The boy that I now know as Finn slips out through the door, thankfully covered by the darkness that has settled over us after the setting sun made her descent.
“Come, let’s discuss the plan,” Kael ushers me back to the group, and leans over the dusty crate that is serving as our table for the battle plan.
“The Aegis will be gathering strength, and they’ll use the cover of darkness to their advantage,” Kael says, his voice steady but laced with urgency. He crouches over the crate, carving lines into its worn surface with the tip of his blade, sketching out a crude but functional map. “We need to hold this intersection. Ronyn, you’ll take the highest vantage point.” He taps the edge of the makeshift map, indicating the building adjacent to ours. “You’ll be our eyes—pick off anyone who slips into our blind spots.”
Ronyn nods, his usual smirk absent for once, replaced by a focused determination.
“Therion,” Kael continues, his sharp gaze shifting to the hulking warrior, “you’ll be on the ground. Use your senses to detect their movements before they reach us. Hold the line and do what you always do.” Kael’s subtle nod is met with a grunt of acknowledgment from Therion, his grip tightening on the haft of his axe.
“Seren,” Kael says, his tone softening just slightly as his attention moves to her, “you’ll stay with Ronyn. Keep working on the route to the compass. We need it nailed down by dawn.” He straightens, pointing his blade toward Jax and Merrik. “You two willbe with me. We’ll cut through their ranks and keep them from overwhelming the rest. No mercy.”
“And what about me?” I say, my voice sharp with indignation. “I suppose you want me to hole up and hide?” The words are bitter, but they’re born of a deeper fear—that I’ll be sidelined, treated as a liability instead of an asset.
Kael’s piercing eyes lock on to mine, fierce and unyielding. “I know better than to tell a warrior to walk away from a fight,” he says, his voice low but brimming with intensity. “You’ll fight at my side.”
I swallow hard, his words sinking in. “Okay then,” I manage, my voice steadier than I feel. The trust he’s placing in me sends a ripple of something I can’t quite name through my chest. Gratitude? Pride? Respect? Whatever it is, it feels like a small victory in a sea of uncertainty.
Merrik strides to the back of the dusty storage room, muscles bunching as he drags a heavy chest out of the way. Behind it, a hidden compartment is revealed. He pries the cover loose with practiced ease, revealing an array of weapons and armor neatly stashed within. Blades glint in the dim light—throwing knives, razor-edged chakrams, war axes, swords, a small crossbow, a broad blade, and a bow with its quiver of arrows.
They knew this was coming. They’ve prepared for this moment.
“I’d like the crossbow... please,” Seren says, the last word sweetened with characteristic politeness. She looks up, meeting the incredulous stares from the group. “What? I’m part of this as much as any of you. If I’m going to be with Ronyn, I might as well help. I already have the route mapped to the compass, anyway,” she adds, her chin lifting slightly in defiance.
Merrik lets out a low chuckle, his cheer a stark contrast to the tension hanging in the air. “Well, the crossbow is yours, little lady,” he says, handing it to her with a small flourish. Seren takes it with surprising confidence, inspecting the weapon as though she’s been wielding one her entire life.
The moment is a brief reprieve, but it doesn’t last long. The air grows heavy again as Kael finishes marking the map, his gazesweeping across the group. The plan is clear, but the unspoken weight of what’s coming presses down on all of us.
We’re ready—but are we ready enough?
Jax reaches for the chakrams, the razor-edged rings glinting with lethal precision as she secures them to her belt. I take the throwing knives, their weight familiar and reassuring in my hands, and strap them to my belt above the Starforged Blade and Revryn’s dagger. Each weapon feels like a promise of death—one I’m determined to keep.
Therion hefts the war axe, its heavy, brutal head gleaming with a dull menace as it joins the arsenal strapped to his broad back. Kael takes the broad blade, sliding it into the sheathe at his side. No doubt a backup—he’s never without his dark, menacing twin swords strapped in an X across his back, their hilts peeking over his shoulders like silent sentinels. Ronyn grabs the extra bow and quiver of arrows, his expression calm but focused. He’s the one who will keep us covered from above, and he knows it.
We move silently, a shadowy procession slipping through the tight confines of the storage room. The air feels thick, heavy with unspoken words and the weight of what lies ahead. Outside, the world is cloaked in darkness, the dim light of the moon barely illuminating the labyrinth of alleys and streets. We split off to our assigned positions, each of us dissolving into the shadows like ghosts, taking cover in the empty buildings and crumbling structures that line the intersection.
Kael and I slip into an abandoned building, the wood creaking softly underfoot as we weave through the remnants of a forgotten life. Dust clings to the air, and the faint scent of mildew lingers. We crouch behind old crates and barrels, their rough surfaces digging into my palms as I settle into position.
“I don’t see anyone else arriving to help, Kael,” I whisper, the edge of panic creeping into my voice despite my best efforts to suppress it. My heart pounds, the rhythm uneven, as if my body is betraying my attempt at calm.
“They’ll be here, Duskae,” Kael murmurs, his voice low andsteady, like the hum of a distant storm. “Just breathe. It’s just you and me for now. That’s all you need to focus on.”
His words, paired with the quiet confidence in his tone, are enough to anchor me—for now. I force myself to take a deep breath, then another, the cool air filling my lungs. I focus on grounding myself, on finding three things I can see, hear, and feel, just as Revryn taught me.
The peeling paint on the wall across from us catches my eye, the edges curling like brittle parchment. I notice the faint sound of Kael’s breathing beside me, steady and even, a stark contrast to my own. I press my hand against the rough surface of the barrel, the splinters biting into my skin grounding me.
The air before a fight always feels the same—heavy, tense, brimming with the unspoken promise of violence. It presses against my skin, tangling with my nerves. Even the nocturnal world holds its breath. The croak and chirp of nearby insects and birds have stilled, leaving behind a silence so absolute it feels alive.
The predators are closing in.
We don’t wait long before the shadows begin to stir. Dark figures emerge from all directions, their movements deliberate and predatory. They’re cloaked in black armor that absorbs the faint moonlight, their faces obscured by half-masks that make them seem less human, more specter. Strapped across their backs are weapons I’ve only ever heard of in whispers: whistle swords.
Revryn’s stories come rushing back with chilling clarity. Curved blades, almost like bows, designed to be held with twin handles. Their true terror lies in their sound—the eerie whistle that cuts through the air before the blade strikes, a haunting harbinger of death. A weapon as much psychological as it is physical. They haven’t been seen on the battlefield in decades, maybe longer, and yet here they are, wielded by this group of zealots. The sight alone sets my stomach churning, the dread coiling tight and cold.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are, little Lightborne,” a voice taunts, slithering through the stillness like a predator’s hiss. The tone is mocking, sinister, and disturbingly playful, its familiaritysending a cold shiver down my spine. My breath catches as I scramble through my memory, desperate to place it.
“It’s the man from the bar,” Kael says, his voice dropping into a low, lethal register. His features sharpen, his gaze like a blade drawn and ready. The air around him seems to shift, his mask of control replaced by something fierce and primal—a warrior’s instinct taking over.
Fuck.
