They rode like death itself was chasing them—and perhaps it was.
The small group of six pushed their horses to the breaking point, a desperate, flying column against the vast, rolling countryside. The sun climbed higher in the sky, beating down on them as they galloped along the northern road. They were a grim, determined sight: Duke Theron, the disgraced noble turned reluctant hero; Sir Gareth, his loyal shadow; Sir Elias, the nation's champion, now a renegade acting on faith; and three of the finest Royal Guards left standing.
Duke's mind was a maelstrom. He had survived, he had found the thread of the conspiracy, but the cost was mounting. The name on the ledger—Count Ashford—was a brand on his thoughts. Seraphina. Her father was a traitor, complicit in the plot that had nearly seen Duke executed. How could he ever tell her? How could he be the one to shatter her world?
They stopped briefly at a rushing stream in the early afternoon, letting the exhausted horses drink and cool their legs. The animals were lathered in sweat, their sides heaving.
"At this pace, we'll reach the foothills by nightfall and the fortress by tomorrow evening," Elias said, splashing water on his own face.
"Will Marlowe expect pursuit?" Duke asked, his gaze scanning the northern horizon.
"He'd be a fool not to," Elias replied. "But he might not expect us this soon. He thinks we're reporting back to the King, waiting for orders. He doesn't know we're coming for him."
"Sir," one of the guards called out, pointing to the muddy bank on the other side of the stream. "Tracks ahead. Fresh. A dozen or more horses, all heading in the same direction."
Elias went to inspect them. "Marlowe's group," he confirmed. "We're on the right path."
"And we're gaining on them," Duke added, a grim satisfaction in his voice. "They think they have a two-day lead. They don't."
They mounted up and continued their relentless pace, the hunt now more urgent than ever.
***
As darkness fell, they were forced to make camp. The terrain was becoming too treacherous to risk riding at night, and their horses were on the verge of collapse. They found a small, defensible clearing in a copse of trees, lit a small, smokeless fire, and began to take turns on watch. The mood was somber, each man lost in his own thoughts about the battle that lay ahead.
Duke found himself sitting across the crackling flames from Elias.
"You've been quiet," the Hero observed, his blue eyes reflecting the firelight. "Thinking about Count Ashford?"
Duke nodded, not bothering to deny it. "His daughter… Seraphina… she's someone I care about deeply. She has no idea her father is involved in this."
"Will you be the one to tell her?" Elias asked gently.
"I don't know," Duke admitted, the words heavy. "How do you tell someone their father is a traitor? That he was part of a plot to have their friend killed?"
"With honesty," Elias said simply. "She deserves that much. The truth is a bitter medicine, but it is still medicine."
They sat in silence for a moment, the only sounds the crackling of the fire and the chirping of crickets.
"Can I ask you something?" Elias said finally, his voice lower. "About the… loops. The memories I have."
Duke tensed. "What about them?"
"How many times have you died?"
The question was so direct, so blunt, it caught Duke off guard. He looked into the flames, seeing flashes of a falling blade, a spear through the chest. "More than I care to count," he answered, his voice hollow.
"And each time, you come back. You try again." It wasn't a question.
"Yes."
"Why?" Elias asked, his gaze intense. "Why not just… let it end? Accept the fate you were given?"
Duke thought for a long moment. The answer surprised him with its clarity. "Because people are counting on me," he said, looking up to meet Elias's eyes. "Seraphina. Gareth. Princess Elara. You. In those other timelines, you all suffer because of my failure. I can't let that happen. I can't let you down."
Elias studied him, a look of dawning realization on his face. "That's the difference between you and the Duke Theron I thought I knew. The original one would have run. He would have saved himself at any cost. You… you stay and fight."
"I'm just trying to survive," Duke deflected.
"No," Elias said, shaking his head. "You're trying to save everyone. There's a difference."
***
Later that night, under a sky littered with a billion stars, Duke stood the second watch. The camp was silent, the others lost in exhausted sleep. He stood leaning against a tree, his senses on high alert, when a figure approached him from the darkness. It was Gareth.
"Can't sleep," the knight said, his voice a low rumble as he came to stand beside him.
"You should rest. We'll need our strength tomorrow," Duke replied.
"My lord, I need to say something," Gareth began, his gaze fixed on the dark woods. "And I ask that you just… listen."
Duke waited.
"I remember dying," Gareth said, the words stark and unbelievable. "I don't know how. It feels like a nightmare, but it's as clear as any memory. I remember falling on the floor of your study. A spear through my chest. And I remember… watching you being dragged away. Helpless."
Duke's breath caught in his throat. "Gareth—"
"I don't need an explanation, my lord," the knight interrupted, turning to face him. "I don't pretend to understand what's happening. But I know you are carrying some impossible burden. I just need you to know that I am with you. Whatever this is. Until the very end."
"Thank you, Gareth," Duke said, the words feeling wholly inadequate.
"One more thing," Gareth added, his expression deadly serious. "If tomorrow goes wrong. If we don't make it out of that fortress. I want you to know that serving you has been the greatest honor of my life."
"Don't talk like that," Duke said sharply. "We'll make it."
"But if we don't," Gareth insisted, his eyes boring into Duke's. "Promise me you won't reset. Don't go back and try to save me again. Some things are worth dying for. This kingdom… your life… they are worth it. Let my sacrifice mean something."
Duke was speechless. He was being asked to let his friend die, to honor a death that hadn't even happened yet. He couldn't make that promise. He didn't answer. Gareth seemed to understand. He gave a single, sharp nod and returned to his bedroll, leaving Duke alone with the terrible weight of his request.
***
The second day's ride was brutal. The rolling countryside gave way to rocky, windswept hills. The horses struggled on the uneven terrain, and their pace slowed. By late afternoon, they saw it. A black spike on the horizon, perched atop the highest hill like a vulture waiting for a meal.
"There it is," Elias said, reining in his horse. "Blackstone Fortress."
The ancient structure was partially ruined, but its high walls and single, massive gate still looked formidable. It was built for war.
"In the game, this was a late-game dungeon," Duke murmured, his game knowledge surfacing. "It has narrow, winding approaches, high walls perfect for archers, and only one main point of entry."
"How do we approach without being seen?" Elias asked.
"There's a collapsed section on the eastern wall," Duke said, remembering the old game map. "A breach caused by an earthquake centuries ago. It was never fully repaired. It might still be accessible."
"Sir," one of the guards said, pointing. "Movement at the gates. It looks like they're setting up fortifications."
Elias pulled a small spyglass from his saddlebag. "I count at least thirty men on the outer walls. There could be twice that many inside."
"We're outnumbered at least five to one," Duke stated grimly.
"Not the worst odds we've faced," Gareth commented from behind them, his hand resting on his sword.
"We wait until dark," Elias decided. "We'll scout the eastern wall. If we can infiltrate, we locate Marlowe and the other conspirators before we make a move."
***
As dusk settled, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple, Duke and Elias crept toward the fortress on foot, leaving the others hidden with the horses. They moved like shadows, using the rocky terrain for cover.
The eastern wall was just as Duke remembered. A large section had crumbled, creating a steep slope of rubble that led up and over the main fortification. It was a difficult climb, but not an impossible one.
"This is it," Duke whispered. "We can get through here."
They watched the fortress for a time. Guards patrolled the battlements, their torches casting flickering lights. From within the central keep, they could hear the muffled sound of many voices and raucous laughter.
"The meeting is happening," Elias said, his jaw tight. "Right now."
"Then we move now," Duke replied. "Bring the others."
They returned to the group and laid out the plan. Infiltrate through the breach, stay to the shadows, and locate the conspirators' meeting hall.
"If we're discovered before we find them, we're dead," Elias warned the small group.
"Then we don't get discovered," Duke said simply.
***
Under the cover of complete darkness, the six of them approached the breach. One by one, they scrambled up the rubble and slipped through the gap in the wall, dropping silently into the fortress courtyard. The air inside was thick with tension. The sounds of the conspirators' meeting were louder here, echoing from the windows of the central keep.
Duke signaled with his hand, pointing toward the keep. They began to move, flitting from one shadow to the next, their armored boots making barely a sound on the stone ground.
They were halfway across the courtyard when a guard, carrying a torch, rounded a corner unexpectedly. His eyes widened in shock as he saw the six armed figures in the darkness. He opened his mouth to shout an alarm.
He never made a sound. Gareth moved with impossible speed, a black shadow detaching from the others. He covered the distance in two strides, his hand clamping over the guard's mouth while the point of his dagger found its mark. The guard slumped, silenced before he could even draw a proper breath.
The group froze, listening, their hearts pounding. No shouts. No alarm bells.
"Too close," Elias breathed.
Duke ignored him, his eyes fixed on the keep. "The meeting hall," he whispered. "That's where they are."
They moved deeper into the fortress, six ghosts bent on vengeance. Inside the hall, Duke Marlowe and his conspirators plotted the kingdom's fall. And Duke Theron was about to crash their meeting.