Chapter 35 - Death of a soldier

  They found shelter in the hollow of an old tower, a relic from Solvara’s past, from an age when people still dreamed of expansion beyond the city walls.

  Back then, it was said the builders planned a second ring, a greater Solvara that would touch the horizon itself.

  But that was before the aberrations came from the north. Before the walls became a cage instead of a promise.

  Those were the thoughts that drifted through Lilia’s mind as she sat against the cold rubble, her back pressed to the moss-covered wall.

  The tower leaned at a strange angle, half-buried beneath soil and stone, its upper floors shattered and claimed by ivy. It wasn’t safe, not by any sane measure, but it was shelter. And that was enough.

  A small fire crackled in front of her, its glow painting the jagged stones in trembling amber light.

  The warmth barely reached her fingers, but it was something to hold on to. Near the edge of the flames, a piece of iron she’d scavenged from the ruins sat buried near the flame, heating until it glowed a dull, angry red.

  Ariel lay beside her, curled tight, the faint golden cracks that once laced her skin now barely visible in the dim light. Her breathing was shallow and painful.

  She hadn’t spoken since dawn. Not even when Lilia tried to wake her.

  Lilia’s gaze lingered on those cracks, thin lines of faint light that traced along Ariel’s whole body. They pulsed every so often, dimly, as if something beneath her skin was still alive, still burning.

  Maybe… maybe this was it.

  Maybe Ariel had finally awakened her blessing.

  Maybe that terrible white light — the one that devoured Solvara and left only ash — had come from—.

  She glanced down at Ariel’s sleeping face, pale and still.

  “…No,” she whispered under her breath, shaking her head. “She’d tell me. Whatever it was… she’d tell me”

  They had walked all morning, dragging one weary step after another through the ash, ruin, then fields until the sun climbed high and the air turned warm.

  Lilia glanced toward the horizon, where the shattered spires of Solvara still rose faintly through the haze.

  Her throat tightened.

  They’d made it out.

  Lilia’s eyes lingered on Ariel a moment longer before drifting back to the fire. The iron had begun to smoke.

  Her stomach knotted.

  She pushed herself upright, her shoulder aching.

  When they’d first stumbled into the hollow, Ryn had been the first to collapse, which hadn’t surprised her. What did surprise her was the fact that he’d managed to walk at all. Looking at him now, she wasn’t sure he should even be alive.

  Her eyes drifted to his arm. She’d noticed it before, in the chaos of their escape, but now, up close, the damage was far worse than she’d imagined.

  The limb hung at an unnatural angle, the flesh blackened and raw where burns and steel had kissed it.

  The faint smell of burnt skin lingered in the air.

  She swallowed hard and tore a strip from what remained of her cloak, her hands shaking as she tried to bind the wound. “It’ll heal,” she whispered — the words meant more for herself than for him.

  But she knew it was a lie.

  And judging by the faint rise and fall of his chest, so did he.

  In reality, It was only going to get worse. Whatever burns had scorched his arm had done more than ruin flesh—they’d sunk deep, poisoning what was left beneath. If nothing were done, it would spread, rot setting in before long.

  Even if she wanted to wait, there was no chance of finding a healer. No supplies. No blessings. Nothing but forest, ruin, and fields of grass.

  Her fists clenched.

  There was one final option.

  Lilia’s gaze drifted to the sword lying beside him — its edge dulled, its once-bright surface now smeared with blood and soot.

  She reached for it with both hands. The metal was cold against her palms.

  “...I-I’m sorry,” she whispered, voice breaking as she lifted it.

  Ryn didn’t respond. Even if he wanted to say something, Lilia was pretty sure he couldn’t. His chest rose and fell thinly, eyes half-closed, every breath a small theft from what little strength he had left.

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  She tied a strip of cloth high above his arm, pulling it tight until his skin flushed pale beneath the grime. The wound was already blackened at the edges, the burns crawling higher, creeping like rot.

  There wasn’t time.

  Lilia raised the sword high, arms trembling. Heat prickled behind her eyes; the world narrowed to the dull weight of the blade and the mangled limb that still clung to him. Her mouth opened and closed around a protest that wouldn’t leave.

  ‘I can’t. I can’t do this.’

  But if she didn’t, he was going to die anyway.

  Her hands shook so badly the sword wavered. She thought of every thing he’d done for them, how he’d stood between them and danger, how he’d carried her through smoke and ash when he could barely stand himself. And now she was about to repay him like this.

  Her breath caught.

  Then she exhaled once, long, steady, and final.

  and brought it down.

  It wasn’t clean. It wasn’t graceful. The strike landed with a wet crack and a sound that tore through the quiet.

  Ryn’s scream broke the air, raw and animal, echoing against the stone walls.

  Lilia flinched, her vision swimming, but she couldn’t stop. The first strike hadn’t cut through completely. Tears blurred her sight as she raised the sword again, hands slick with blood.

  “I’m sorry,” she choked, voice trembling. “I’m sorry—”

  Her hands shook so violently, the sword refusing to come down, the reflection of the fire trembling across its edge. The air smelled of ash and blood, and the sound of Ryn’s breathing, shallow, broken, it clawed at her chest.

  She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t. Her throat closed, a sob catching.

  Then, through the throes of agony, his eyes found hers.

  Half-lidded, unfocused — yet still there. A flicker of awareness that cut through the delirium. There was no anger in them.

  Only a silent plea.

  That look steadied her.

  She drew in a shaking breath.

  And brought the blade down.

  The sound was dull this time, heavy. The arm fell away. Silence followed, save for the fire’s crackle and the faint hiss of blood on stone.

  Lilia’s breath came in gasps. Her hands shook as she dropped the sword, its weight thudding dully beside her. For a moment, she just stared—at the blood, the stillness, the awful finality of what she’d done.

  Then her eyes flicked toward the fire. The iron rod she’d left there glowed faintly red, heat warping the air around it.

  Her body moved before her mind caught up. She grabbed it by the cloth-wrapped end, teeth clenched against the burn, and pressed it hard against the open wound.

  The hiss was sharp, violent. The smell of burnt flesh and blood filled the air, thick and suffocating. Ryn’s body arched, a strangled sound tearing from his throat before he slumped back, mercifully unconscious.

  Lilia held the iron there a heartbeat longer, then let it fall, her whole body trembling. The world around her blurred through the sting of tears and smoke.

  She sank to her knees beside him, chest heaving, the stench of iron and ash clinging to her. For a long moment, there was only the sound of her ragged sobs and the low, steady crackle of the fire

  ***

  Lilia kneeled there for a long time, tears streaking her soot-stained face until there was nothing left to cry.

  Ryn had gone still at last, unconscious—but alive. Somehow.

  She stared at him through the dim light, her chest tightening with something she found hard to explain. She’d always known he was strong, an incredible fighter, but this... this went beyond human. To have survived that battle, to have walked this far, to still be breathing after everything... it defied reason.

  And yet, despite all that strength, she’d taken his arm. His sword arm.

  Her hands trembled at the thought, a low sob breaking loose before she forced it back down. The fire had long since faded to embers, leaving the tower in shadow. Through the cracks in the fallen tower, faint moonlight spilled, a pale light from the veined moon rising above.

  Night was here. She could feel the chill of it creeping in. She knew she had to rest; her body screamed for it.

  So she pushed herself up, legs weak and swaying.

  Outside, the night wind had gone still. Even the insects had stopped singing.

  She stumbled to a corner to sleep.

  That was when she heard it—

  Clattering.

  At first, she thought it was just the wind knocking loose stones down the tower. But then it came again, rhythmic, steady, too even to be random. The clatter of many footsteps, close together, perfectly synchronized. Ten, maybe more, all striking the ground in flawless unison.

  Lilia’s breath caught. No group of people could move like that. Even trained soldiers had variation in their step, small breaks in rhythm. This sound… it was mechanical, unanimous, like the heartbeat of a single thing wearing too many feet.

  The noise stopped. All at once.

  The silence that followed was deafening.

  Her pulse hammered in her throat. She could feel the air shift, thick, cold, alive with a presence that didn’t belong.

  Lilia stumbled to her feet, heart pounding, and darted to Ariel’s side. She grabbed her shoulders and shook hard.

  “Ariel, we gotta get up—now!”

  Ariel stirred, slow at first, her dazed eyes struggling to focus. But then, as her gaze lifted toward Lilia, her expression changed, confusion melting into stark, wordless terror.

  “What—” Lilia began, but the word died in her mouth as she saw Ariel’s eyes fix on something behind her.

  A cold, crawling dread climbed up her spine. Slowly, she turned.

  Through a narrow crack in the fallen stone wall, a single, enormous eye stared back, unblinking, its iris a sickly pale green.

  It blinked, sideways, like a lizard’s…

  Slow and deliberate.