Rain fell heavily.
It came down in sheets so thick that the world beyond arm’s reach became a blur of gray and green.
The mountain slopes turned to mud within minutes, each step a battle against the earth’s greedy grip.
Thunder rolled across the sky in long, low growls, shaking the trees and sending sheets of water cascading from their leaves.
The soldiers moved through it all without complaint.
They had no choice.
“Find him!” the commander barked, his voice cutting through the storm like a blade.
“He can’t have gone far!” They spread out immediately, fanning across the slope in practiced formation.
Boots sank into the mud.
Branches snapped under gloved hands.
The rain drowned out their curses, but not their frustration.
How?
The question burned in every man’s mind.
How had a man in that condition managed to escape?
The duke had been bleeding out when he fled—they’d all seen the wound, the dark stain spreading across his armor, the way he’d stumbled.
He should have collapsed within the first hundred paces.
Yet there was no sign of him.
No trail.
No blood.
No broken branches.
Nothing.
The storm had swallowed everything.
— Garrett staggered forward.
Rain ran down his face in cold, relentless streams.
He pushed his soaked hair away from his eyes, but it did little good.
His vision was almost completely gone—darkness crept across his sight no matter how many times he blinked, no matter how hard he tried to focus.
The world had become a blur of shadows and shapes, nothing more.
Still, he forced himself onward.
One step.
Then another.
Then another.
His legs screamed with every movement.
His chest burned with a fire that had nothing to do with exertion.
The wound beneath on his stomach pulsed with each heartbeat, sending waves of agony through his body.
He had no idea how long he’d been running.
Minutes?
Hours?
Time had lost all meaning somewhere between the betrayal and the flight.
The betrayal.
Goddess, the betrayal.
It replayed in his mind like a nightmare he could not escape—the negotiations, the false smiles, the moment he’d let his guard down.
He’d trusted that knight.
Served beside him.
Shared meals and battle plans and– The knife.
Garrett clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached.
There had been something wrong with that knife.
He’d felt it the moment it entered him—a cold that had nothing to do with steel, a wrongness that spread through his veins like ice water.
The wound wasn’t just bleeding.
It was corrupting.
Every breath felt like shattered glass scraping against his lungs.
His legs buckled when his foot struck a hidden rock, half-buried in the mud.
Pain shot through him, and he barely managed to catch himself before collapsing completely.
His sword drove into the ground, and he leaned against it, gasping.
The weapon trembled beneath his weight.
Even his sword—his old companion, his last friend—was reaching its limit.
The divine power that had carried him through months of war, that had burned away the darkness of a hundred demon-touched creatures, was nearly exhausted.
Not yet, he told himself.
Not yet.
He coughed.
Blood spattered onto the wet ground, dark and thick, and he pressed his hand over his mouth to stifle the sound.
The soldiers couldn’t hear him.
He had to keep moving.
But his body no longer listened.
His legs felt numb.
His chest burned.
Each breath came harder than the last, each one shallower, each one a battle.
Just a moment, he told himself.
Just a moment to rest.
Using his sword as a staff, he felt his way forward until the tip struck something solid.
Stone.
A rock, large enough to offer cover.
Good enough.
Garrett lowered himself against it, his back sliding down the rough, rain-slicked surface.
His sword remained within arm’s reach, its blade still faintly glowing with the last dregs of divine power.
For the first time since escaping, he allowed his eyes to close.
Just for a moment.
The rain hammered against his face.
Thunder rolled overhead, so close it seemed to shake the ground beneath him.
The cold had settled deep into his bones now, a numbness that spread slowly but inexorably.
Is this really how it ends?
The thought came unbidden, and with it, a bitter laugh that turned into a cough.
Not on a battlefield.
Not protecting his people.
Not surrounded by his men, fighting to the last breath.
But alone.
On some forgotten mountain.
In the rain.
His fingers tightened weakly around the hilt of his sword.
He should send a signal.
Should warn his men, let them know what had happened.
But if he revealed his location, the hunters would find him first.
He would lead them straight to his people.
He couldn’t do that.
His consciousness was slipping away.
The rain felt distant now.
The thunder quieter.
Even the pain was beginning to fade, replaced by a strange, floating sensation, as if he were drifting on the surface of dark water.
Then he heard footsteps.
So they’d found him after all.