As the weight of Tarek’s words settled over the group, Captain Elara wasted no time.

  “We move within the hour,” she commanded. “We’ll strike under the cover of night.”

  The team acknowledged her orders with curt nods, already beginning to move toward their designated tasks. Tarek returned to scout their path, Holt and Fey checked their weapons, while Isla prepared supplies for potential injuries. The village stirred with newfound energy, the hope rekindled in their eyes pushing them to assist however they could.

  Lucian, still absorbing the intensity of the situation, was about to follow when a small tug on his sleeve made him pause.

  He turned and found himself looking down at a boy no older than seven, his dark brown hair messy and his clothes slightly oversized. His eyes—full of admiration and hope—locked onto Lucian’s, and for a moment, Lucian didn’t know how to react.

  “Brother,” the boy said, his voice small but steady. “You’re going to fight them, right?”

  Lucian stiffened slightly. Brother? No one had ever called him that before.

  Still taken aback, he hesitated, but nodded. “Yeah,” he answered, his voice softer than usual.

  The boy’s small hands reached into his pocket, pulling out a simple wooden pendant—a small, crudely carved sun emblem tied to a thin leather string. He held it out toward Lucian.

  “This is for you,” the boy said. “For good luck.”

  Lucian stared at the token, his chest tightening with something unfamiliar.

  A long time ago, he had stood in this boy’s place—a child looking up at someone stronger, hoping they would bring safety and salvation.

  He had been alone. He had searched for hope.

  And now, here was this boy, looking at him the same way he had once looked at Aldric.

  Slowly, almost reverently, Lucian reached out and took the pendant. The wood was rough, uneven, but it was clear the boy had put effort into it.

  “Thank you,” Lucian said, his voice coming out more genuine than he expected.

  The boy grinned, the kind of wide, unburdened smile only children still untouched by despair could give. “Come back safe, okay?”

  Lucian nodded, tightening his fingers around the token. “I will.”

  The boy gave him one last excited look before running off toward the gathered villagers, disappearing into the crowd.

  Lucian remained still for a moment, staring down at the small sun in his palm.

  A deep breath steadied him, his resolve solidifying.

  This mission was no longer just about testing himself. It was about being the hope he had once searched for.

  He tied the pendant around his wrist, the leather cord snug against his skin, and turned toward his waiting team.

  The night air was thick with anticipation. A cool breeze whispered through the trees, rustling the branches in quiet warning. The village had gone eerily silent, its people retreating into their homes, knowing that tonight would decide their fate.

  Lucian sat near the wagon, absently turning the small wooden pendant between his fingers. The crude sun emblem was rough against his skin, but its weight felt heavier than it should. A simple token. A child’s hope.

  He exhaled, his breath visible in the cold. Did Aldric ever feel this way before battle?

  A presence settled beside him. Fey.

  “You’re quiet,” she noted, stretching one leg over the other as she checked her twin blades. The moonlight made the steel glint.

  Lucian didn’t respond immediately. His gaze remained on the pendant. “A kid gave me this,” he finally said, voice low.

  Fey tilted her head slightly, studying him before her lips curled into a knowing smirk. “Let me guess—he called you ‘big brother’ or something like that?”

  Lucian blinked, turning to her. “How did you—?”

  “Because it always happens.” Fey flicked the edge of her blade absently. “Villagers don’t just see us as mercenaries. They see us as heroes. The moment they look at you with those wide, hopeful eyes, you start realizing this is bigger than just yourself.”

  Lucian gripped the pendant tighter. He had spent years training—fighting for his survival, seeking strength for his own reasons. Now, for the first time, he felt the weight of someone else’s expectations.

  Before he could say anything, Elara’s voice cut through the stillness.

  “Move out.”

  The Emberfang Legion gathered without hesitation. Swords were secured, arrows counted, straps tightened. There was no need for grand speeches—they knew what had to be done.

  Lucian rose, securing the pendant around his wrist.

  The weight was still there.

  But so was his resolve.

  The forest swallowed them whole.

  Darkness stretched between the towering trees, broken only by the pale light of the moon filtering through the dense canopy. The air was damp, heavy with the scent of earth and moss. Each step was measured, careful—there was no room for reckless movement.

  Lucian trailed closely behind Captain Elara, his senses alert. The rest of the team moved in perfect formation, their movements second nature, as if each of them knew exactly where to step without even needing to look.

  Tarek led the way, his sharp eyes scanning the shifting shadows ahead. He barely made a sound, his presence almost ghost-like as he lifted a hand in signal. The entire group froze instantly.

  Lucian did the same, his heart steady, but his fingers instinctively hovered near his weapon.

  Tarek turned back to Elara, giving a small, quick signal with his fingers.

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  Five… no, seven Grellocks.

  Lucian squinted into the darkness, his breath slowing. It took a moment, but then he saw them—shapes moving in the distance, hunched and deliberate. The Grellocks’ leathery, earth-toned skin blended seamlessly with the forest, their movements predatory, slow.

  They were scouting. Patrolling. Watching.

  Elara’s fingers twitched in response. No words were spoken—only gestures.

  Prepare for battle. Eliminate them quietly. No alarms.

  The team split into shadow-like precision.

  Lucian watched as Fey and Holt drifted left, using the undergrowth as cover. Renn nocked an arrow, her form perfectly still despite the tension in the air. Isla stayed close to the trees, a knife at the ready in case anything went wrong.

  Elara glanced back at Lucian once. Watch and learn.

  Then, they struck.

  Renn loosed an arrow. A whisper of air, and one of the Grellocks collapsed, gurgling as the arrow buried deep into its throat.

  Holt moved next. The massive warrior was surprisingly silent as he crept up behind another, his axe sweeping clean through its skull before it could even gasp.

  Lucian felt his pulse quicken.

  The Grellocks didn’t even have time to scream.

  Fey was brutal in her efficiency. She slipped from the shadows, her twin blades flashing in the dim light. She opened the throat of one, then spun fluidly to plunge her second blade into the ribs of another.

  They fell without resistance. No struggle. No warning.

  Elara took the last one herself. A flick of her wrist, and her dagger lodged deep into the back of the Grellock’s skull. It slumped forward, lifeless.

  Seven Grellocks. Gone in seconds.

  Lucian barely had time to process the sheer precision of it all. No wasted movement. No hesitation.

  The Emberfang Legion was ruthless.

  Tarek inspected the area quickly, then turned to Elara, nodding once. No alarms had been raised.

  Elara gave a small, satisfied nod before motioning them forward.

  Lucian exhaled, his grip tightening on his weapon. This wasn’t like the sparring matches in the fortress. This was death executed with practiced ease.

  And they weren’t done yet.

  They would bleed the Grellocks dry before the enemy even realized they were under attack.

  The forest was painted with silence, save for the soft rustling of leaves as the team moved like shadows.

  Lucian’s grip on his weapon tightened as they advanced, following the precise, disciplined rhythm of the Emberfang Legion. His heartbeat had steadied—not from lack of tension, but from the thrill of adaptation.

  Ahead, Tarek signaled again.

  Another patrol. Five this time.

  Elara gave the order without words.

  They moved.

  Renn's arrow struck first, piercing a Grellock's eye before it could turn. Holt followed, his axe cleaving through another’s spine. Fey dispatched a third with her twin blades in a dance of steel and blood.

  Lucian inhaled sharply, watching their perfect execution. It was his turn.

  One Grellock remained, scanning in panic as its companions fell. Lucian moved before it could react.

  Each step was instinctual—silent, fluid, deadly.

  He wrapped an arm around its throat from behind, his grip strong enough to prevent a cry. The Grellock struggled, claws scraping at his arm, but Lucian didn’t hesitate.

  With a sharp twist—a snap.

  The creature slumped in his hold, lifeless.

  Lucian exhaled, his hands steady.

  When he turned, he caught Elara watching him.

  For the first time since he had joined them, he saw something different in her gaze. A flicker of approval.

  He was learning.

  They moved deeper, further thinning the Grellock forces.

  Another patrol—a group of six this time—fell as swiftly as the others.

  No sound. No survivors.

  Lucian replicated his earlier kill, this time with even more efficiency. It felt… natural.

  When the final Grellock collapsed, Elara finally motioned for a halt.

  The team formed a tight circle, dead Grellocks sprawled around them, their bodies already cooling.

  Elara scanned their surroundings before she spoke in a low, deliberate voice.

  “This is enough,” she said, her tone calculated. “We’ve thinned their numbers. Any further, and they might notice something is wrong before we reach their camp.”

  Lucian listened intently, absorbing her strategy.

  “We move on the main camp,” she continued. “We eliminate them all.”

  Renn wiped the edge of her arrow against a fallen Grellock’s hide. “And if they’re ready for us?”

  Elara smirked. “Then we kill them anyway.”

  Lucian straightened.

  He had fought before. He had trained under Malric, Darius, and Aldric.

  But this?

  This was warfare.

  And he was ready.

  The forest gave way to an eerie clearing.

  Lucian crouched low as the team moved silently through the underbrush. The Grellock camp lay ahead—a crude settlement nestled in a hollow between dense trees. The moonlight barely reached the ground, leaving the area bathed in deep shadows, flickering only with the faint orange glow of campfires.

  Tarek signaled a halt.

  Lucian peered ahead.

  Two wooden watchtowers stood at the edges of the camp, each with a Grellock guard, their hunched figures barely visible against the night sky. Below them, five huts—their structures hastily built from thick branches, tanned hides, and crude wooden reinforcements. A large fire burned at the center of the camp, casting long shadows against the surrounding trees.

  Tarek’s voice was barely a whisper as he relayed his findings to Elara.

  “Fourteen Grellocks outside. More inside the huts, but…” He hesitated, glancing toward the structures. “Something else is there. Something… different.”

  Elara’s eyes narrowed. “Different how?”

  Tarek exhaled slowly, his gaze sharp but uncertain. “I don’t know. It feels wrong. Strong. Like it’s waiting for something.”

  Lucian felt the shift in the air. A heavy, unsettling stillness hung over the camp, as if something inside those huts was more than just a pack of Grellocks.

  Elara considered the information for a moment. Then, her decision was made.

  “There’s only one way to find out.”

  She turned, giving a quick succession of silent orders.

  Her fingers moved toward Renn.

  Take the towers.

  Renn nodded once. She pulled an arrow from her quiver, drawing her bow with slow, silent precision.

  Next, her attention moved to Holt.

  Charge. Break their formation.

  Holt grinned. “Gladly.”

  Fey. Support Holt. Stay on his flanks.

  Fey rolled her shoulders, flexing her grip on her twin blades. “Easy.”

  Isla. Hang back. Support if needed.

  Isla gave a short nod, already preparing her vials.

  Finally, Elara turned to Lucian.

  For a brief second, he thought she might give him a separate order—send him to the flanks, tell him to pick off stragglers.

  Instead, she simply said, “Follow me.”

  Lucian met her gaze. There was no room for hesitation.

  He gripped his weapon.

  “I’m ready.”

  Elara smirked. “Then let’s begin.”

  A whisper of air.

  Then—death.

  Renn’s arrow flew silently through the night, striking the first watchtower guard square in the throat. The Grellock jerked violently, claws grasping at the shaft embedded deep in its flesh. A choked gargle was all it managed before it toppled forward, tumbling off the tower and crashing into the dirt below.

  Before the second guard even realized what had happened, another arrow found its mark.

  A clean kill.

  The watchtowers were silent.

  Then—chaos.

  Holt moved first.

  A thunderous roar erupted from his chest as he broke from the shadows, charging like a war beast unleashed. His massive axe swung in a brutal arc, cleaving straight through the first Grellock unfortunate enough to be in his path.

  Fey was at his side instantly.

  Where Holt was raw power, Fey was a storm of blades.

  A Grellock lunged at her, clawed hands reaching— but Fey was faster. She spun low, twin swords flashing, carving deep into the creature’s gut before pivoting, slicing its throat in a single fluid motion.

  The Grellock collapsed, gurgling.

  Then—panic erupted in the camp.

  The remaining Grellocks shrieked, alarm spreading as their kin fell too fast, too easily.

  Lucian moved with Elara, his sword firm in his grip.

  She didn’t hesitate—her dagger was already flying.

  It found its mark in a Grellock’s eye.

  Lucian barely had time to register the kill before another lunged at him.

  It moved fast, wild, desperate.

  Lucian sidestepped, barely missing its claws.

  His sword lashed out, cutting deep across its chest—but the creature snarled and kept coming.

  Lucian adjusted, stepping into his attack instead of away from it.

  A parry—his blade twisting, deflecting the Grellock’s claws.

  A quick slash—his sword slicing across its throat.

  The Grellock staggered, gurgling as dark blood spilled over its chest.

  Lucian finished it with a clean stab through the heart.

  The creature fell.

  Elara glanced at him mid-motion, her lips curling slightly. “Not bad.”

  Lucian didn’t have time to respond. More were coming.

  The campfire flickered wildly, casting jagged shadows across the battlefield.

  Holt had already cleaved through two more, his armor now slick with blood.

  Fey’s blades sang as they met flesh.

  Tarek remained unseen, picking off stragglers with precise, unseen strikes.

  Renn fired another arrow— straight through a Grellock’s exposed skull.

  Then—the huts.

  A deep, guttural growl rumbled from within.

  Lucian felt it before he saw it.

  Something was coming.

  Something strong.

  Elara’s eyes flickered toward the nearest hut.

  “Whatever’s inside,” she said, voice steady. “It’s awake.”

  The battle was far from over.