ATHEON'S ARRIVAL
Outpost Vester had never been silent, not truly.
There were always the clanging forges, the chatter of scouts, the hum of watchtowers, the grind of pulleys on the walls.
But tonight, when Atheon's team staggered through the southern checkpoint—the entire outpost stopped breathing.
Atheon stumbled first, catching himself on the gate frame. His armor was shredded, the fist-shaped insignia on his chest smeared in dried black blood. A lot had left with him. Only few returned.
And those few… were barely standing.
The guards rushed forward, hands gripping spears out of reflex before realizing who had arrived.
"Adept commander Atheon?" one asked, voice cracking.
Atheon didn't answer. His jaw was set too tightly, his face carved in stone and exhaustion. He took two labored steps into the courtyard and collapsed onto one knee.
"Medic lines—NOW!" someone shouted.
