The morning came with a dull grayness that stretched across the sky, thick clouds blotting out the rising sun. The air was damp, clinging to my skin with the residue of the night's cold, and the fire had long since died down to smoldering embers. I had barely slept. Not because of the deserter, who lay bound and still breathing a few feet away, but because of Kvatz.
He had barely spoken the night before, a distant look in his eyes that I knew better than to disturb. I'd learned long ago that when Kvatz got quiet, it wasn't out of peace—it was because something inside him was shifting, a storm brewing beneath the surface.
But there was no time to prod at it now. We had a prisoner to deal with.
I rolled my shoulders, the stiffness in my muscles reminding me that we hadn't rested properly in days. Kvatz was already awake, crouched by the deserter, absently chewing on a strip of dried meat. His expression was unreadable, but there was an easy casualness in his posture that belied the sharpness in his eyes. He was already sizing the man up, calculating the best way to break him. Kvatz wasn't cruel—at least, not needlessly—but he knew how to get what he wanted.
The deserter, a wiry man with deep shadows under his eyes, glared up at us. He hadn't said a word since we caught him, only muttering in his sleep. But his silence wouldn't last. They never did.
Kvatz sighed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Alright, let's start simple," he said, voice lazily amused. "Why the hell did you run?"
The deserter's jaw tightened. He didn't respond.
Kvatz clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "Come on now, we both know this ends with you talking. Just makes a difference whether it happens before or after you lose a few teeth."
I shot him a look. Kvatz could be heavy-handed, but I preferred a different approach. I crouched down beside the man, letting the silence stretch. Letting him feel it press down.
"You weren't just deserting," I said evenly. "You were running from something. Something bad enough that you'd risk execution over staying."
His fingers twitched. A tell.
Kvatz noticed it too. "Now that's interesting," he drawled. "You weren't just scared of your superiors. You were scared of what they were covering up."
The deserter's breath quickened. I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice. "Talk. Because whatever you were running from? It hasn't gone away."
He swallowed hard, then, finally, he spoke. "It's a rift," he rasped. "A derelict incursion. Bigger than anything we've seen before."
I went still.
Derelict Incursions were bad enough as they were. Rift breaches brought chaos—twisted, impossible things bleeding through from other realms. The kinds of horrors that entire battalions struggled to contain. If this one was worse than usual…
"How bad?" I asked, keeping my voice level.
The deserter licked his lips, glancing between us like a trapped animal. "Bad enough it surpasses current classifications."
I inhaled sharply. Kvatz stilled.
That told me just enough to know it wasn't just a battle. It wasn't just some daemons slipping through, looking to tear apart anything in their path. It was something more, an incursion so severe that even the most seasoned soldiers refused to be sent into the thick of it.
Kvatz let out a low whistle. "Well, that explains why the brass is keeping this under wraps."
But the deserter wasn't done. His next words made my blood run cold.
"The Basillian Empire, the Fräuggler Federation, the Sereon Theocracy… they all know. And they're all trying to use it. Not stop it."
My stomach twisted.
The war had always been about control—control of resources, of land, of people. But if what he was saying was true, this was bigger than that. Bigger than all of us.
Kvatz exhaled, rubbing his temple. "I hate this kind of shit," he muttered. "Conspiracies, political games… I prefer things simple. Get in, get paid, get out."
I almost envied him for that mindset. But there was no getting out of this. Not anymore.
I turned back to the deserter. "Why tell us?"
He gave me a look that was equal parts desperate and resigned. "Because you're already in it. You just don't know it yet."
Kvatz and I exchanged glances. For once, he wasn't smiling.
I clenched my fists. The weight of the deserter's words pressed down on me, heavy and suffocating like the thick morning air. My fingers curled into my palms as I studied his face—haggard, bruised, the sheen of sweat glistening along his brow despite the cold. There was no deception in his eyes, only exhaustion. Resignation.
Kvatz shifted beside me, his usual easy demeanor slipping, replaced by something more guarded. He wasn't the type to dwell on politics or power struggles—his world was made of steel and coin, of battlefields and contracts. But even he could tell we had just stumbled into something that could swallow us whole.
"Alright," Kvatz said, pushing himself to his feet with an exaggerated sigh. "Let's say I believe you. Let's say the big players are using this rift as their own personal game board. What the hell are we supposed to do about it?"
The deserter let out a rough laugh, a hollow sound that made my stomach twist. "You think you have a choice?" He shook his head, his lips pulling into something that was almost a smirk. "You two are already part of this. The moment you took this contract, the moment you grabbed me—you were marked."
I felt a chill crawl up my spine. "What do you mean?"
His gaze flickered between us, gauging our reactions. Then, after a long pause, he exhaled sharply. "You think they sent you after me just to retrieve a deserter?"
Kvatz frowned. "That was the job."
The deserter's expression twisted with something close to pity. "No. The job was to see if you'd take the bait."
Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. My pulse hammered against my ribs as the pieces started to fall into place, slotting together in a picture I didn't want to see.
"You're saying we were set up," I said quietly.
He nodded. "The people pulling the strings… they don't work alone. They have eyes everywhere. They needed someone expendable enough to chase a loose end and valuable enough to use later. That's you."
Kvatz let out a slow breath, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Of course we were set up," he muttered. "I hate when this happens."
I ignored him, focusing on the deserter. "What do they want from us?"
His smirk faltered, his expression darkening. "You'll find out soon enough."
A crack of distant thunder rumbled overhead. The wind had picked up, biting at my exposed skin. I turned my gaze to the horizon, where storm clouds churned like ink spilled across the sky. It was a bad omen.
Kvatz rolled his shoulders, tension tightening his jaw. "So, what? We just let you go? Hope that whatever's coming doesn't find us first?"
The deserter chuckled, low and humorless. "It's too late for that."
I exhaled sharply, rubbing at my temples. We needed to think. We needed a plan. But my mind was racing, my instincts screaming at me to move—to run before the walls closed in.
Kvatz must have noticed, because he nudged me with his elbow. "You're doing that thing again."
I frowned. "What thing?"
"The thing where you overthink yourself into a spiral." He arched a brow, a ghost of his usual grin flickering across his lips. "Relax. We've gotten out of worse."
Had we? I wasn't sure anymore.
But if there was one thing I knew, it was that Kvatz and I had survived this long by watching each other's backs. And whatever was coming—whoever had set us up—we'd face it together. Even if it meant getting caught in a game far bigger than either of us had ever bargained for.
The weight of the deserter's words lingered in the air like the dying embers of a fire, their heat dissipating but leaving behind the scent of something burnt, something irrevocable. My thoughts churned, restless, tangled in the implications of his warning.
We had been set up.
The realization should have angered me, but instead, a cold understanding settled in my gut, an old familiarity wrapping itself around my ribs like barbed wire. This wasn't the first time the world had tried to use us as pieces in someone else's game. And if experience had taught me anything, it wouldn't be the last.
Kvatz, as expected, took the news with his usual brand of exasperated indifference. He was still leaning against a jagged boulder, arms crossed over his chest, a look of mild annoyance furrowing his brow. But I knew better than to mistake his silence for complacency. His mind was working through the angles, measuring risks against rewards, trying to pinpoint where the knives would come from before they could sink into our backs.
"Alright," Kvatz finally said, voice flat. "That still doesn't tell us what they want."
The deserter—Gaer, he had finally given us his name, though I doubted it was his real one—sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I was stationed near the Rift for months. I saw things, things I wasn't supposed to. The Empire and the Federation? They're not just fighting each other for control anymore. The Theocracy's involved now. And when they get involved…"
He didn't need to finish the sentence. We all knew what the Sereon Theocracy was capable of. Their influence wasn't measured in territories held or cities conquered—it was measured in whispers, in beliefs that took root and spread like rot. Wherever they set their sights, fanaticism followed, and entire nations could be swallowed whole by devotion alone.
"They don't care about the war," Gaer continued. "They care about what's inside the Rift."
I exhaled through my nose, forcing my voice to stay even. "Which is?"
Gaer shook his head. "I don't know. Something old. Something powerful. More than just magic, more than just another weapon. I heard rumors—fragments of conversations I wasn't meant to overhear. They called it 'the Liturgy.'"
Kvatz let out a dry chuckle. "That sounds ominous as hell."
"It should," Gaer muttered. "Whatever it is, the Theocracy believes it's divine. The Empire wants to destroy it. The Federation wants to control it. And all three of them are willing to throw as many bodies as it takes to make that happen. To top it all off, it's only a matter of time before the Republic of Pavalor joins in for 'research purposes'."
I forced my fingers to unclench from the fabric of my gloves. This was bad. Worse than bad. We weren't just caught between two warring factions anymore—this was a four-way struggle, and that made it infinitely more dangerous.
Kvatz pushed off the rock, stretching his arms above his head like we weren't discussing the potential destruction of entire civilizations. "Alright. So we walk away."
Gaer snorted. "You think it's that easy?"
"No," Kvatz admitted, rolling his shoulders. "But it's nice to pretend."
Gaer's eyes flickered to me, and there it was again—that look. That resigned, knowing look, like he had already accepted our fate before we had. Like he knew, despite our best efforts, we were already caught in the current.
"You won't be able to run from this," he said, voice quieter now. "Not forever. The moment you took this contract, they marked you. One way or another, they'll come for you."
The wind howled through the broken landscape, stirring dust into the air. The horizon stretched wide and endless before us, yet I had never felt more trapped.
Kvatz sighed dramatically. "And here I was hoping we could just take our pay and vanish into the sunset."
I shot him a look. "When have we ever been that lucky?"
He grinned, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Fair point."
The fire crackled between us, its glow barely pushing back the creeping darkness. Kvatz's expression turned thoughtful. "So. Do we let the big guys kill each other while we slip away, or do we stick around long enough to see what's really going on?"
Gaer tilted his head. "You still think you have a choice?"
I didn't answer right away. My fingers traced the hilt of my knife, the familiar weight grounding me. The truth was, I didn't know if we had a choice. But if we did…
I glanced at Kvatz, at the man who had fought beside me through countless battles, the one person I trusted to watch my back no matter how bleak things got.
If we were going to get caught in this storm, then we would face it together.
Darkness pressing in from all sides. It felt as though the weight of the night had grown heavier, the vast emptiness of the land stretching out beyond the reach of our firelight, swallowing everything in silence.
Gaer had settled into an uneasy stillness, his head bowed, fingers twitching every now and then, like a man haunted by the things he couldn't unsee. The deserter had already accepted his doom, whether by his former masters' hands or by the machinations of those greater than him. He was a man without a future, only the cold inevitability of being caught in the gears of something far larger than any of us.
And Kvatz—Kvatz remained Kvatz. Leaning back against the rock, arms crossed, his expression unreadable except for the occasional flicker of contemplation in his sharp gaze. I had seen him in worse situations, seen him standing against worse odds, but this time, something felt different. It wasn't just a job gone bad. It wasn't just another mission with shifting allegiances and bad luck. This was a spiral—one that neither of us had a map for.
We were being dragged into something we had no business being part of.
And yet, despite everything, I knew we wouldn't walk away.
It wasn't that we lacked self-preservation—Kvatz had that in excess. It wasn't that we had some grand moral code or an obligation to fight the good fight. That wasn't who we were. But there was something about the way Gaer had looked at us when he spoke of the Rift, of the supposed Liturgy. It wasn't just fear. It was certainty. Certainty that no matter what we did, no matter where we went, this war was going to find us.
I let out a slow breath, feeling the tension in my chest coil tighter. "What do we do?"
Kvatz was quiet for a moment, then he glanced at me, his smirk slight, but tired. "You already know the answer."
I hated that he was right.
"Running won't work," Gaer murmured, rubbing a hand over his face. "They'll find you eventually."
"Everyone keeps saying that," Kvatz muttered. "I'd like to see them try."
I shot him a look. "You do realize we're talking about three superpowers, right? And the Republic of Pavalor, if they get involved. That's not exactly the kind of enemy you can just outrun."
"Who said anything about outrunning?" Kvatz replied with a shrug. "If they want us dead, they'll have to earn it."
He was reckless, always had been. And yet, I couldn't deny that there was something about the way he carried himself—an unwavering, stubborn defiance against the inevitability of the world—that made it hard not to believe him.
But this time, even I wasn't sure we could win.
The fire crackled between us, its warmth offering little comfort. I stared at the flickering embers, at the shifting shadows cast against the broken landscape. The Rift loomed somewhere beyond the horizon, unseen but ever-present, an open wound in the world that refused to heal.
The Basillian Empire. The Fräuggler Federation. The Sereon Theocracy. And now, us.
I clenched my fists. We weren't meant to be part of this. We were just two people trying to get by in a world that didn't care if we lived or died. We had taken contracts, fought battles, done what needed to be done to survive. But now, we had stumbled into something far bigger than ourselves.
The problem was, I didn't know if we'd survive this time.
Kvatz let out a long sigh and pushed himself off the rock, stretching his arms over his head like this wasn't the start of something disastrous. "Well," he said lazily, "if we're going to get dragged into this mess, we might as well have some fun with it."
I frowned. "Define fun."
His smirk widened. "Making a lot of important people very, very angry."
Gaer groaned. "You're both insane."
Kvatz winked. "Probably."
I shook my head, feeling the weight of what lay ahead settle over me. The firelight flickered, shadows dancing in the wind.
The game had already begun.
And we were right in the middle of it.
⧫ ⧫ ⧫
The wind clawed at my face as we broke camp. A storm must have rolled in from the east during the night, leaving the sky bruised with layers of heavy, restless clouds. The air smelled of damp stone and old iron, the remnants of past battles lingering in the very bones of the land.
Kvatz grumbled as he adjusted the straps on his gear, rolling his shoulders like a man shaking off the last dregs of sleep. "I swear, one of these days, we should take a job somewhere warm," he muttered.
"Don't tempt fate," I replied, checking the edge of my knife before sheathing it. "You say that, and we'll end up in a desert crawling with raiders."
"Still better than freezing my ass off."
Gaer had been quiet since waking. He followed a few paces behind us, his shoulders hunched, his gaze shifting to every sound the wind carried. The deserter was still nervous, but not in the way a man fears the hunt. No, this was something deeper. Something older.
"You still haven't told us where we're heading," Kvatz said, glancing back at him.
Gaer hesitated, then sighed. "There's an old armory not far from here," he admitted. "It's been abandoned since the Third Campaign, but the Federation left a lot of their weapons behind. If we're lucky, we might find something worth taking."
"Abandoned," Kvatz echoed, the skepticism thick in his voice.
Gaer exhaled. "Mostly abandoned."
I shot him a look. "Meaning?"
"Meaning there might still be... stragglers. Scavengers, mercenaries, deserters who never stopped fighting." He shifted uncomfortably. "But it's better than walking into a city where we're already marked."
Kvatz scoffed. "Lovely. First we're tangled in an imperial conspiracy, now we're raiding graves."
"Are you backing out?"
"Of course not," Kvatz said, flashing a grin. "Just making sure this job continues to be as suicidal as I predicted."
Gaer shook his head and kept walking.
We traveled in silence for most of the day. The land stretched out before us like a forgotten battlefield—cracked earth, shattered monoliths, and the occasional rusting husk of an abandoned war machine. The remnants of old wars never faded in places like this. They were woven into the ground itself.
At some point, Kvatz nudged me with his elbow. "He's staring at you."
I glanced at him, then at Gaer, who quickly averted his gaze.
"He's been doing it all day," Kvatz murmured, voice low enough that only I could hear. "You do something to scare him?"
"Not yet."
"Guess he just doesn't like your face, then." Kvatz grinned, then went back to scanning the horizon.
I let it go for a while, but by the time we stopped for a brief rest, Gaer still hadn't stopped stealing glances.
I turned to face him fully. "Spit it out."
Gaer stiffened. "What?"
"You keep looking at me like you know something I don't. So either you start talking, or I stop being polite about it."
Kvatz chuckled. "I'd listen to her, Gaer. She gets real creative when she's annoyed."
Gaer swallowed, shifting uncomfortably. He hesitated, as if weighing whether it was worth the risk to tell me whatever was rattling in his skull. Then, finally, he spoke.
"You're the Pariah," he whispered.
The words hit harder than I expected. Not because I understood them, but because of the way he said them—like an undeniable truth. Like something inevitable.
I stared at him. "The what?"
"The Pariah," he said again, voice hushed, almost reverent. "The one who brings the breaking of the world. The one marked by the Goddess Feyiriis."
A chill that had nothing to do with the wind crept up my spine. Kvatz let out a long-suffering sigh. "Great. Now she's a prophecy. That's exactly what we needed."
Gaer ignored him, his gaze fixed on me. "I didn't see it at first. But now, in the daylight—your eyes, your presence. The old texts said the Pariah would walk in the shadow of war, that she would tread paths paved in ruin. She would bear the touch of the Empress of Ruins herself."
I folded my arms. "You sound like a priest."
Gaer's expression darkened. "Because I was one. Before I knew better."
Kvatz gave a low whistle. "Explains the doomsday tone."
Gaer ran a hand through his hair. "You don't understand. The Theocracy—they're not just fighting for control of the Rift. They believe something is waking up inside of it. Something tied to the Goddess herself. And if you—if you really are the Pariah..." He trailed off, shaking his head.
I exhaled, forcing my voice to stay steady. "I don't believe in prophecies."
"It doesn't matter what you believe," Gaer said quietly. "What they believe is what matters."
I hated how much sense that made.
Kvatz stretched his arms over his head. "So let me get this straight. We're caught in a war between the four out of five of the major powers, all because they're fighting over something in the Rift. And now, according to some deserted ex-soldier priest here, Lanni's some sort of walking apocalypse magnet."
"That's one way of putting it."
Kvatz sighed, rubbing his temple. "Yeah. That checks out."
"You're taking this well," I muttered.
Kvatz smirked. "Oh, I'm definitely screaming internally."
I shook my head, then turned back to Gaer. "If what you're saying is true, what do they think the Pariah is supposed to do?"
Gaer hesitated. "That depends on which version you believe."
"Pick one."
He took a breath. "Some believe she will bring balance. Others believe she will shatter what little remains of this world." His expression darkened. "The Theocracy believes she is the key to unsealing the Empress of Ruins entirely."
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Kvatz ran a hand through his hair. "I hate magic cults."
I couldn't even argue.
The sky overhead rumbled, distant thunder rolling through the heavens. It felt like an omen. Like the universe itself had taken notice.
I didn't know if Gaer was right. I didn't know if this so-called prophecy meant anything, or if it was just another piece in the tangled, bloody game the world insisted on playing.
But one thing was certain. I was reminded of my visions. My nightmares. I didn't know if Gaer was right. I didn't know if this so-called prophecy meant anything, or if I was just another nameless mercenary caught in a storm too vast to comprehend. But the weight of his words settled deep in my bones, like a blade pressed against my spine—cold, sharp, and far too real.
Kvatz kicked at a chunk of rubble, sending it skittering down the uneven path ahead. "Well. That complicates things," he said, voice light, but there was an edge to it, one I knew well. He was thinking, the way he always did when things went sideways.
"It doesn't have to mean anything," I said, watching Gaer carefully.
The deserter shook his head. "You don't get it. This isn't just an old story whispered among temple walls. The Theocracy has been waiting for this moment. They think the Rift is proof that the Goddess' will is unfolding." His gaze flickered toward me, troubled. "And if they recognize you, Lanni... they won't hesitate."
"Wouldn't be the first time someone wanted me dead," I muttered.
Kvatz sighed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Okay, so, worst case scenario—the Theocracy tries to hunt us down and carve Lanni up for their weird rituals. Meanwhile, the Empire and the Federation are too busy trying to control the Rift to care about the fact that we exist." He shot a glance at me. "That about sum it up?"
Gaer hesitated. Then, reluctantly, he nodded.
Kvatz let out a low whistle. "Yeah. Fantastic. Absolutely no notes."
The thunder rumbled again, closer now. I glanced toward the horizon. The sky had darkened further, heavy clouds pressing down like an omen. A storm was coming.
And I had the distinct feeling it wasn't just the weather.
We pressed on.
The land stretched out before us, a graveyard of forgotten battles. Jagged remnants of collapsed structures jutted from the cracked earth, their surfaces scorched and twisted from long-dead fires. I could see the remains of old war machines, rusted into stillness—Federation walkers, their once-mighty frames now brittle with time; Basillian siege engines half-buried in the dirt, their iron spines jutting like broken ribs.
The Facsimile War had left its scars deep in this land. This was the price of ambition—the bones of old empires, picked clean by time and scavengers.
Kvatz fell into step beside me, his voice low. "You alright?"
I kept my eyes ahead. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"Oh, I don't know," he said, mock-thoughtful. "Maybe because some ex-priest just declared you the herald of our impending doom?"
I exhaled, shaking my head. "It's just a story."
Kvatz gave me a look. "Lanni."
I frowned. "What?"
"I've known you for a long time," he said, voice quieter now. "And I know when you're pretending things don't bother you."
I kept walking.
Kvatz sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Look, I get it. Prophecies are bullshit. But I've seen what people are willing to do for the sake of them. And if the Theocracy thinks you're part of their grand design, they won't stop coming."
I met his gaze. "Then we kill them first."
Kvatz gave a small, sharp grin. "That's the Lanni I know."
Gaer was still watching us, though he had the sense to stay silent. There was something unreadable in his expression. Not fear, not quite. Something else.
I ignored it.
By nightfall, we reached the ruins.
The old armory stood against the horizon, its silhouette jagged against the storm-lit sky. Once, it had been a fortress—a Federation stronghold, reinforced with steel and magic alike. Now, it was a corpse of a building, its walls pockmarked from shelling, its great gates left ajar, rust eating away at the metal like an old wound that refused to heal.
Kvatz let out a low whistle. "Well. Doesn't look haunted at all."
Gaer tightened his grip on his rifle. "We should be careful. If there are survivors here, they won't be friendly."
Kvatz glanced at me. "After you, oh mighty Pariah."
I shot him a look. "Keep calling me that and I'll find a new use for your spine."
Kvatz grinned. "Promises, promises."
We stepped forward, into the dark.
And somewhere, in the distance, the storm broke.