They ran for four hours without stopping.
Kael was no longer counting his steps. His legs moved automatically, his brain focused entirely on one simple task: do not fall. Without Aether to reinforce his muscles, every meter felt like dragging his own body through thick mud. His lungs burned. The muscles in his calves twitched and spasmed with every incline.
Ahead of him, Reva moved soundlessly across the protruding pine roots, occasionally glancing back to ensure Kael was still following. Her gaze was no longer condescending; it was the look of a soldier monitoring her teammate.
"Stop," Reva whispered suddenly, raising a clenched fist.
They stopped. Gareth crouched behind the trunk of a black pine, his breathing heavy but controlled. Aldric appeared from behind them without a sound, the Ironforge blade still sheathed on his back.
"What do you see?" Aldric asked.
Reva pointed down. They stood at the edge of a low cliff overlooking a narrow ravine. The pine trees on the slopes of the ravine were denser, and a yellowish-green fog pooled at the bottom like water filling a basin.
Miasma. Far thicker than the traces they had found at the Gore-weaver ambush site.
"They stopped here," Reva said. Her eyes narrowed, sweeping the ravine from end to end. "The footprints converge at one point instead of spreading out. Resting or waiting for something."
Aldric lay flat on his stomach at the edge of the cliff, lowering his body until he nearly blended with the moss. Kael followed suit, ignoring the foul stench of dead earth brushing against his cheek.
Down there, amidst the green fog, Kael saw them.
Shadows moved sluggishly in the depths of the ravine. Figures in long black robes walked among the dead trees, their footsteps turning the ground beneath them black and rotten. Their heads were concealed beneath hoods, and from their hands flowed threads of greenish Dark Aether connecting to something behind their formation.
Kael counted. Four demon mages. Blight-callers.
Then he saw what they were dragging.
Behind the line of mages, a group of humans walked with a shambling gait. Twenty men, perhaps more. Their bodies were emaciated and pale, the Valdorian uniforms they wore reduced to filthy rags hanging off their shoulder bones. Their wrists were bound by transparent chains that pulsed with a dark green light.
Dark Aether chains. Every pulse siphoned the remaining life energy from the prisoners, channeling it into the Blight-callers at the front of the line.
A soldier in the prisoner line stumbled and fell. He did not scream, did not groan. His body simply slumped to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut. One of the Blight-callers turned, raised a hand, and the chain at the soldier's wrists pulsed violently. The fallen body convulsed, then was forced back onto its feet by the pull of the magic. The soldier's mouth opened in a silent scream.
Kael gripped the pine root in front of him until his skin tore. His eyes swept over the prisoners, darting from one despairing face to the next, searching for a familiar feature.
Erik was not among them.
Kael's chest loosened for a brief second—before tightening harder than ever. It could mean his best friend had managed to escape. Or, far more likely, Erik was already far ahead, dragged toward a place infinitely worse than this ravine.
They pulled back from the edge of the cliff and gathered behind a rock formation fifteen paces to the south.
"Four Blight-callers," Reva reported, her voice as flat as if reading a grocery list. "Twenty-two prisoners. Dark Aether chains connect the entire line. No physical guards other than the mages themselves."
"High confidence," Gareth muttered, stroking his reddish beard. "They're certain the Gore-weaver rearguard is enough to stop anyone following."
"Guards we've already dispatched," Aldric added. He crouched, using his fingertip to sketch the enemy's positions in the damp soil. Four dots in the front, one long line in the back. "Our problem isn't killing them. Our problem is doing it without killing the prisoners."
Kael stared at the sketch in the dirt. His mind raced, recalling the rune lessons from Darius and Magister Corvus's briefings on the nature of Dark Aether.
"Those chains," Kael said. "If we kill the Blight-callers while the chains are still active, what happens to the prisoners?"
Aldric looked at him. "The right question."
"A Dark Aether chain connected directly to a prisoner's body will react if its source dies suddenly," Reva answered, her eyes narrowing. "A backflow energy surge. Like a power cable snapping while still live."
"So they die too," Gareth said quietly, the usual humor completely gone from his voice.
Silence hung between them. The miasma fog crept along the ground, making the air taste acidic on Kael's tongue.
"Unless," Kael said, meeting Aldric's gaze, "the chains are severed first."
Aldric held his stare. "Explain."
"Dark Aether chains react to magical energy. That's why they can extract the residual Aether from the prisoners' bodies." Kael drew his steel sword from its scabbard and turned the blade under the dim light piercing the canopy. "But this sword isn't a magical weapon. It's pure steel. No Aether, no resonance. If I cut that chain with an object that is magically 'empty', there's no energy surge. The chain will simply break."
Reva raised an eyebrow, pinning Kael with an assessing stare. "An interesting theory. You're really going to risk your own life—and ours—based on a guess?"
"I've never tested it," Kael admitted without hesitation.
Reva let out a soft snort, almost like a cynical laugh. "If your theory is wrong and you blow up, I won't have time to climb down there and save you."
"At least he's honest," Gareth muttered.
Aldric remained silent for a few seconds, his eyes closed, weighing the risks and opportunities with the absolute calm of someone who had made thousands of life-or-death decisions.
"We use your theory," Aldric finally said, opening his eyes. "Here's the plan. Reva, you take a position on the southern cliff. You have twelve arrows. We need four. One for each Blight-caller."
"Give me three," Reva corrected expressionlessly. "The fourth might have time to react when its comrades die. I need a spare."
Aldric nodded. "Three opening shots, one spare. Gareth, you drop into the ravine from the west side. When Reva lets the first arrow fly, you push forward and make sure none of them run."
Gareth patted the Stonecleaver on his back. "Gladly."
"Kael." Aldric looked at him. "You drop down with Gareth. As soon as the Blight-callers start falling, you immediately cut the prisoners' chains. Every second wasted is another life drained dry."
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"Understood," Kael replied.
"One more thing," Aldric added, his voice lowering. "If your theory is wrong and the chains detonate when cut, you'll be the closest one to the prisoners. You'll take the full blast."
Kael sheathed his sword. "I know."
Aldric stared at him for a moment, then turned away. "Move."
The air seemed to freeze as they fanned out to take their combat positions.
Reva vanished toward the southern cliff without a sound, her body melting into the black pine shadows as if she had been born from the darkness itself. Gareth and Kael descended the western slope of the ravine carefully, every step calculated so not a single pebble would fall and echo.
Kael lay flat behind a fallen tree trunk, fifteen paces from the nearest line of prisoners. From this distance, he could smell the miasma wafting from the Blight-callers' bodies, a mixture of rotting meat and rusted metal. Gareth took position behind him, his Stonecleaver already gripped in both hands.
Kael observed the prisoners. Their faces were as pale as ash. Their eyes were half-open but vacant—parts of their souls slowly being forcibly drawn from within. A few still kept their heads down and dragged their feet forward, while others merely remained standing because of the lethal pull of the chains.
A prisoner at the back of the line caught Kael's attention. A young man, perhaps Kael's age, with dirty blonde hair plastered to his forehead. His eyes were not empty like the rest. His eyes were still moving, still searching, still containing something other than despair.
Hold on, Kael thought. Just a little longer.
A night bird chirped in the distance. The sound was clear and sharp, piercing through the fog.
It wasn't a bird.
It was Reva.
Kael heard a soft hiss before he saw the results. Three arrows tore through the air almost simultaneously, each taking a slightly different trajectory, each seeking the gap between a hood and the nape of a neck.
The first Blight-caller collapsed soundlessly, an arrow buried at the base of its skull. The second managed to half-turn before a projectile pierced its left eye. The third realized the direction of the attack. The demon raised its hand, unleashing a wave of Soul Scream—a dark energy sonic shriek that distorted the air—before the fourth arrow pierced its throat and silenced it forever.
But that fraction of a second was enough for the fourth Blight-caller to react. The last mage twisted its staff, churning the green miasma into a spiked shield, then fired three blades of Dark Bolt toward the western slope.
Gareth was already charging down, deflecting one of the dark blades with his heavy shield until the metal hissed and burned.
"Kael! Cut the chains now!" Gareth roared, ensuring his teammate was safe from the counterattack.
The Stonecleaver swung in a horizontal arc that made the ravine air shudder.
"Graviton Edge!"
The axe slammed into the miasma shield with the force of a meteor impact. Energy ricocheted wildly, cracking the ground around them. The demon's barrier held for two full seconds before finally shattering into pieces. The Blight-caller behind it was thrown back hard. Its robes tore, exposing blackened bones coated in pulsating purple tissue. Before the demon could cast a counter-spell, Gareth landed a brutal stomp on its chest, followed by a lethal vertical swing that cleaved the creature from head to stomach.
Kael was already moving before Gareth finished off his target.
He slid between the staggering bodies of the prisoners, his steel sword ready. The transparent chains connecting the prisoners' wrists pulsed faster, as if sensing that their power source was being destroyed. The pulsing accelerated the siphoning. The prisoners at the front of the line began to collapse, their mouths opening in silent screams.
Now or never.
Kael swung his sword.
The steel blade cut through the first chain. There was no explosion, no energy surge. The transparent chain split and evaporated into a thin wisp of black smoke that hissed before vanishing. The freed prisoner instantly dropped to the ground, his body trembling violently but alive.
His theory was right.
Kael moved to the next prisoner. Slash. The third prisoner. Slash. Fourth. Fifth. His hands worked mechanically, every swing precise and conserving energy. He did not have the luxury of getting tired.
In the middle of the line, a female prisoner fell before Kael could reach her. The chain at her wrist pulsed one final time, then died. Her face froze in a vacant expression of shock. Her eyes were open, but there was no light left in them.
Kael swallowed the bitter bile rising in his throat. He didn't stop. He couldn't stop.
Slash. Slash. Slash.
Fourteen prisoners were freed before the final chains vanished on their own, losing their power source after all the Blight-callers died. Eight other bodies lay on the ground, too late to be saved.
Twenty-two prisoners. Fourteen survived. Eight did not.
Kael stood among the bodies, both the writhing and the still, his sword dripping with wisps of black smoke. His breathing was ragged. His hands trembled, not from exhaustion, but from the knowledge that being three seconds faster could have meant one more life.
"Kael." Gareth's voice behind him, quiet and devoid of humor. "You did everything that could be done."
Aldric descended into the ravine once the perimeter was secure. He moved among the prostrate prisoners, checking pulses, opening eyelids, assessing who could still walk and who was merely counting their final breaths.
Kael knelt beside the young blonde-haired soldier who had caught his attention earlier. The man's eyes were still alive, still moving, but his body shivered uncontrollably.
"Hey," Kael said softly. "Can you hear me?"
The man swallowed hard. His lips were cracked and bleeding. "C-Corporal... Voss... Third... Battalion..."
"You're safe now, Corporal," Kael said, supporting the man's head with his arm. "What happened to your battalion?"
Voss's eyes widened. The fear radiating from them was no ordinary fear; it was the terror of someone who had witnessed something no human was ever meant to see.
"They... separated us..." Voss coughed, his spit mixed with blood. "The strong ones... were taken to the center... of Thornwood. The weak... were dragged... like us... to feed... the chains." His eyes rolled wildly. "There's something at the center of the ruins. They're... building something. I heard the sound. A sound that makes... the earth itself... tremble in fear."
"How many were taken to the center?" Aldric asked, kneeling on the other side of Voss.
"Forty... maybe fifty of the strong ones." Voss grabbed Kael's uniform collar with fingers that had barely any strength left. "But that's not... the worst part. There's... a Knight. Wearing a black cloak. Horned. It... spoke our language." Voss's voice broke into a barely audible whisper. "It called them... fuel."
The silence that fell after that sentence was heavier than stone.
Aldric stood up slowly. His face betrayed no emotion, but Kael had known his captain long enough to recognize the micro-expressions. A slightly tighter jaw. A vein bulging slightly more at the temple. Gray eyes turning one shade darker.
"A Shadow Knight," Aldric muttered. "Leading the ritual directly."
"Captain," Kael said, standing up. "Erik might be among the fifty soldiers taken to the center."
Aldric did not answer. He turned to face the fourteen surviving prisoners. Most were sprawled helplessly on the ground. A few sat leaning against tree trunks, staring blankly ahead. At the far end, a female soldier was bandaging her own arm with scraps of her uniform, her hands shaking but her movements tactical.
"They can't come with us," Reva stated from the top of the cliff, her voice carrying the reality no one wanted to hear. "Half of them can't walk. The ones who can will slow us down to the point of irrelevance."
Gareth gritted his teeth. "We can't just leave them here. This miasma will kill them in a single night."
"We can't take them either," Aldric cut in. His voice was flat, but something had fractured beneath that calm. Something deeply human and deeply exhausted. "Varen's main army is still two days behind. The Necromancy ritual in Thornwood might be completed in less than twelve hours. If we slow our pace now, the fifteen thousand men behind us will march straight into a death trap."
"So we leave them," Kael said. It wasn't a question.
"We give them the best chance we can," Aldric corrected. He turned to face the conscious prisoners. "Who among you can still hold a weapon?"
Three hands went up. Slowly, shakily, but they went up.
Aldric unclasped two short swords from his waist and tossed them onto the ground in front of them. From his belt, he pulled out a wrapped ration of hardtack and a waterskin that was still half full.
"The southern trail leads to a border outpost three miles from here," Aldric told them. "Avoid the green fog. Move at night when the temperature drops and the miasma settles. If you run into a Valdorian patrol, tell them Captain Aldric Ironforge sent you. They'll know."
Corporal Voss looked up at Aldric with eyes that were slowly finding their focus again. "Captain... where are you going?"
"To a place where four people have no business being," Aldric replied. He turned around and began walking north. "Move," he ordered his unit.
Kael followed Aldric. Behind him, he heard the sound of Corporal Voss trying to stand, his bones cracking, and his weak calls to his surviving comrades.
He did not look back.
Aldric had not taught him to look back. Aldric had taught him to keep walking, because stopping meant death not just for him, but for everyone who depended on the intelligence they carried.
But as the forest swallowed them once again, Kael felt a new weight settle upon his chest. Not Erik's carving knife. Not the Healing Crystal from Elara. This was a weight that could not be touched, something heavier than steel, and he knew that this weight would never truly go away.
Eight faces. Eight people he wasn't fast enough to save.
In the deep north, piercing through the fog and darkness, the ruins of Thornwood awaited. And at its heart, something that was neither beast, nor human, nor fully demon sat atop a pile of stolen souls, constructing a nightmare that would alter the course of the war.
"Twelve hours," Aldric muttered without turning around. "We have twelve hours before Thornwood becomes a hell that even Varen cannot stop."
Kael quickened his pace. His sword rattled softly at his waist, plain steel with no magic, no light, no extraordinary qualities. But tonight, in a ravine choked with miasma and death, that sword had freed fourteen lives.
Perhaps that was enough.
Or perhaps it would never be enough.
— To be continued in Chapter 23 —