The sky above Black Hollow Fortress boiled with smoke and ash, as if the heavens themselves were choking on the death that now clung to the battlefield. Fires still licked the broken walls, casting flickering shadows over the bloodied ground. Bodies—friend and foe—lay scattered like discarded dolls, their stories ended mid-chapter.
Auren stood among the wreckage, breathing heavily. His shirt was torn, streaked with dried blood, not all of it his. The glow from his eyes had faded, leaving behind a hollow calm, like the eye of a storm.
The soldiers who remained watched him like he was no longer human. Even Elira, leaning against the wall with a torn cloak over her shoulder, stared with something between awe and fear.
"You… you tore through them like they were nothing," she whispered.
Auren didn't respond. His gaze was fixed on the ruined gateway—where moments ago, the Crimson Knights had broken through. Where he'd unleashed something dark… something primal.
He hadn't just killed them. He had devoured them. Their Essence, their life force—it had all flowed into him like rivers feeding a black ocean.
"You're not normal," one of the younger soldiers muttered, still clutching a bloodied spear. "What the hell are you?"
Auren turned to him slowly, his voice quiet. "Alive. For now."
It wasn't an answer, but no one dared push further.
---
Deep underground, in the fortified war room beneath the keep, tension hung thick in the air. The last of the surviving officers were gathered around a cracked stone table, maps blood-stained and torn. Elira sat beside Auren now, her hand bandaged, eyes sharper than usual.
Captain Rhys paced in front of them, armor dented and half-burnt. "We've repelled this wave, but the Crimson Legion won't stop. They're regrouping. And we're down to two hundred fighters, if that."
"They'll hit again before dawn," Auren said. "They don't want survivors."
Rhys slammed his fist on the table. "Then we die before morning?"
"No," Auren said flatly. "We move."
"Move?" Elira raised an eyebrow.
"There's an old tunnel beneath the keep. A ruin from before the Empire built over this place. I saw it when I was scouting the layout. We escape through there. Regroup in the forest and make for Ironreach."
Rhys looked ready to argue, but Elira nodded. "We won't survive another assault. He's right."
"What if they catch us in the tunnels?" a soldier asked.
"Then we fight in the dark," Auren said simply.
---
The evacuation was quiet and tense. Soldiers moved through shadowed halls, helping the wounded. Children from nearby villages, the ones who had taken shelter in the keep, were carried or guided by the older fighters.
Auren led the way with Elira beside him, the tunnel entrance hidden beneath a false floor in the cellar. When the door opened with a heavy grind, cold air rushed out, carrying the scent of dust and something ancient.
It wasn't just a tunnel. It was a relic. Carvings lined the walls—faded symbols, broken runes, and murals half-erased by time. Auren's eyes locked onto one symbol that glowed faintly as he passed: a spiral of black within silver wings.
Elira noticed. "That mark… it matches the one from your relic."
He didn't answer. He couldn't. The symbol pulsed in his mind, like it was calling him further into the dark.
---
They traveled for hours. The tunnels twisted and stretched beyond what any map should allow. Some of the older warriors whispered about the Veilroots—lost roads built by forgotten powers. Auren believed it. The deeper they went, the more he could feel something shifting.
Voices. Echoes. Whispers not made by men.
When they finally emerged from the mountain's shadow into the frost-covered forest, dawn was breaking. The air was cold but clean.
Relief swept through the soldiers—some dropped to their knees, others hugged or cried quietly. But Auren didn't rest. He stared north.
A sound broke the moment.
A howl.
Low. Not human. Not animal.
Auren turned sharply. Elira followed his gaze. "That's not a Crimson scout."
"No," Auren said. "It's worse."
---
The forest fell into unnatural silence.
And then they saw it—shapes moving between trees. Fast. Silent. Shadows wearing bone-white masks.
"Wraithborn," Elira breathed.
The name sent ripples of fear through the camp. The Wraithborn weren't soldiers. They were hunters. Killers bred from corrupted Essence. No one survived them.
"How did they find us?" Rhys hissed.
"Someone sold us out," Auren muttered. "Or they're tracking me."
"You?" Elira's eyes narrowed.
"I stole something," he said. "Or maybe it chose me. Doesn't matter now."
He stepped forward, Essence flaring faintly around him.
"I'll hold them off."
"You'll die," Elira snapped.
"Maybe. But you won't. Get them to Ironreach."
She grabbed his arm. "Don't do this again. Don't carry everything alone."
Auren stared at her. "If I fall, make it count."
Before she could argue, he walked ahead, eyes glowing once more. The forest responded—trees shivered, birds scattered, and the ground seemed to darken beneath his steps.
The Wraithborn moved in. Silent. Graceful. Predatory.
Auren raised one hand.
"Devour."
A wave of black light exploded outward.
---
The forest became a battlefield.
Auren moved like a phantom, dodging claws and blades, countering with strikes infused with stolen Essence. Every kill made him stronger. Every moment pushed him closer to something else.
But they kept coming.
He was outnumbered. Surrounded. Bleeding.
Then—
A scream.
Not his.
Elira.
She had come back. With five others.
She stabbed one of the Wraithborn through the mask, eyes blazing. "You didn't think we'd leave you, did you?"
Auren blinked. "I told you—"
"Shut up and fight!"
Together, they formed a rough circle. Essence crackled. Swords clashed. Arrows flew. The Wraithborn hissed and fell, one after another.
When the last one collapsed, the forest went still.
Auren fell to one knee.
Elira rushed to him, pressing a cloth to his side. "You idiot…"
He laughed weakly. "You came back."
"Of course I did. You're not dying on me yet."
As the soldiers regrouped and silence returned, Auren stared at the horizon.
Ironreach was still far.
And behind them, the Wraithborn wouldn't be the last to follow.
But for now… they had survived.