Cutting between trees and shrubs, the pair vanished from the chaos. As the lineal-structured trees opened into a wider path, four horsemen in similar attire stationed themselves in formation, falling in line as Kystin cut between them, immediately tailing behind with mirrored speed.
"Who is the girl, sir?" said one man as he rode alongside.
"The same one you witnessed dissolve many Torsken men."
"She isn't one of us—let alone, she's from an entirely different region. The higher-ups will already find punishment on trial for our intervention in an invasion we were merely gathering information for."
"What is the point in your statement, Torva?"
"My point is that we are all awaiting reprimand upon our return, and now you add to that punishment, cradling this villager like some stray bird. King Isaac will not only terminate your role in the Section but execute your new companion."
"And with what eyes shall grant such vision? Last time I checked, we are the eyes upon which Isaac relied for adversarial gain."
"Last time I checked, sir, personal gain had no regard in the mantra."
Another member hurried alongside Kystin, heavily equipped from horse to cloak in archery components bundled aboard her steed.
Zylef, now impressed with the pack's capability to ride in darkness through wet terrain, addressed the matter.
"You ride in dense forest amongst such darkness and slick ground?"
"Yes. The darkness is as clear as day for us," responded Kystin.
"Kystin, I'm not entirely sure what is intended in your retrieval, but my foresight senses riders approaching."
"Well, we better slow things down then, Feya."
With a tweak of the reins, all five Vanguards transitioned in sync from a gallop to a trotting momentum as unknown riders approached from the opposing direction.
"Evening, brothers—and sister. We are Section 43 Vanguard, led by myself—"
"We know who you are, Urik," interrupted Feya. "why're you here? High hall already endeavoured our team orders for surveillance"
Urik's expression fell from its liveliness.
"Ah, Feya—still as interrupting as ever, and fiery even when outranked. Kystin, we're here as a relief force. Lower-section teams usually aren't cut out for heavy combat. Judging by your team's status, you've already compromised your mission of gathering intelligence."
"I was heading back now, Urik. Thanks for the relief, but our combined twelve aren't a match for an unknown horde on my tail."
"I think you forget, Kystin—our numbers don't reflect the capable force higher-tier Vanguards emit. Especially against mere enemy infantry. Head on back—"
Urik slowly leaned forward from his saddle, craning his neck upward with narrowed eyes.
"—Do my eyes deceive me, or is that a woman slouched in your saddle?"
Tensions thickened for all under Kystin's lead. Though Section 71 still placed hands on hilts, awaiting their captain's call.
"She's a hostage, during our skirmish of detection she was one of the members involved in the conflicts of the invasion"
"Ah ok, maybe your team's ability in obtaining intelligence is resourceful after all. Is she Torsken or just some village field worker perhaps? because The cove doesn't retrieve intel of from savages of a labourer status. And that would mean treason against Horix if she's under your captive"
"She's Torsken. Definitely a fighter this one"
"Alright then, I'll escort you back home. You all look beaten. Especially Feya the fierce over there"
"And you look as fresh as ever Urik, shouldn't you be drunk tucked in by a barmaid somewhere at this time of night?"
"Now, now you two, let's not let myself be the more rational figure here, have we forgot the closing horde on our tracks. Save it for less dire more drier climate Fey"
"You're right kystin but we still have some time on hand. Back to the Torsken woman, since I'm the superior officer in this little outfit-I'd like to examine the girls regional burn behind the back elbow of the left arm indicating her place of birth, then we'll be off"
The rumbling of thunder took a strong stand amongst the silence of the trees. Wind had cut from afar and the rain pounded in rhythm like an ancient drum. Echoing off of the cloaks of all present caught by the storm. The air was thin and damp yet the young captain Kystin struggled to draw moisture in an attempt un-entangle his tongue. If the rain had stopped in its tune for a moment, his heart would have substituted its absence.
"Kindly hold out your left arm miss. This will be a moments long"
Zylef drew in as much oxygen as possible within a single breath - revealing her now exposed arm. Time stood still as Urik zoned in for inspection from horseback.
The blade master apprentice began to internalise her potential final moments.
'Father. I am exhausted, I am unable to grieve entirely but our people will be remembered till the bitter end. If that is now then so be it but as you told me - I shall now never bow my head in the face of fear nor defeat'
She walked through her unease with acceptance.
Kystin felt around his waist for his knife but it was unsheathed, missing - vigorously gripped in the hand of his passenger concealed behind her back. One hand revealed its intent as the other awaited potential threat.
Kystin leaned back in the saddle, eyes fixated on the storm, slowly closing his eyes - feeling the violent conversion of rain fall, enveloping in its weight as he faintly spoke.
"What's the verdict old friend?"
Placing his hand gradually upon the back zylef's shoulder re-posturing himself slowly upright - damp hair incapsulated his profile.
The ground began to rumble, the horde was nearby and the rain intensified. The storm demanded an audience and Urik's eyes demanded an answer.
Slowly placing down the girls arm, Urik reached for his sword, as did all around.
"Those marks aren't Torsken - this woman is Ghalayan"
Feya loaded a bolt in her mechanical crossbow like clockwork with impeccable speed pressing it against the side of Urik's cheek. "Draw your fucken sword swine. Draw it." The crossbow was pressed so firm it outlined Urik's teeth as his skin gathered to the head of a loaded bolt.
"This isn't personal is it dear? Because neither was that scar I gave you. It suits your face, makes you look scarier than before - speaks to your character"
Urik signalled a stand down as both divisions stayed vigilant under unprecedented escalation.
Baffled entirely Zylef began rapidly declining in health. The last supply of adrenaline had depleted from her being. Keeping up with the rises and falls of tension faired strenuous as the wound in her leg began to burn. The knife slipped through her fingers, maintaining a foothold over her own fate had exhausted her entirely. Zylef fell back. Muscles in her neck loosened, her head heavily collapsed onto Kystins chest as he caught her.
The pair locked eyes. No words were spoken her condition spoke enough.
"Thank you"
She whispered.
Kystin attempted to defuse tensions, He frantically switched positions with Zylef on horseback flagging down Arlin, The tallest member of 71 to attend to Zylef's wounds.
"Arlin, she's burning up fast. By the gods man, by Stratos himself, ride steady and true straight to Yusifs Inn west of Maingate - he owes me a favour. Do not get caught on the road. Take Krin and make way, her eye is just as good as her sister's with a bow. Let her sentry. I'll be behind you"
An opposingVanguard lunged and halted Arlin's exit threateningly.
The resolve Feya concluded on was based upon her captains own lack of leadership for the team's preservation.
"Enough Fey. This is my mess, stand down dear - come now"
Hand over mouth Urik's men propped him backup, sliding and slipping over the corroded terrain.
"Killing your sister was for the good of Horix in the Section trials after all whore, wretched family of heathens. What happened? Prettiest daughter not so pretty after a little scathe hey? Bitch, it's just a scar, wear it like you've earnt it"
"Draw, look at me in the eyes - wrap those wretched fingers around that disgraceful sword and draw your fucken blade"
Torva knew where his loyalty laid - yet having it tested on his own countrymen did not sit well. Both men understood their new objective.
"Sir"
Kystin nodded and approached Feya light footed dismounting his horse. Her hand twitched across the crossbows trigger.
"Fey, come on, it's just noise yeah? They're only words. Stand in with Torva"
Urik grinningly continued to antagonise
"To think at some stage you declined my chivalry Fey"
"Enough Urik. The enemy is close"
"Which enemy Kystin?"
Feya made way for the two men to converse, respecting her captains orders.
The pair were locked into a deep gaze.
"Give me the girl, Stand down. Dishonouring your rank in insolence has transpired your moral. You've dissolved right to lead your section. Incapable of taming your dogs - stepping at me lost in your own treason. I'll have you all executed"
Looking back over his shoulder at his team—waiting in tense anticipation—Kystin struggled to find a resolve. All roads pointed to one: the time to act was now.
"Discard your weapon. That's Horix steel, boy, and your heart's not in it."
Feya interjected—"Sir, we've been found."
Through the woods, out into the darkness at their rear, a voice roared over the trees:
"Come back, little crows. Heed my call—Vornick has awoken."
All attention to internal tensions came to a standstill. The real enemy now lurked beyond the pines, deeper in the dark.
A red fluorescent flame screamed from the enemy's distance, hissing with velocity, illuminating a path of destruction shaped like a violet wave. It tore through its targets indiscriminately, sparking terror in the Vanguards' horses, freezing every man's foot to the earth—feeding the fear it ignited.
Both captains moved with urgency.
Urik raised his voice first.
"Section 43 Vanguard, that was a terror cast—on me. Take to the reins on my mark. Use Straton's prayer to enhance your reflexes. What's ahead isn't infantry—it's something else. No Vanguard, not even our upper-tier, has ever cast what the enemy just unleashed."
Kystin turned to his own.
"Fey, Arlin, Krin—ride for Yusif's tavern. Smuggle the girl with what time we've got.
Torva—you're proxy in my absence. Get to The Cove. Deliver this: Torsk has awakened its god's calling.This is no longer a war of mortals And what's coming will break even our best. By Straton ride till the hoofs split"
All acknowledged with a loud vocal "Sir"
Breaking from ranks at Godspeed, Arlin tore through the damp forest floor, carving deep trails of mud as his steed surged between the pines.
Chaos had taken root.
Urik's section of Vanguard was engulfed by pale flames, erupting into pure madness. Possessed, the pack began tearing into each other—screaming as blood soaked the earth. One man lost his sword in his comrade's gut and demanded it back, shaking him violently.
But that was only a shadow of the horror.
Another soldier pinned his comrade to the ground and tore into his eyelid, screaming into his slack face:
"Let me help you see—I can see—let me help you!"
Turmoil struck Section 71. At their captain's command, they broke through the fire and rain, steeds tossing and kicking in fear, hooves churning mud and flame.
All but one.
Feya remained still—glaring into the abysmal dark. Her irises flared with Straton's vision, a pale blue flame lighting her eyes as the mist thickened.
He was there.
Re-emerging from the mist and rainfall, Vornick beckoned her forward, sensing her divine sight. His presence wore the body of a Torsken Knight—burning from within.
Vornick spoke scalding into her mind—from the body he possessed.
"Come, girl. Vornick awakes for this world of waste.
Straton's paramour desire for slumber will not save you.
Walk to me. Feed my fire."
Her legs obeyed.
Feya dropped her weapon, pacing slowly into the darkness.
But a firm hand seized her cloak—pulling her back.
"Feya… if Vornick is really here, don't go feeding him a good soul.
Leave this fight to your captain."
Kystin unsheathed his longsword and stared into the wicked dark.
From the fog stepped a man plated in scorched steel, embers bleeding from his silhouette. Pale hellfire danced in the cracks of his armor.
Urik and two of his men surged forward on foot, weapons drawn.
"For Horix! For Isaac—bless our vision and might, Straton!"
The Vanguards engaged.
They danced around the hellish flames, blades flashing in rain and ruin.
But the enemy Knight moved first.
It caught the tail of one soldier's cloak, yanked him close, and seized his face in one gloved hand.
From beneath the full-helm, a roaring flame spilled.
And then—
the man's skull caved under crushing force.
Thunder rumbled hard, two brave men witnessed their first loss. Victory vanished - as Fear vanquished an honourable death and a gruesome end appeared more prevalent. The Torsken knight held out his sword in the stiffening cold, as he smelt the fear like a lustful beast.
"Walk"
Both Urik and his last man immediately postured upright .
"Which crow here cut down my brother?"
Silence remained. The question was rhetorical, neither man could answer as their eyes were captured by a fearful flame.
"You"
Urik moaned.
"Cut your man"
Without hesitation Urik beheaded his last remaining member.
"Offer your heart to my sword"
Urik began dragging his boots across the damped woodland.
"Urik man! Where is your dignity?!" roared Kystin in the distance"
Feya and Kystin could only watch.
"Kystin?"
"Yes fey?"
"Why haven't I lost my mind yet?" She whispered with disparity. The captain could not conjure an answer. The two remained silent watching the unfathomable atrocity.
Urik slowly paced into the blade, his chest cracking and crunching as steel passed into his heart invitingly.
The rain lashed and the wind howled stinging the remainder - witnessing treachery.
The collapse of Captain Urik was a display of wickedness as the Torsken knight ripped the steel free from flesh. An example for the defiant.
Strings of light poured into the open gauntlet of the enemy, leaving the body of Urik stiff and lifeless.
All that remained was a hollowed carcass - a man who once was willing to survive had ultimately betrayed his own will and spirit in death
The possessed knight pointed the tip of his blade in direction of the last two Vanguard with a daunting silence.
"A pair of crows immune to fear? Allow me to open you up and examine why. Vornick shall not be mocked"
Freya stopped in her tracks. Kystin peeled back his damped glove from his raised right hand wielding his long sword.
Ritually grazing his left hand down the forearm onto the knuckles and then accords the sword.
A blue flame began to arise from hilt to end. The fire licked around the back of his hand as he struggle to keep grip - re-opening old burns and scars.
Straton's flame of restoration was finally revealed after 100 years of slumber.
"Im growing weary of this damn storm"
Wiping the rain from his brow kystin lowered himself in stance. His enemy cut through the fog credulously accepting the vanguards invitation.
Suffused with disbelief and conflicted, Feya wrestled with the idea of abandoning her captain.
"Sir, your hand - that flame is consuming your flesh. I can't-"
"Ride, Fey"
Kystin lunged into combat, his heels clutched into the mud and his breath fell heavy; thickening into mist. His Torsken opponent dashed through the darkness igniting his blade with a terror cast of wild flame - relentlessly launching a flurry of waves into the woodland. Trees caught in the crossfire burst into inferno, turning in on themselves as they thawed within.
The vanguard daringly evaded each strike. For being touched by madness meant becoming it.
Both their swords clashed on untameable terrain pouring flames into the night. This was not a test of pure skill but sheer stamina, one miscalculation of step would secure defeat for either man.
" The storm does not care for your courage, Maya's tears have eroded the dirt your body shall be offered upon"
Kystin weaved the Knights vicious thrust, with all his might he raised his sword overhead.
The knight intercepted with a forceful kick, sending Kystin tumbling deeper into the forest's bed of sludge.
Winded by the impact, he struggled to breathe, frantically grasping for air while squirming in the mud.
My chest feels as if it's collapsed on itself, he thought, propping one knee up to gather balance.
His enemy smashed his blade into the slurry, ripping up chunks of earth.
Kystin's eyes were now riddled with mud as he swept out the knight's lead leg from below.
Weighed down by the elements, the pair abandoned their weapons. Hand-to-hand combat commenced.
Leading the offence, the knight rolled from his back. Crawling on all fours desperately, he sunk his serrated gauntlet into Kystin's calf.
Dragging him by open flesh across the forest floor back into reach, the screams of agony were quickly muffled as the knight mounted his weight over Kystin.
The pair wrestled for dominance, but Kystin's mortal body was burning out, struggling to counter his enemy's weight.
Kystin's lungs pleaded for air, but his nose and mouth were wrapped in cold plated gauntlets.
The knight—applying all his pressure—pressed the Vanguard's head back, slowly submerging him into the earth, drowning out his enemy's grunts.
Silence began to settle. Yet Kystin would not die like this.
With every fibre of his being, he clutched the helm of the knight—neck muscles pulling the weight of the world, desperate for the slightest breath.
A memory flashed: his brother placing him under the same circumstances when they were young. Two children sharing a bath. His brother turned on him once the elder female had left the room, leaving them unattended as her daughter played a beautiful violin nearby.
In a moment's revelation, adrenaline pierced through the drowning—the revolt of betrayal, the loss of control, overpowered then and now—by the unknown, by an enemy bearing no name as the rain mirrored the soft violin's presence.
In the past, he had refused to be drowned. That will—the refusal to accept dishonourable defeat—triumphed within Kystin.
He rose from his grave of slurry, baptized by the earth.
The knight's counterforce faltered, undone by Kystin's stubborn will and ungodly rage.
The pair were nearly locked in strength, the rain showing no mercy.
Rising from the soil, he wore his heart on his voice:
"My vision was never blessed like Feys. My limbs never protected by the Divine. Alone in this wicked, ruthless land, I put faith into my sword—which I now do not wield."
The Torsken knight was struck by such sheer force that his neck began to loosen. His entire head became entrapped by Kystin's grip.
Kystin drew in the largest breath his lungs would grant.
"So by the gods, I SHALL KILL YOU—with my bare fucking hands!"
Fire of red and blue roared from the Vanguard's palms, enshrouding his enemy's skull.
Mud steamed into vapor from the ground, trees bent and cracked around them under a blinding Divine power.
Beneath the steam, Kystin's sword lay by his side. Now was the time to act.
The knight stumbled to his feet, clawing and screeching at his helm as it slowly knit itself into melting flesh, retreating for his weapon.
Kystin made no hesitation in the knight's vulnerable state. The pair were now armed—as fate chose its victor. Each man swung for fatality as the battle surged on.
Vornick's vessel struck first and hard—ripping down Kystin's lead shoulder, shredding cartilage, bone, and muscle, brutally exposing the Vanguard's chest.
Yet Kystin did not stray, did not falter nor fray from his blade. His course stayed true—to his enemy's neck. The vanguard decapitated his opponent, clean from his shoulders. Combustion illuminated the woods, Vornicks screech piercing the earth.
Kystin stood unmoved by the Devine performance as the flames brushed past. Vornicks vessel thudded before him, empty - just twisted steel and flesh.
The rain suppressed the fire. Kystin stared up into the storm as the moon broke free upon him. Holding his leaking chest as the adrenaline subsided.
"Ah, Demons and Gods? In this lifetime. As if Summoreth hadn't suffered enough"
Kystin dropped his gaze, saliva coursed his tongue. His body heavy.
"Wash the world away Maya. You can have me now. This is as far as my will allows it, maybe in the next life Amelia will forgive me"
The Vanguard collapsed beside his enemy, earning his rest.
The night continued, streams of water formed as the rainfall began to flood the Ghalayan Green Woods. Stillness of life settled as the climate conducted its cleanse.
Torsken infantry proceeded with caution in their tracks through the forests mouth. Ten men scanned the aftermath in disbelief - covering their mouths.
"What a massacre. The stench of these charred corpses makes me wish we were back in Ghalayas death camp"
"Oi!" Another man hailed crouching next to a body
"This is Sithvron's boy. The vessel"
"By the Gods, where's the lads head?"
"Forget the state of the lad, bring the body back to his father. Whoever fought him was formidable considering Vornick's ability"
One man scratched his head "it took seven fucken crows to neutralise a fucken demon?"
The pack paused trying to piece together the puzzling factors.
"How many more of those Ghalayan villagers we ought to drain to resurrect that fucken demon again?"
"Psh, that's got me baffled, this craze about the villages possessing elven blood is just folklore. Sithvrons got the man power but he's overly infatuated with children's tales"
" It's like the Horix Mad King repeats itself after 100 years. " another soldier chimed in leaning over the dead.
"Well it worked never the less? Perhaps we need to up the ante. Rumour has it Gorik's girl is of noble blood. Hence the scavenger hunt"
"Either way, let's get out of this godforsaken storm. Leave the slaughter to Sithvron, only the gods know what lurks deeper into the gallows, the girl can wait"
Four men took a limb each saddling what was left of Sithvrons boy whilst creature's of the night growled lurking in the darkness of the gallows.
"Men take formation to rear on the retreat! Gods only know what awaits if we pass further on"
All nodded in stern fearful agreement.
"I gather the trolls and silver fangs will quarrel on who indulges in the dead first"
Mounts marched back for Torsk, reins were shook as Sithvron's search party took their leave. Collars clutched to necks combating the blistering downpour.
The skies wept without pause as the forest refused to rest.
Beasts deep within the woodland caught the scent of their meal, rotting in the pale, thin air. Stillness had bewitched the Ghalayan Green Gallows.
Even when all was washed away for Horix, the kingdom still answered. Torva's message was met with swift, unflinching resolve by King Isaac.
The wind stirred menacingly as five High Guard broke through the grim veil of clouds, each tethered to a Grand Suralac—enormous, domesticated predator birds.
They descended with precision into the mouth of the forest. Empowered by Stardon's blessing, the elite soldiers bore reinforced muscle and bone.
They braced for impact, bursting through the canopy in a whirlwind—detaching mid-flight from their tamed beasts with effortless control.
All boots landed firm. Silent. Alert.
"Men, gather our fallen," came the order. "Stay diligent—we're not the only ones here to reclaim our dead. I want a synopsis on the Vanguard captains, Urik and Kystin."
Amelia moved her team in practiced silence, each soldier assigned to unspoken tasks. Like clockwork, they began loading the bodies into carrier carriages strapped to two of the Suralacs.
The steeled second-in-command refused to believe they were alone. Her eyes scanned beneath singed branches, tracking the echoes of low, distant growls, as she made her way toward Section 71's fallen captain.
She stood over Kystin's body, face-down in the forest stream, rain drumming across his back like a war dirge. Her jaw clenched, teeth grinding as memories welled behind her eyes.
"I knew I'd find you this way," she muttered. "Stubborn to the end. Everything unresolved."
Amelia raised a hand for assistance. Two of her men awaited command as one asked,
"Is this one for the death carrier or the recovery carriage?"
She knelt beside him in the mud, reaching out a mournfully startled hand to reveal an old friend. Turning Kystin respectfully, she replied,
"I'll ride with him in the recovery. He has a pulse—it's faint, but present," she said, pressing her fingers to the cold side of his neck.
"Ma'am, his chest?"
Amelia paused, forcing herself to examine the horrific wound. Her eyes, once unsure, now lit with subtle hope.
"Board him, Arthur. This one's too stubborn to die."
"Understood."
Branches cracked in the distance, overpowering the sound of rain. All heads turned, frozen in poised anticipation.
The growl drew closer—low, guttural, deliberate—until a monstrously tall silhouette took shape.
Its eyes gleamed through the black. Watching. Hunting.
The hunched humanoid creature sighed, revealing itself in the moonlight, tilting its head and locking eyes with Amelia from afar—breaking past her men's gaze.
"…Mother? Walk with me."
Shivers broke out in the ranks.
"Captain! Lich Troll approaching!"
Amelia rose, fearless, asserting her stance.
"Stand down, all," she said sharply, signaling her winged beast.
"Viticus."
Viticus shook the earth, launching himself between his master and the approaching threat.
The Suralac thrust a single claw into the Lich Troll, snatching it whole in a violent grip—killing it on impact—then returned to Amelia's side.
Her team resumed their investigation of the massacre, loading more dead into the carriages.
One High Guard called from afar, examining two members of Section 43 found atop one another.
"Torva's statement proves truthful. These men were willfully controlled to tear each other apart. The Torskens have channeled into the Dark Divine. If Sithvron has overthrown his father's throne, then we are entering extremely dark times."
Another soldier stood over Urik's corpse, kneeling down. He cut free Urik's black cloak, pinned on either side of his light armor's pauldrons, and carefully draped it over the body.
"Ma'am, Section 43's captain has been located and is ready for send-off."
Amelia ordered two men to carry Kystin and Urik to refuge, as she and her Suralac tailed cautiously behind.
"We'll give a full report to High Hall Command. However Isaac decides to respond—our forces will act accordingly," she said with authoritarian bluntness.
She recalled her team with a twirl of two pressed fingers and a sharp whistle.
"Ma'am, shall Viticus transport the recovery carriage?"
"Yes. I'll board it with Section 71's captain. Keep the remaining free Suralacs for aerial defense en route. Inform Arthur to report to Rollo on our findings."
The High Guard soldier balled a fist and pressed it to the center of his chest in a crisp salute.
Amelia's team readied for departure. The battlefield—still contaminated by human carnage—was now free of human presence. Each Suralac launched into flight, setting course for home.
Now among the clouds and harsh climate, Amelia stood in one corner of the rocking carriage as Kystin lay in the other.
"You better not die on me. If the Gods of Old are re-emerging, then our little lavish societies are at stake. I think you knew that."
The wind clashed against the carriage. Amelia scrunched her face, sucked her teeth, and bowed her head.
"Am I supposed to carry all of this hate in my heart for you alone?"
She tilted her head back, resting it on the rattling wall of the cabin—eyes fixed on Kystin's stiffened body, rocking back and forth like a child being lulled.
The lantern light danced softly in her eyes as she drew a deep breath, unclipping her short black cloak. Gathering her hair in one hand, she wrung out its thick, silky golden strands by her feet, rinsed clean by the storm that seeped through the broken seams of the carriage.
"It hasn't rained this hard since we were children. My sister would've bathed in this horrid storm."
Amelia cracked a closed smile.
"She would've been the first to catch a cold. Always running off with you during her days, the look on your childish faces when caught by the sword instructors.
She grew to love you like nothing I've ever seen. She gave you all of her."
Amelia rested her head in her hands, fingers weaving through drapes of golden hair. The carriage swaying in silence.