"Senior Elder Shadow! We heard an explosion from the riverside!"
Shadow stood in the sect's main hall, surrounded by wounded soldiers and hollow-eyed survivors. The war with the Elite Squadron had left them broken, strategists dead, higher-ups gone, resources depleted.
"Report," he said flatly.
"The explosion poisoned the river. Within minutes, villagers downstream started dying, those who drink from the river. The crops are blighting. The fish are dead."
Shadow's expression didn't change.
"Send a team to investigate the explosion site. Provide aid to the villagers. Dispose of the dead, they're useless."
"Understood."
The messenger hurried away.
Shadow turned to his remaining soldiers. Their faces were drawn, fearful. After the losses they'd suffered, every new threat felt like the end.
"Senior Elder," one soldier said cautiously, "what if this is a trap? What if the Elite Squadron is trying to lure us out?"
Shadow smiled.
It was such an unexpected sight that everyone froze.
"All this time, we've worried about danger. Our strategists are dead. Our leaders are gone. What's left for the Elite Squadron to lure us out for?" He shook his head. "In chaos, there's fertility. Our ancestors understood this. We can't afford to hide. Send the team to the riverside. I'll handle the village myself."
"Yes, sir!"
At the river, the team found destruction.
The bank was scorched black. The water swirled with sickly colors. Dead fish floated everywhere, their bellies pale against the dark water.
And near the water's edge, a man lay unconscious.
"There's someone here!"
"Point your guns!"
"Surrender, or we fire!"
"Calm down... he's out cold."
The soldiers approached cautiously. The man was in terrible shape, burned, bleeding, clothes shredded. His face was nearly unrecognizable under layers of soot and dried blood.
"Who is this?"
"Maybe a traveler. Messenger from another sect."
"Poor bastard. Caught in the explosion."
"Shut up and search the area." The squad leader knelt beside the body. "Find out what caused this. This guy's suspicious, why's he here, right at the explosion site? There's a connection."
"Should we take him to the Elder?"
"Yeah. Tie him up."
Two soldiers moved forward with rope—
Thwump.
The first soldier's head snapped back. He fell without a sound.
Thwump. Thwump.
Two more down.
"SNIPER! TAKE—"
Thwump.
The squad leader crumpled.
Within seconds, the entire team lay dead. Perfect shots, one after another. No chance to react. No chance to hide.
From the trees across the river, a woman stepped into view. She smiled, cold, satisfied, and gestured to her hidden squad.
"Tie him up," she ordered. "Avoid open ground. Step where there's grass only. That bastard probably planted mines."
Her soldiers moved quickly, efficiently. They bound the unconscious man, Haut, though they didn't know it yet, and carried him away.
"Move fast. We need to reach the Southern Colonies. Two weeks of hard travel ahead."
As they disappeared into the forest, one soldier muttered, "Captain, I've heard the Southern Colonies have the best underground markets. Nearly sixty-eight percent of the valuable materials in the whole region pass through there."
The woman, the same captain who'd led the sniper team, glanced at him. "Focus on your job, and maybe you'll learn something useful."
The soldier shut up.
Behind them, the river continued to flow, carrying poison downstream toward Juniper Village.
In Juniper Village, an old woman baked bread.
Two cups of tea waited on the table, growing cold.
Her hands moved automatically, shaping dough, but her eyes kept drifting to the door.
"Kael," she whispered. "My son. When are you coming home? The tea is getting cold."
The explosion at the river wasn't just a sound, it was a feeling.
In Juniper Village, clay tiles rattled loose from roofs. Chickens squawked in their pens. Old Man Hemlock, drawing water from the well, felt the tremor in the rope.
Then came the smell. Bitter. Strange. Like lightning and spoiled eggs mixed together.
By the time the first runner from the riverside farms stumbled into the square, clothes soaked, face pale with panic, the whole village knew something was wrong.
"The river!" he gasped. "Crook's Bend, it's all wrong! The water's smoking! Old Finn's goats drank from it and… they just fell over. Twitching."
A cold dread settled over the village. The river was their life. It watered their fields, filled their cups, cleaned their clothes.
At the small stone outpost on the village's eastern edge, soldiers were already mustering. Their senior elder, Vorl, a man with deep worry-lines permanently etched around his eyes, had heard the blast. He'd sent scouts. The reports that came back were worse than anyone feared.
He stood before his squad in the dusty yard. Only eight of them left fit for duty after the last skirmish. Young faces, mostly. Kael, still soft, still a village boy at heart. Jorn, who talked too much but meant well. Corric, solid and silent, hands scarred from years of fighting.
"The river's been poisoned at the source near Crook's Bend," Vorl said gravely. "We have casualties. Some dead. The fields downstream will blight. Something happened up there, we need to know what. Attack, accident, cursed artifact, we go to find out. Be sharp. The Elite Squadron has hit us before. This could be a trap."
The squad moved out in tight formation. They passed villagers who stood in doorways, faces blank with a fear beyond words. A woman holding a water bucket simply stared at it, then poured it slowly onto the dry ground.
The walk to Crook's Bend was tense. The foul smell grew stronger with every step. Something in the air burned the back of the throat.
They found the site. A section of riverbank scorched black, torn apart. The water swirled with ugly rainbows of chemical film. Dead fish floated belly-up, caught in the reeds.
And there, on the scorched earth, lay a man.
The sergeant signaled. They fanned out, rifles raised. "Point your guns! Surrender!"
The man didn't move.
Corric, scanning the treeline, muttered, "Calm down. He's out cold."
They approached slowly. The man was a mess, tattered clothes, livid burns, fresh cuts. One arm wrapped in crude, blood-soaked bandages. He looked more dead than alive.
Kael breathed low. "Who is this guy?"
Jorn shrugged. "Traveler? Messenger? Must've been right where it blew. Poor bastard."
The sergeant knelt, checking for a pulse. "He's alive. Barely."
Corric wasn't looking at the man. He studied the scene, the precise scorch marks, the melted stones, the way the man lay not thrown by the blast but almost placed there.
"This guy's suspicious. Why's he here, in our territory? Right at the explosion site? There's a connection."
The sergeant nodded. "He's the only clue we have. Bring him to the Elder. Maybe he's a saboteur. Maybe he saw who did this. Either way, he talks to Vorl."
Two soldiers moved forward with rope. Kael helped, trying not to look at the terrible burns. He was securing the knot when he heard it—
Thwump.
Jorn, standing guard, fell. The top of his head was gone.
Thwump.
Corric jerked and spun, collapsing with a gaping hole where his eye had been.
"SNIPER! TAKE COV—"
Thwump.
The sergeant crumpled.
Kael dove for the ground. As he fell, his last sight was of the burned man, the prisoner, lying there, eyes still closed.
But the corners of his mouth, cracked and bloody, were turned up.
Not a smile of joy. A smile of cold, perfect, knowing satisfaction.
Then Kael's world exploded into red.
The last thing he heard was not a gunshot, but a woman's voice from the woods, calm and clear: "Tie him up. Avoid the bare ground. Move fast."
In Juniper Village, the old woman's bread burned black in the oven. She didn't notice. She was still staring at the door, waiting for a son who would never come home.