The world narrowed to the space between heartbeats. Val's sword cleaved through putrid flesh, sending another ghoul to its final rest. He barely registered the kill before pivoting to meet the next threat, his muscles burning with fatigue, his lungs raw from the acrid stench of decay that hung in the air.

  "Keep moving!" Alfen bellowed from somewhere to Val's left, his voice hoarse but commanding.

  They'd been retreating for what felt like hours but couldn't have been more than ten minutes. The Fourth Company's defensive square had collapsed under the Shadowbinder's assault, forcing them to break into smaller groups fighting desperate rearguard actions as they withdrew toward Clearwater. Val's group, a ragged collection of rangers, soldiers, and militia, had somehow coalesced around him and Rhalla, drawing strength from the aether nexus Val struggled to maintain despite the death lord's relentless attacks.

  "Val, on your left!" Kaelen's warning cut through his momentary distraction.

  Val ducked instinctively as a ghoul lunged past the spot where his head had been. The veteran ranger's axe flashed in the dim light, separating the creature's skull from its spine in a single fluid motion. Black ichor splattered across Val's shoulder, adding to the grim collection already coating his armor.

  "Thanks," Val managed, his voice little more than a rasp.

  Kaelen merely nodded, already turning to engage another undead. Val turned his attention back to the nexus, feeling the strain of maintaining the connections while simultaneously fighting for his life. The threads of life aether still radiated outward from his core, though fewer and less stable than before. He could sense each person linked to the nexus; Rhalla, whose presence felt like a steady anchor; the remaining mages, their signatures flickering with exhaustion; and, most brightly of all, Aric.

  The young ranger had become a whirlwind of destruction, his movements enhanced far beyond normal human capability by the aether flowing through him. Val watched in awe as Aric launched himself into a knot of ghouls, his sword moving faster than the eye could track. Five undead fell in as many heartbeats, dismembered by strikes of impossible precision and power.

  "Doesn't even leave any for the rest of us," Toren muttered as he fell back to Val's position, a fresh cut across his forehead trickling blood into his right eye. "Your friend's making us look bad."

  Despite everything, Val felt his lips twitch in the ghost of a smile. "Thought you hated competition."

  "Only when I'm losing." Toren wiped blood from his eye with a grimy sleeve. "How much farther?"

  "Half a mile, maybe less." Val's estimate was optimistic and they both knew it. The distance itself wasn't great, but the journey would be measured in blood, not steps.

  "Then let's not waste time chatting." Toren rejoined the fighting line, where Lian and two Fourth Company soldiers were struggling to hold back a fresh wave of undead.

  Val felt rather than saw the Shadowbinder's approach. The death aether preceded the dark lord like a physical wave, washing over them in pulses of cold malevolence. Each surge weakened the nexus connections, requiring Val to push more energy through the network just to maintain the status quo.

  "He's toying with us," Rhalla said, suddenly at Val's side. The mage's face was drawn with exhaustion, his skin pallid in the dim light. "If he wanted us dead, we would be. He's curious about you."

  "Lucky me," Val grunted as he parried a ghoul's claws and drove his sword through its chest.

  "This isn't sustainable," Rhalla continued, sending a pulse of concentrated life aether through the ground that caused roots to erupt beneath three approaching undead, entangling their limbs. "Your core is showing signs of instability."

  That explained the strange resonance Val had been feeling, a vibration within his core that grew more pronounced each time he countered the Shadowbinder's attacks.

  Val concentrated on pushing more energy through the nexus, focusing particularly on the fighters forming their rear guard. The added power was immediately evident as Kaelen's next axe swing cleaved through three ghouls at once, and a Fourth Company spearman impaled two undead on a single thrust.

  The effort cost him. Val felt his core vibrate more intensely, the resonance creating a discordant hum that seemed to echo through his entire body. His vision blurred momentarily, the world taking on a strange double aspect as though he were seeing both physical reality and the aetheric currents underlying it simultaneously.

  They continued their fighting retreat, each step bringing them incrementally closer to Clearwater's walls while costing them in blood and endurance. Val lost track of time, his world reduced to the endless cycle of strike, parry, step back, strike again. The only constants were the burn of fatigue in his muscles and the unsettling vibration in his core.

  At some point, the composition of the undead horde began to change. The relatively fresh ghouls that had formed the bulk of the attackers gave way to older specimens, more decayed and less coordinated.

  "They're running out of bodies," Kaelen observed during a momentary lull. "Must have committed most of their force to the initial assault."

  "Or they're holding reserves back," Toren countered, his natural pessimism reasserting itself.

  "Either way, we use it." Alfen took advantage of the slackening pressure to reorganize their formation. "Double column, wounded in the center. We move at a jog, not a walk. Anyone who falls behind..." He left the grim implication unspoken.

  They formed up quickly, desperation lending speed to tired limbs. Val found himself near the center of the formation with Rhalla. The mage had been right about Val's condition; maintaining the nexus was becoming increasingly difficult as his core's vibration intensified. The connections kept trying to slip from his control, requiring constant attention to maintain.

  "Quarter mile," someone called from the front of the column. "I can see the gate!"

  A ragged cheer went up from the survivors, hope lending them renewed energy. Val allowed himself a moment of optimism. Maybe they would make it after all.

  Then the Shadowbinder struck.

  The attack came without warning, a concentrated wave of death aether so powerful it seemed to distort the air itself. It hit the rear of their formation, engulfing the last rank of fighters in a cloud of necrotic energy. Val heard their screams cut short as the life was literally ripped from their bodies, leaving nothing but desiccated husks that crumbled to dust even as they fell.

  "Run!" Alfen abandoned any pretense of an orderly retreat.

  The formation dissolved into a chaotic sprint, each survivor driven by the primal instinct to escape the horror at their heels. Val tried to maintain the nexus, but the connections were unraveling faster than he could repair them, the vibration in his core reaching a painful intensity.

  He stumbled over something, a body, a root, he couldn't tell, and nearly fell. Strong hands caught him, steadying him before he hit the ground. Aric's face, splattered with black ichor but set in determined lines, appeared in his field of vision.

  "Not today," the young ranger said grimly. "We're not dying today."

  Val regained his footing, grateful for the support. Aric's connection to the nexus still burned brightly despite the general degradation of the network.

  They resumed their desperate flight, the sounds of pursuit growing louder behind them. Val dared not look back, focusing instead on the gates of Clearwater, now clearly visible in the torchlight. Figures moved along the battlements, and he thought he could make out the distinctive shapes of bows being drawn.

  "Incoming!" The warning came just in time for Val to brace himself.

  Arrows hissed overhead in a deadly swarm, arcing high before plunging into the ranks of the undead behind them. The volley was followed immediately by another, and another, creating a steel rain that tore through the pursuing horde with devastating effect.

  The arrow storm continued, each volley buying them precious seconds of reduced pressure from behind. Val could see figures at the gate now, soldiers preparing to open it just enough to admit the survivors before sealing it again.

  "We're going to make it," Rhalla said, his voice tight with exhaustion but tinged with disbelief.

  Val wasn't so sure. The Shadowbinder's presence loomed behind them, a malevolent shadow that seemed to dim even the torchlight ahead. The death lord had ceased the direct aether attacks momentarily, but Val sensed it was merely gathering power for something more devastating.

  His suspicion proved correct as a new sensation washed over him, a cold so intense it seemed to reach directly into his core. The vibration there spiked painfully, resonating with whatever working the Shadowbinder was constructing.

  "Rhalla," Val managed through gritted teeth. "Something's coming."

  The mage glanced at him sharply, then his eyes widened in alarm as he sensed what Val had already detected. "Break the nexus!" he shouted. "Break it now!"

  Val tried, but it was too late. The Shadowbinder's attack slammed into the remnants of his aether network like a physical blow, using the very connections Val had established to target everyone linked to it. The nexus shattered under the assault, connections severing with backlash that sent jolts of pain through Val's entire body.

  But the worst was reserved for Val himself. As the focal point of the nexus, he took the brunt of the attack directly into his core. The vibration that had been building there suddenly peaked, his core's natural harmonics disrupted by the foreign energy invading it.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Val felt something tear inside him, a fundamental wrongness that transcended physical pain. His vision whited out, his legs buckled, and he was falling, falling into a void where neither light nor sound could reach.

  The last thing he registered before consciousness fled was the sensation of strong arms catching him, and Aric's voice, distant and desperate: "Don't you dare! Don't you dare die!"

  Then darkness claimed him, and Val knew no more.

  The world slowed to a crawl as Val crumpled. Aric felt it in his gut first, a searing pain that doubled him over. Then the crushing weight of exhaustion as the borrowed strength fled his limbs. He lunged forward anyway, catching Val before his head could crack against the ground.

  "No, no, no," Aric grunted, struggling to lift the larger man. Val's dead weight threatened to drag them both down. The sounds of battle grew closer, the wet slapping of rotting feet, the rattling of bones, the inhuman shrieks that haunted his dreams.

  Kaelen materialized beside him, massive hands gripping Val's other side. Together they half-carried, half-dragged their unconscious companion toward Clearwater's gates. Arrows hissed overhead, finding marks in the pursuing undead with meaty thunks.

  The borrowed power that had made Aric feel invincible moments ago drained away with each step. His muscles screamed in protest. Sweat stung his eyes. But he couldn't let go. Not after everything Val had done for him. Not after—

  White-hot pain exploded in his calf. A ghoul had lunged through the arrow storm, its jagged teeth tearing through leather and flesh. Aric's leg buckled, but he locked his knee through sheer stubbornness.

  "Keep moving!" Kaelen's voice cut through the haze of agony.

  Aric did. Each step sent fresh waves of fire up his leg. Blood soaked his boot. The gates loomed closer - so close yet impossibly far. His vision narrowed to those iron-bound wooden doors, everything else fading to a grey blur.

  Shouts from ahead. Soldiers pouring out of the gateway. The last few steps passed in a daze of pain and exhaustion. Then they were through, and Aric's remaining strength deserted him. He collapsed to the cobblestones, chest heaving.

  Through spotty vision, he watched Elara sprint across the square, her face streaked with tears as she dropped beside Val. Her hands glowed with healing light, but something was wrong. Val remained still, too still, as she worked.

  "Come on," Aric whispered, trying to push himself up despite his mangled leg. "Wake up, you stubborn bastard." The words caught in his throat as darkness crept in at the edges of his sight. "You can't die. I still haven't paid you back for saving my life at Willow Creek."

  But consciousness was slipping away, and Aric could only watch helplessly as more healers converged on Val's motionless form. The last thing he saw before the darkness took him was Elara's tear-streaked face, lit by the desperate glow of healing magic.

  Elara's heart stopped as Kaelen and Aric emerged through the gate, dragging Val's limp form between them. Blood streaked down Aric's face, but he refused to let go of Val's arm even as he stumbled.

  "Val!" She sprinted forward, her healer's instincts already reaching out with her aether. The familiar warmth of his presence, the constant hum of power that had become as natural as breathing, was gone. Just... gone.

  Her hands trembled as she pressed them against his chest, searching for wounds, for anything she could fix. His skin felt cold, empty. No response to her probing aether, no familiar surge of power meeting hers.

  "What happened?" She barely recognized her own voice, raw and desperate. Kaelen's face was grim above her, covered in gore and ash.

  "The Shadowbinder." Kaelen coughed, still gripping Val's arm. "He did something... Val's nexus just exploded."

  Elara pressed her forehead against Val's chest, tears burning her eyes. "Wake up," she whispered. "Please wake up." Her aether pushed desperately against the void where his presence should be, finding nothing but emptiness.

  "My lady." Toren's gentle voice cut through her panic. "We need to move him. We're too exposed here."

  She wanted to scream at them, to tell them all to leave her alone with him, but the healer in her knew better. The sounds of battle still raged beyond the walls. The air reeked of death aether.

  "The temple," she managed, forcing herself to think clearly. "We need to get him to the temple."

  Rangers formed a protective circle around them as Kaelen lifted Val's body. Elara's hand found Toren's arm, steadying him as they moved. Blood still dripped from a gash above his eye, but he waved off her attempt to heal it.

  "Save it for Val," he muttered, though they both knew her power felt weak, diminished without Val's nexus enhancing it.

  They hurried through streets crowded with frightened civilians and rushing soldiers. Elara couldn't take her eyes off Val's face, peaceful as if in sleep. But this was wrong, he should be radiating power, should be filling them all with strength and hope.

  "Hold on," she whispered, more to herself than to him. "Just hold on."

  The temple doors loomed ahead, and Elara's mind raced with what she would try first, what techniques might reach him, how to bring back that brilliant light that had become the center of their world. She refused to accept this emptiness. She would find a way to bring him back.

  She had to.

  Elise's fingers trembled as she adjusted the delicate crystal array. The measurements made no sense. Life aether coursed through the chamber in waves far beyond anything recorded in her years of observation. Her neat notation system, usually so precise, devolved into hasty scribbles as she tracked the impossible surges.

  The crystals hummed, their usual soft green glow intensifying to a blinding emerald. Something was wrong. The resonance grew until it pierced her ears, a high-pitched whine that set her teeth on edge. She reached to disconnect the array, but too late.

  The blast threw her against the stone wall, knocking the breath from her lungs. Stars danced in her vision as she slumped to the floor, the acrid smell of burnt crystal filling her nostrils. When her head stopped spinning, she crawled to her workbench. The measuring crystals lay shattered, their fragments still smoking.

  "No, no, no," she muttered, fumbling in her supplies for a replacement set. Her hands shook as she arranged the backup crystals, desperately seeking new readings. The ambient aether levels had plummeted, falling beyond the lowest threshold she'd ever recorded. Something was desperately wrong.

  She stumbled to the roof access, needing fresh air, needing to see. The evening sky spread above her, stars beginning to peek through the twilight. But the city below caught her attention. The aether-lights that usually bathed Oakspire's streets in warm golden light flickered weakly, some threatening to go out entirely.

  Elise closed her eyes, reaching out with the subtle awareness that had earned her place among the Watchers. The Oakspire's presence, normally a constant thrum of life and power, felt distant, muted. Like a heartbeat growing fainter.

  Her legs gave out, and she sank to her knees on the cold stone. This wasn't possible. The Oakspire's power had sustained the valley for generations. It couldn't just... fade.

  Movement caught her eye, figures rushing through the darkening compound below, their robes marking them as fellow Watchers. They converged on the Heartwood, no doubt responding to the same readings that had destroyed her equipment. She should join them, report her findings.

  But something held her back. The same instinct that had made her withhold information about the ranger with the unusual aether signature now whispered that sharing everything she knew might be dangerous.

  A cold wind whipped across the roof, and Elise shivered. In the growing darkness, the Oakspire's massive silhouette loomed over the city like a shadow of its former self. Whatever was happening, she had a feeling Oakspire's troubles were only beginning.

  Alfen's fingers tightened around the weathered stone of Clearwater's wall. He stood with the cities leaders including; Captain Farrah, of the fourth army company, Jeduh, Amorrta and Reave Lakewind. The pre-dawn light crept across the valley floor, revealing wave after wave of the dead. Their numbers stretched beyond what his experienced eye could count, far more than the initial reports suggested.

  "Ten thousand, at least," Captain Jeduh muttered beside him, voicing Alfen's own estimate. The militia captain's face had gone ashen, but his voice remained steady.

  Amorta shifted, her scaled skin catching what little light penetrated the unnatural gloom. "The lake teems with our warriors. We stand ready, Owlta-friend." The Meryan's confidence did little to ease the knot in Alfen's gut.

  He'd seen too many battles, lost too many rangers to false hope. His mind drifted to Val, still unconscious in the temple below. The young ranger's power had been extraordinary, but even that hadn't been enough against the Shadowbinder's assault. Now, looking at the roiling mass of death aether that concealed their enemy's command center, Alfen understood why.

  Alfen's gaze swept the fortifications, cataloging strengths and weaknesses with the practiced eye of a veteran ranger. The wall modifications had been impressive, wooden platforms extended outward to allow defenders better angles, while makeshift battlements provided cover from enemy missiles. But would it be enough?

  "The inner city is secured," Reave Lakewood reported without preamble. "Every soul from the outer districts now shelters behind the secondary walls. The fishermen converted their warehouses into temporary housing."

  Alfen nodded.

  "Our granaries are full," Lakewood continued. "Six months of normal consumption, longer with rationing. And the lake..." He gestured to the vast expanse of water stretching westward.

  "The lake provides," Amorta intoned, her voice carrying ancient certainty. "Our hunters will ensure your people do not starve."

  Jeduh stepped forward, armor creaking. "The armory is prepared. Every tower holds thousands of arrows, and we've positioned oil barrels at regular intervals." He pointed to the dark shapes lining the wall's inner edge. "The militia trains daily now, every able body between sixteen and sixty. Even the fishwives are learning the bow."

  "We need more time," he muttered, more to himself than the others. The words tasted bitter. Time for Val to recover, time for reinforcements to arrive, time they likely didn't have.

  Lakewood gripped the wall beside him. "The city has withstood sieges before."

  "Not like this," Alfen replied. "Not against an enemy that grows stronger with every warrior we lose." He turned to face the others. "Every defense must be perfect. Every counter must be precise. We cannot afford to feed his army with our dead."

  Amorta's webbed fingers traced patterns in the air, a gesture Alfen had learned meant agreement. "The deep ways remain open. If the walls fall, we can evacuate through the underwater caves."

  "Send messenger ravens to Oakspire. They must know what we face. Send everyone one that you have, from every direction, they must get through." Alfen said, breaking the silence.

  "We will." Jeduh confirmed.

  "My warriors can travel the deep. Carry message to Oakspire. We know the way, send message with." Amorrta offered beside him.

  Kaelen's fingers tightened around Widow's haft as he watched another wave of undead join the horde beyond Clearwater's walls. The massive battleaxe, usually a comfort, felt heavy today. Three decades of ranging hadn't prepared him for this, an army of dead that stretched to the horizon, led by something that could snuff out a ranger's life with a thought.

  "They're toying with us," he growled, more to himself than to Captain Alfen beside him. The captain's silence spoke volumes.

  Below them, the city's merchants argued about rationing while the guard captain droned on about defensive positions. Meaningless chatter. Without Val's power to counter the Shadowbinder, they were just deciding how to die.

  A ghoul's scream echoed across the field. Kaelen's scars ached, particularly the three parallel lines on his face, his first lesson in never underestimating the dead. But this was different. This was calculation. Purpose.

  "Permission to check the barracks, sir." His voice came out rougher than intended. "Make sure the new ones aren't getting sloppy with their gear."

  Alfen nodded, understanding in his eyes. They both knew equipment checks were the last thing on Kaelen's mind.

  The walk through Clearwater's streets did nothing to settle his thoughts. Civilians huddled in doorways, whispering about the strange darkness gathering despite the afternoon sun. They had no idea what true darkness waited outside their walls.

  He found the rangers gathered in the barracks' common room, faces grim around scattered bowls of untouched stew. Rhone cleaned her short swords with mechanical precision. Jens stared into space, fingers tracing the rim of his cup. Even Kitra's usual whistling was absent.

  "Eat," Kaelen commanded, dropping onto a bench. "Dead won't wait for you to finish dinner when they come."

  Daven pushed a bowl and flask toward him. The wine was harsh, local vintage, nothing like the smooth blackberry they'd shared around the campfire just days ago. Before Val fell. Before everything went to hell.

  "Tell us straight," Thalia said, her healer's hands steady as she rewrapped a bandage on Lissa's arm. "What are our chances?"

  Silence settled heavy as grave dirt.

  "Val will wake up," Aric insisted from his corner, voice hoarse. The boy hadn't left the healing temple except when physically dragged away. "He has to."

  Kaelen wished he had the luxury of hope. But hope didn't kill ghouls. Hope didn't stop revenants. Hope didn't save his family when he was sixteen, hiding under that hollow log.

  "We hold," he said finally, meeting each ranger's eyes in turn. "We hold until we can't. Then we get as many people out as possible." He raised the flask. "To the ones who won't make it."

  They drank in silence as darkness crept across Clearwater like a shroud.