The wind howled through the shattered cathedral, scattering embers and parchment across the marble floor. Troady stepped forward, his boots echoing against the cracked stone, his eyes fixed on Amylo — not with anger, but with the quiet firmness of someone who had come too far to lose another friend.
The Council soldiers shifted uneasily, hands hovering near their weapons. Troady didn't draw his sword, but the way he stood — calm yet unyielding — made it clear he didn't need to.
"Stand down," he said.
No one moved.
"I said…" — his tone sharpened — "stand down."
The air tightened. Magic flickered and died. One by one, the mages lowered their hands, the crackling lights fading into the dust. The only sound left was the soft dripping of rain through the broken ceiling.
Amylo, leaning against a pillar, wiped the blood from his lip and forced out a rough laugh. "You really know how to make an entrance, don't you?"
Troady didn't answer. He walked closer, eyes narrowing as he looked over Amylo's burns and bruises. "You're still terrible at picking fights."
"Yeah," Amylo exhaled, smirking faintly. "Guess some habits don't die."
Troady stopped an arm's length away. His voice lowered. "Why did you come back?"
Amylo looked down. The weight of silence pressed between them, heavy with the things he hadn't said — the nights spent doubting himself, the faces of people he couldn't save, the sound of his own voice calling out into empty forests.
"I thought I owed them an explanation," he said finally. "The Council, the soldiers… everyone. I thought maybe I could make them see reason."
He let out a broken chuckle. "Guess I was wrong again."
Troady didn't reply immediately. His expression softened — just slightly. "You weren't wrong to try."
Amylo's eyes flicked up, meeting his. "Even if it ended like this?"
"Especially because it did," Troady said. "The ones who try to fix things always get burned first."
Amylo stared at him for a long moment. Then, quietly: "You're too forgiving for your own good, you know that?"
Troady shrugged. "You're too stubborn for yours."
The tension cracked — not with words, but with a faint, shared smile.
Behind them, the remaining soldiers exchanged uncertain glances. One of them — the woman in crimson — stepped forward, anger still flaring in her tone. "You can't just waltz in here and—"
Troady's gaze snapped toward her, calm but cutting. "He's coming with me."
"After what he's done—?"
Troady's tone turned cold. "What he's done is fight for something real. You call that betrayal? Then maybe it's your loyalty that's broken."
The words hit like a blade — clean, deliberate. No one spoke after that.
Amylo blinked in disbelief. "You're defending me? In front of them?"
Troady smirked slightly. "You did the same for me once, remember? In the ruins of Glaivefall. You said, 'Everyone deserves a chance to prove they're not the monster the world makes them out to be.'"
Amylo's throat tightened. He remembered. Every word.
He laughed weakly, shaking his head. "You actually remembered that?"
"Some things stick."
For a moment, the world felt smaller — just the two of them, standing in the ruins, sharing an understanding no one else could.
Lyra appeared at the doorway then, her cloak soaked from the rain. "Troady, the scouts are ready. We move by dawn." Her eyes fell on Amylo, her expression unreadable. "And him?"
Troady glanced at Amylo, then back at her. "He's coming with us."
Lyra crossed her arms. "You sure that's wise? Half the base wants his head."
"Then they can take it up with me," Troady replied.
Lyra studied Amylo for a moment — his ragged clothes, his faintly trembling hands, the ember glow fading from his palms. Then she sighed. "Fine. But if he burns down another camp, you're cleaning it up this time."
Amylo chuckled under his breath. "No promises."
Lyra rolled her eyes and turned away. "Let's move. The Council's dogs will be sniffing here soon."
As the trio stepped into the rain-soaked courtyard, Amylo paused. The cold wind bit through his cloak, but it didn't matter. For the first time in months, the fire inside him didn't burn to destroy — it burned to live.
He glanced at Troady, walking ahead, steady and quiet as always.
"Hey…" Amylo said softly.
Troady turned slightly.
Amylo's voice lowered, the words heavy but honest. "When I was out there — alone — I kept wondering why I even kept walking. I told myself it was survival. But…" He smiled faintly, almost shyly. "It was because of you. Because you made me believe that maybe… I wasn't completely lost."
Troady looked at him, expression unreadable for a moment — then he said simply, "You weren't."
Amylo exhaled slowly, his breath visible in the chill air.
Because of him, I saw light and felt like home.
That thought lingered — quiet, warm, unspoken.
As dawn began to creep over the treetops, painting the sky in gold, Troady, Lyra, and Amylo walked together — three broken souls on one uncertain road. Behind them, the Council's banners burned in the rain, their ashes carried into the wind.
The world was vast again, and for the first time in a long time, Amylo wasn't walking alone.
End of Chapter -4
To be Continued...
Written By:-Punit Israni
Enhanced By:-Chatgpt