POV: Mixed (closing with Nogare)
The world was still burning when they found each other again.
Hana was the first to rise from behind the fallen wall, her bow half-drawn as the smoke shifted. Ryuji pushed himself up beside her, spine shaking from mana fatigue. He saw the silhouettes first—three figures trudging through the red haze, like ghosts refusing to die.
Kaito emerged at the front, staggering, drenched in so much blood it looked painted onto his skin. His breath came sharp, controlled only by stubbornness. Behind him, Zentake walked with uneven strides, but pride kept his grin sharp. Three enormous weapons—one ogre cleaver and two kobold king blade were strapped awkwardly across his back like trophies from a nightmare.
Nogare followed last. His expression was calm, almost serene, yet something deep in his eyes crackled like an unspoken threat. His clothes were torn, but his steps were steady. Too steady. The kind of steady that only appears after death has already tried and failed to take someone.
Ryuji's voice cracked. "You—You made it…"
Nogare didn't slow. "All of you. Move. Now."
No time for joy. No time for relief. In the distance, the guttural roars of ogres rolled across the ruins like thunder, shaking loose pieces of burning debris.
Zentake gave a tired laugh. "Guess the party ain't over."
Nogare ignored the quip. "Kaito," he ordered, turning his head slightly, "pick up Kuroba's body. We're leaving."
Kaito didn't argue. He simply walked toward the makeshift bed where they had laid Kuroba down hours earlier—when hope had still existed. He lifted Kuroba with both arms. There was no hesitation, only a sharp intake of breath as all the weight—physical and otherwise—pressed onto his shoulders.
The five began their retreat down the burning southern road.
The firestorm behind them painted everything in violent shades of orange. Charred debris rolled across the street like dying spirits, and the air tasted of iron and melted stone. Hana took point, scanning rooftops and broken arches. She fired warning arrows at shadowy shapes that skittered too close—kobold scavengers drawn by the smell of fire and fresh corpses.
Ryuji limped at her side, conjuring inconsistent bursts of flame to push back stragglers. Each spell was weaker than the last. Mana starvation tightened his chest, but he kept going, eyes stubbornly fixed southward.
Zentake jogged just behind them, adjusting the awkward weight of the three massive weapons on his back. "Ogres are persistent, huh?" he muttered. "I take one king's sword and suddenly everyone wants to kill me. Rude."
Nogare didn't smile. He watched the ground, watched the sky, watched the shadows between buildings—his mind mapping every threat, every escape route, every detail needed to keep the five of them alive. Beside him, Kaito's footsteps were heavy but unwavering.
They ran for minutes that felt like hours. The deeper they went into the southern road, the more the sky opened, free from the choking black smoke of Bustleburg. Wind swept across the ruined plains, carrying sparks and embers trailing behind them like dying fireflies.
Hana stopped only when they reached the cracked stone marker that marked the last edge of the city. "Road's clear from here," she said between ragged breaths. "If we push fast, we can reach the river path by nightfall."
"Good," Nogare replied. "We keep moving until our legs stop working."
Ryuji exhaled bitterly. "That might be soon."
Zentake slapped his shoulder. "Then fall forward. Less distance to crawl."
The smallest laugh escaped Ryuji despite everything.
Nogare turned once—only once.
Bustleburg was no longer a city.
It was a collapsing furnace. Towers fell in slow, agonizing tilts. Flames twisted upward like red serpents trying to bite the heavens. The smoke formed a ceiling of grief, sealing off the world they were leaving behind.
The others followed his gaze for a heartbeat.
Then Nogare looked forward again.
"Behind us," he said, voice quiet but iron–sharp,z
"Bustleburg burns like a city rejecting its own fate."
None of them responded. They didn't need to.
The five shadows continued south toward Korvath—carrying three kingly weapons, a fallen companion, and a monstrous death trailing in the smoke behind them.
The road did not welcome them, but it carried them all the same.