Rain whispered against shattered stone.
The scorched bones of Alwenreach steamed in silence, and beneath a collapsed archway at the edge of the ruined square, three figures crouched—shadows pressed into deeper shadows.
Arven wiped the blood from her temple, hissing under her breath. "They got everyone."
Cael's knuckles were white where they gripped the broken beam. His eyes hadn't left the mirrored woman. Even as she turned away—serene, cruel, as if victory had been inevitable—he stared as if hoping to burn her reflection into memory.
A shuffle of gravel behind them.
A soft grunt.
Then: "Not everyone."
They turned sharply.
Vellon stood there, half hunched, half leaning against his battered shield arm. Dirt streaked his wrinkled face, and one lens of his goggles was cracked. The steel-shield strapped permanently to his forearm was scorched and trembling slightly as if even now it vibrated from the last impact it had taken.
Arven narrowed her eyes. "How did you survive?"
He huffed, glancing at the chaos below. "Survival is my specialty."
"That, or hiding," Cael muttered.
Vellon shrugged. "Same difference."
He slid down beside them with a groan and peered at the captured squad. They were bound by spell-light rings—limbs pinned, weapons stripped. The mirrored woman was gone, but the armored soldiers still moved like ghosts—silent, swift, placing locator brands and dragging bodies with surgical detachment.
"I saw Rett go down," Vellon muttered. "Didn't think that was possible. And Lyra—gods. Whatever she did to her… that wasn't just spellcraft."
Cael nodded slowly. "It wasn't. She used a Word."
Vellon paled. "A Spoken Sigil? Thought those were banned after the Sieging Wars."
"They are," Cael said, voice low. "Which means this isn't a normal battalion. This is something else."
"We need to go," Vellon whispered, shifting his weight. "Now. While they're distracted."
Arven's jaw clenched. "What?"
"You heard me," he hissed. "Three of us. Three. No backup, no glyph comms, no way to win this. We bolt. Head for the Ashwalk Ridge and loop back to Gravemarch. Report. Reinforce. Survive."
Arven didn't reply.
Cael looked at her, then at their captured squad.
Leon slumped against a broken pillar, blood matting his hair. Mira lay unmoving, bound in threads that pulsed like veins. Nico was on his knees, gagged and dazed, the null-barb still protruding from his shoulder.
Jinn… he didn't see Jinn.
"They'll be dead before reinforcements arrive," Arven said, voice flat. "We run now, we doom them."
"We stay now, we doom us," Vellon snapped. "And then who warns the others? Who tells the Spires what happened here? You want their sacrifice to be meaningless?"
Arven turned on him. "Don't you dare call this a sacrifice. They're not dead. They're not lost. Not yet."
"And what exactly do you propose?" Vellon asked, voice sharp with old fear. "You going to walk up and ask nicely for their release? You want to challenge that—" he pointed to the center, where magic still lingered like smoke, "—with what? Grit? Sharp words? The gods-damned power of friendship?!"
Cael held up a hand. "Enough. Both of you."
They fell silent. Only the rain spoke for a time, hissing where it met charred stone and twisted steel.
Cael inhaled slowly, letting his thoughts align. His system pulsed faintly beneath his skin—no commands, just suggestions and static. Fate resisted clarity here, like oil on water, like something had broken the weave.
The threads had been tampered with—burned and stitched over.
"This is where I died, isn't it?" he thought. "Different faces, different choices… but the same battlefield. The same end. I remember the ash. The screaming. I remember Leon bleeding out beneath me. And Enric—he was the reason we made it out in one life. Without him… we both die."
He clenched his jaw.
"I can't let that happen again."
But something still shimmered between the cracks. A possibility. However thin.
"We're not leaving them," Cael said at last, voice low but steady. "Not while there's still a chance to bring them home."
Vellon gave a dry, incredulous snort. "You kids are going to get me killed."
Arven stepped forward beside Cael, her voice sharp with vindication. "Then die bitter, old man. But at least die trying to do something that matters."
He stepped forward, drawing a rough line in the muck with his boot. "We don't fight the whole damn force. Just make enough noise in the east quadrant to draw them off. Smoke, illusions, maybe a few well-placed detonators. While they investigate the phantom threat, we breach from the west, through the collapsed shrine wall. If luck's on our side, we pull out the prisoners before they know what's missing."
"That's your plan?" Vellon said. "Distraction, bluff, and a hope the enemy's dumber than we are?"
Cael shrugged. "Worked last time."
"You've done this before?"
"...umm." His gaze drifted past them for a heartbeat too long."In another life."But he masked it with a wry smile. "Let's just say I have a gut feeling."
Arven snorted under her breath, then checked her weapon. "Well, it's just stupid enough to work."
Cael turned back toward the smoldering center of Alwenreach. The rain hadn't lessened, but in the distance, faint cries still echoed through the bones of the city.
"We do this right," he thought, "we change the ending. Just this once."
He raised his hand.
"Let's move."