Rohan paced at the edge of the creek, his body tense, his breath ragged. Smoke rose in the distance, the faint glow of flames licking at the sky. He clenched his fists. He had to go back. The chief was still there. The village was still standing. He couldn't just leave.

  The others huddled nearby, still shaken. The children whimpered softly, and the women whispered among themselves, casting wary glances.

  His grip tightened around his dagger. He took a step forward, ready to run, but a voice cut through the silence.

  “Rohan!”

  Two figures emerged from the treeline, village guards, bloodied and breathless.

  He turned sharply toward them.

  “The village?”

  “It’s lost.”

  the older guard said, shaking his head.

  “The fires have spread. They broke through the gates. Anyone left is either dead or fleeing.”

  Rohan’s chest tightened. The chief. The others. He took another step, but the younger guard grabbed his arm.

  “There’s nothing left to fight for.”

  The man said firmly.

  “If you go back, you’ll die.”

  Rohan’s grip tightened around his dagger as he stared at the guards, his knuckles white with fury. Their words echoed in his mind.

  He shook his head, his breath coming fast.

  “You left them?”

  His voice was sharp, cutting through the stillness.

  The older guard grimaced, looking away.

  “There was no saving it.”

  “No, you ran.”

  Rohan growled.

  His chest heaved, his mind flashing back to his old village, the flames, the screams, his parents helpless and dying while he ran. He clenched his teeth, his anger boiling over. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

  Before the guards could stop him, he turned and sprinted toward the burning village.

  “Rohan, wait!”

  The trees blurred as he pushed forward, his legs burning, his lungs straining. The night air smelled of smoke and blood. The village walls came into view, partially collapsed, flames from the rooftops. Shadows moved through the wreckage, the sounds of steel clashing and dying screams filling the night.

  Talia was behind him, trying to keep up.

  “Rohan, stop!”

  She called, but he ignored her.

  As he reached the outskirts, he saw the bodies. The chief’s men had fought hard, but the bandits had overwhelmed them.

  Rohan’s stomach twisted. He forced himself forward.

  A figure stumbled from a burning hut, a bandit, blade dripping with blood. He barely had time to react before Rohan was on him.

  He slammed into the man, knocking him back before driving his dagger into his throat. The bandit gurgled, blood spilling down his chest as Rohan tore the blade free.

  Another bandit turned at the sound, raising a rusted axe. Rohan ducked low and slashed at his knee. The man screamed, collapsing, and Rohan plunged his dagger into his stomach without hesitation.

  Talia caught up to him, panting. She flinched at the sight of him, his face twisted in fury, his hands dripping with blood.

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  More bandits spotted them now, stalking closer, their weapons ready.

  Rohan raised his dagger, his breath ragged.

  “I’m not running this time.”

  Beyond the bodies and flames, Rohan’s eyes locked onto a figure slumped in the dirt. His breath caught in his throat.

  The chief.

  A sword jutted from his chest, his broad frame hunched forward as if he had been shielding something or someone, before he fell. Blood soaked his shirt, pooling beneath him, his fingers twitching weakly.

  Rohan’s stomach twisted, his fury surging into something worse. Something deeper.

  The bandits saw where his gaze had landed. One of them chuckled, kicking the chief’s lifeless form with his boot.

  “Old bastard put up a fight.”

  The man sneered.

  “Shame it didn’t matter.”

  Rohan’s grip on his dagger tightened until his fingers ached. His breath came slow, controlled, but his body screamed for violence.

  Rohan didn’t hesitate. He moved with the fury of a storm, dagger flashing as he closed the distance between him and the closest bandit.

  His blade found the man’s throat before he could react, a spray of red painting the dirt as he collapsed. But there were more, too many.

  The others rushed him, their weapons gleaming in the firelight. Rohan barely moved away from a downward slash, the blade grazing his arm, tearing through his sleeve and slicing into flesh. Pain flared, but he ignored it, ducking low and driving his dagger into another bandit’s gut. He wrenched it free, letting the man crumple as he turned to face the rest.

  A boot struck his ribs. He staggered, the air forced from his lungs. A sword came down at him, and he barely got his dagger up in time, deflecting the blow just enough to avoid being split open. The force sent him stumbling, his footing unsteady.

  They were bigger, stronger, but he was faster.

  Rohan dove into the chaos, weaving between attacks, using the fire and smoke to his advantage. He kicked embers into one man’s face, making him scream and claw at his burning eyes. Another came at him from the side, but Rohan grabbed a fallen spear, thrusting it up into his attacker’s chest before rolling away.

  Something slammed into the back of his shoulder, a blade, deep enough to send lightning through his nerves. He gasped, nearly dropping his weapon. The bandit twisted the knife before ripping it free, and Rohan bit back a scream.

  Too slow, he was being worn down.

  He forced himself to move, slipping between two attackers and kicking out the knee of one, stealing his sword before driving it into the other’s stomach. He couldn’t stop, if he stopped, he’d die.

  Another enemy rushed him. Rohan let him come, pretending to falter, letting the bandit think he was weak. At the last second, he sidestepped, slamming his dagger into the side of the man’s neck, twisting it.

  The last bandit standing looked at the bodies around him, then back at Rohan, bloodied and panting but still standing. The man turned to run.

  Rohan didn’t let him.

  He tackled him to the ground, slamming his knee into the man’s chest. He didn’t speak, didn’t hesitate. His dagger plunged downward, once, twice, until the struggling stopped.

  Rohan staggered to his feet, breath ragged, pain searing through his wounds. His legs barely held him as he looked around.

  Rohan’s grip tightened around his father’s dagger as the ten remaining bandits circled him. His body ached, his blood dripping onto the scorched earth, but he refused to fall. Not yet, not until they were all dead.

  One lunged, and Rohan didn’t dodge, he stepped into the attack, letting the sword graze his side as he buried his dagger in the man’s throat. Blood sprayed onto his face, but he didn't react. He yanked the blade free, shoving the dying man aside.

  A club slammed into his side. He grunted, staggering, but instead of retreating, he laughed, a ragged, breathless sound. The bandit hesitated, unnerved. Rohan used that moment to lunge, tackling him to the ground and driving his dagger into his chest again, and again, and again.

  Another bandit tried to pull him off, but Rohan twisted, slashing wildly. His dagger tore across the man's cheek, ripping through skin and muscle. The bandit screamed, clutching his face, and Rohan drove his knee into his gut, forcing him down before stabbing him in the eye.

  More blades found him. One cut deep into his shoulder. Another slashed across his leg. He barely felt them anymore. His vision blurred, his breaths ragged, but he didn't stop.

  He grabbed a fallen sword, wielding it alongside his dagger. A man swung at him, he ducked, coming up fast and driving the sword under his ribs. Another tried to flank him, Rohan whirled, slamming his dagger into his thigh before hacking at his neck.

  His hands were slick with blood, his own, theirs, It didn’t matter.

  "Not so fun when you're the ones bleeding, huh?"

  Rohan spat, voice hoarse. His face was twisted in a savage grin, eyes wild.

  The remaining bandits hesitated, exchanging wary glances. He was outnumbered, outmatched, and bleeding out.

  One of them turned to run.

  Rohan roared, a primal, broken sound, and threw his dagger with all his strength. It buried itself in the coward’s spine, sending him sprawling into the dirt.

  His vision was going dark. His body screamed for rest, but he refused to stop.

  Another bandit charged. Rohan barely lifted his sword in time, the clash of steel ringing in his ears. His arms trembled, his strength waning, but his rage carried him forward. He headbutted the man, and felt a bone crack. The bandit reeled, and Rohan hacked his sword across his chest, tearing through leather and flesh.

  Two left.

  But before he could move, pain exploded in his back. A blade, deep. His breath left his lungs, and his knees buckled.

  The last two bandits loomed over him. He tried to lift his sword, but his arms wouldn't listen to him.

  Then, the whistle of an arrow cut through the night.

  One bandit jerked, an arrow buried in his throat. A second followed, piercing the last bandit’s chest.

  Figures moved in the distance, archers. His vision blurred too much to make them out.

  The sword slipped from his fingers. He swayed, the firelight dimming, the roar in his mind finally fading. As darkness took him, he only knew one thing.

  They were all dead, and that was enough.