched her crying child, cornered by three Plugish soldiers. One of them — tall, armored, cruelly grinning — jabbed at her with the tip of his spear.
"Food,"
he barked.
"Money. Now."
The woman fell to her knees, tears streaking through the soot on her cheeks.
"Please… we have nothing left…"
Zayn froze. His breathing grew shallow. His sword hand trembled, not with fear — but with anger.
"Zayn," Jasmijn hissed under her breath. "Don't."
But it was too late.
He stepped into the open, his voice steady but burning with conviction.
"They don't have to give you three anything."
The soldiers turned sharply, their expressions twisting in annoyance — then recognition.
One sneered. "You got a death wish, scum?"
The grip on Zayn's hilt grew taut.
The first swung his longsword. Long, wide, careless. Zayn quickly drew, faster than the soldier could blink, his blade flashing through the air and biting deep into the man's chest. The body collapsed with a thud.
The second roared, charging at him with reckless fury. Zayn parried, sparks flying as their blades clashed. With a twist and a shove, he drove his sword into the man's shoulder — the scream that followed was short-lived. He used his boot to tear his weapon away from severed muscle, kicking the soldier's body to the side.
The third lunged from behind, but Zayn's boot met his stomach with brutal force. The soldier crumpled to his knees, only to meet his end in a single downward strike.
The alley fell silent.
Zayn stood there, panting, chest rising and falling. Blood dripped from his sword's edge, pooling near his boots. He turned toward the woman and child. The child sobbed quietly into her mother's torn dress.
"Thank you, foreigner," the woman whispered, her voice trembling.
Zayn gave a faint, tired smile. "Stay inside. Don't come out until you can't hear the screams anymore."
But the moment shattered — the sound of boots pounding stone.
More Plugish soldiers, shouting, rushing toward the alleyway upon hearing the commotion
"We need to move," Jasmijn hissed.
Zayn sheathed his blade in one swift motion.
"Now." She finished.
Without another word, the 4 darted into the shadows, vanishing into the smoke-filled night as the torches drew closer.
The cries of pursuit echoed behind them — but so did something else.
Resolve.
The kind that could only be forged in fire.
....
The chamber was drenched in gloom. A single torch flickered weakly beyond the bars, its dying light crawling across damp stone walls like a living shadow. The air was heavy with rot and rust; every breath felt thick, metallic. Somewhere in the distance, water dripped in an endless rhythm, each drop echoing like a countdown. The faint shuffle of boots on stone and the muffled murmur of Plugish soldiers bled through the cracks in the walls — reminders that freedom was a world away.
Valdyr's Six sat in silence. Their faces, once proud and resolute, now looked hollow. Armor scuffed, clothes torn, eyes dim — warriors stripped of everything but regret. For a long moment, no one spoke. Only the drip of water dared to fill the stillness.
Finally, Solas broke it. His voice came low and ragged, scraping against the weight of exhaustion.
"I just… don't get it."
Five heads turned toward him. He didn't lift his gaze from the dirt floor, hands hanging loosely between his knees.
"How?" he muttered. "How did they know the route to get here? That was the one thing—the onething—keeping Valdyr safe from invasion."
The words lingered in the stale air. No one had thought of it — not until now. The reality of what he was saying crept over them like a spreading frost.
Renn exhaled sharply, his breath shaky.
"The enemy couldn't have known," he said, his tone grim. "It had to be information from one of ours."
Solas's head lifted, eyes narrowing as the pieces started to connect.
"So you're saying…" he began, his voice slow, dangerous.
"We have a sellout?"
Renn gave a single, heavy nod.
The six exchanged uneasy looks. Kael forced himself to swallow, the sound loud in his own ears. His throat was dry, his heartbeat hammering. He kept his eyes down, but he could feel the weight of their glances pressing on him — burning.
The silence grew thick again, and Mira's eyes flicked between them. That's when she caught it again — Erik's glare. His expression was twisted, full of disgust and accusation. Kael pretended not to notice, but the tension between them hung like a knife in the air.
"Erik," Mira asked quietly, "why do you keep looking at Kael like that? You've been doing it for days."
Erik said nothing. His jaw flexed, gaze unmoving.
It took only a few seconds before Lyra spoke up. Her tone was sharp, cutting through the silence.
"Isn't it obvious?"
All eyes turned toward her — including Kael's.
"Kael's the sellout," she said flatly. "He's the one who fed the enemy information."
The words hit like an explosion. The others stared in disbelief. Kael didn't move. Didn't flinch. He just sat there, motionless — silence screaming louder than words.
Before anyone else could speak, Mira's voice rose, trembling but defiant.
"Hey, guys—let's not jump to conclusions. What reason could Kael have to—"
"I could name a couple,"
Lyra snapped, cutting her off.
"I bet Erik and I weren't the only ones who saw him sneaking out of the temple at night. And don't tell me it was patrol duty — he wasn't assigned."
Her voice sharpened, venomous.
"Not to mention-- he hated our guests. We all saw it. Maybe he just wanted a reason to get them gone."
Her eyes locked on Kael's.
"Didn't you, Kael?"
Kael's breath caught. His eyes widened — not because she was wrong, but because she was right. She had pieced it all together. His silence was louder than any confession.
Solas's expression darkened. He rose from where he sat, the chains on his wrists clinking faintly. His voice came out rough, trembling with rage and disbelief.
"Is it true?"
Kael didn't answer.
"Is it true, Kael!?" Solas barked again, stepping closer, the anger in his voice cracking under the strain.
Still — silence.
Something snapped inside him. Solas lunged, grabbing Kael by the collar and slamming him against the stone wall so hard the sound reverberated through the cell. Dust fell from the ceiling.
"Answer me, Kael! Is it true!?!" he shouted, his voice raw.
Kael's lips parted, but no words came. The silence said everything.
The others stared. Renn's hand ran through his hair, trembling. Mira just sat, frozen, her face torn between disbelief and sorrow. Lyra crossed her arms tightly, her lips pressed into a hard line. Erik's eyes burned with disgust, his gaze turned away as if he couldn't even look at Kael.
Solas stepped back a few paces, breathing hard. His expression shifted — from heartbreak to fury. His voice cracked.
"You're the sellout? Do you know how much pain and death you've caused!?"
Then came the first punch — a brutal hook that cracked against Kael's jaw. Blood splattered across the wall.
Solas grabbed him again, pulling him back up only to slam him down harder.
"You doomed us all!" he roared, another punch landing.
"You doomed Valdyr!"
"Solas, stop!" Mira cried, but her words fell flat against the storm of rage.
Solas didn't stop. The punches came like thunder — each one carrying grief, betrayal, heartbreak. Kael barely moved, his arms hanging limp. He didn't fight back. He just took it.
Renn turned away, tears welling in his eyes. Lyra's arms stayed crossed, but her jaw trembled, the slightest flicker of regret showing through. Mira sat down, sighing deeply, her hand covering her face. Erik didn't move — his expression distant, almost empty.
Then—
A deep explosion shook the fortress. Dust rained down from the ceiling as metal clashed against metal. The echo of battle rose in the distance — shouts, screams, and the unmistakable hum of a Codex being awakened.
For a moment, no one moved. Even Solas froze, his fist hanging mid-air, his breath uneven.
Then, as another explosion roared somewhere above, the same thought flashed across all their minds.
They weren't alone anymore.
Even Kael, blood dripping from his lip, lifted his head — and for the first time since his betrayal, hope flickered faintly in his eyes.