The sun had already pierced the clouds, casting a pale light over the cold ruins of Tharvos. The camp, hastily set up the day before, remained silent, broken only by the wind's breath and the distant creaks of collapsed structures.
The soldiers of the 9th Brigade slowly emerged from their sleep, their faces drawn, their muscles sore. Meryn, a young soldier with hollow cheeks and curly hair, stretched with a yawn before looking around with a frown.
"Hey… Where are the generals?" he asked, breaking the silence with a raspy voice.
Heads turned. Some shrugged. Others exchanged uneasy glances.
Declan stepped forward and calmly placed a hand on Meryn's shoulder. "Don't worry. They can't be far. Probably on reconnaissance."
Kael, seated near a crumbled wall, clutched his spear tightly. His gaze was fixed eastward, where the sky looked darker. "Three hours… It's already been three hours since they left," he murmured. He gritted his teeth. "Don't tell me there are Vorms here above yellow rank…"
Alkan, a veteran with a shaved head and tattooed arms, shook his head. "General Draeven's never been wrong in his evaluations. He's not the type to misjudge a situation."
A nervous laugh echoed from the back of the group. It was Lyo, a tall, sarcastic blond always ready to break the tension. "Or maybe… this place is worse than we were told. Something's off here, I can feel it."
A few steps away, a young girl named Selia was rummaging through her bag. Her frantic movements caught everyone's attention.
"What are you doing?" Mira asked, intrigued.
"Looking for something," Selia replied. She finally pulled a small black device from her satchel.
Declan narrowed his eyes. "Is that… a GPS?"
Selia nodded with a small smile. "Yeah. My mom gave it to me. I get lost a lot, so she told me to always keep it with me. It still works—even in dead zones."
Curious, Declan held out his hand. "Let me see that."
Selia hesitated, then handed it to him.
But as soon as Declan had it, it slipped from his fingers.
The GPS hit the ground with a crisp crack. The screen splintered. Then a second sound—a boot had just crushed it by accident.
Selia's eyes widened. "No… No, no, no!" She bent down and picked up the broken pieces. "You ruined it! Did you do it on purpose?!"
Declan stepped back, hands raised. "I swear I didn't! It just slipped out of my hands…"
Kael immediately stepped in. "Calm down. It's not his fault. That could've happened to anyone."
Selia crossed her arms, furious, while the tension hung heavy in the air.
That's when a towering man stepped forward. He wore modified armor, and a large scar ran across his jaw. His name was Korven, an experienced fighter who had survived many assaults.
"That's enough," he said in a firm tone. "Look over there."
Everyone turned. In the ruins, shapes were moving. Low, guttural growls echoed in the wind.
"Vorms," Korven declared. He squinted. "But not like yesterday. These ones… they look hungry. Really hungry."
A warm breeze blew across the camp, carrying with it a putrid stench.
Korven went on: "I doubt they'll let us run this time. They've got instinct. They know we're stuck here." He clenched his fists. "So we're going to have to fight."
A chill swept through the group.
Kael rose, tightening his grip on his spear. Naelys, behind him, drew her sword without a word. The twin sisters, Nyra and Syla, were already in position, bladed fans extended.
Declan stepped up beside them, a strange calm across his face. "Together," he murmured.
And in that heavy silence… the first howls echoed through the ruins.
The storm was coming.