The morning air hung heavy with the scent of scorched earth and damp ash. Pale sunlight stretched thin fingers over the ruined campsite, brushing across battered tents, broken shields, and the low huddle of survivors half-buried in blankets and restless sleep. Smoke coiled faintly from the smothered fires, and the silence was thick: not peace, but aftermath.
Nyra stirred first.
She shifted under her blanket, blinking groggily as the first chill of dawn prickled across her skin. Her fingers curled briefly into fists against the dirt before she pushed herself upright, brushing stray strands of hair from her face. Around her, the camp was a patchwork of exhaustion.
Valen lay sprawled near a collapsed tent, one arm draped over his eyes, the other flopped across his chest. His breath came in slow, uneven pulls, lips parted just enough to mutter the occasional half-formed curse at the creeping light. His boots were still on.
Luken sat farther off, wrapped in a thin cloak, slumped against a rock with his staff resting across his knees. His eyes were open, barely, his gaze vague and unfocused as if his mind had not caught up to the day. He gave a faint grunt as Nyra rose, one hand raking back his tangled hair, the other rubbing at his face.
Near the remains of the cookfire, Elira crouched beside a battered pot balanced on a makeshift rack of stones. Her scarred fingers moved with practiced precision as she stirred its contents. The bitter, earthy scent of brewing coffee cut faintly through the camp's haze. She did not look up when Luken shuffled closer and dropped onto a rock beside her, but she slid a tin mug toward him with a dry, knowing smile.
Nyra stretched slowly, rolling her shoulders, feeling the stiffness and bruises settle into familiar places along her arms and ribs. Her gaze swept instinctively across the camp, over the tangle of sleeping soldiers, the splintered barricades, the scattered remnants of last night's battle, and then it caught.
There was no towering shape near the perimeter. No slow, heavy stride circling the camp. No quiet, massive presence leaning against the broken stones.
No Tar.
No Thal.
A faint knot pulled tight in Nyra's chest.
She let out a long breath, arms crossing loosely over her chest, eyes narrowing toward the tree line. There was no panic in her face, no fear that Thal was gone forever, no suspicion of betrayal or abandonment. Just waiting. Quiet worry folded into trust.
He needed space. That was all.
He would come back when he was ready.
Still, the absence hung heavier than she expected.
Nyra glanced toward Elira, who caught her look across the fire. The older woman gave a small, noncommittal shrug and murmured, "Give him time."
Nyra nodded once, slow and thoughtful, but did not sit. She stayed on her feet, letting the weak sunlight brush over her shoulders as her eyes drifted again to the tree line, searching the horizon for a shape she already knew would not be there yet.
Behind her, Valen groaned and rolled over, one boot kicking uselessly at a loose stone. "If anyone wakes me before noon," he mumbled into the dirt, "I will make them regret it."
Luken gave a soft snort over his coffee, half amused, half dead on his feet. Nyra allowed herself a faint smile, then turned back to the edge of the camp, watching, waiting, steady as stone.
She knew Thal, and she trusted that when he came back, they would need to be ready.
Luken shifted on his rock, cup warming between his hands, eyes flicking toward the tree line. His voice was hoarse with sleep, but the question landed clean. "Do you think they will be back before the reinforcements arrive?"
Nyra glanced at him, one brow arching. "You think we are that lucky?"
Valen groaned from his nest of blankets. "Let us just hope they are back before we have to march on an Archon without them."
Luken gave a slow nod, sighing into his coffee. "Fair point."
As if summoned by his words, a horn blew low and clear from the western rise.
Nyra's head snapped up. Elira stood smoothly, already drawing her glaive from where it leaned against the cart. Valen rolled over with a muffled curse, shoving hair from his face. Even Luken roused properly now, pushing himself upright and squinting toward the hill.
Figures crested the ridge.
Not many, perhaps thirty riders in silver and crimson, their banners flickering in the pale wind. A smaller force trailed behind, armoured footmen pushing supply carts, and a handful of mages with their hands clasped on glowing staves. The Lions' Gate crest rippled from the pennants, the sun and sword gleaming in gold thread.
The camp stirred.
Elira was already moving, boots crunching over the grass as she strode to meet them. The commander at the head of the riders swung down from his horse, a tall man, sharp-jawed, with a scar biting up from his collar into the edge of his jawline. His eyes were quick, flicking over the scattered camp, the ragged soldiers, the ruined barricades.
"Elira," he greeted crisply. "Report."
She did not waste his time.
"Commander Eric. Casualty count at forty-three dead, twelve maimed, nineteen walking wounded. Eastern flank held but barely. The Kruul pushed harder than expected, and the Threshen numbers were beyond what we were briefed."
Eric's brow furrowed. His men shifted behind him, glancing at one another.
Elira's tone sharpened. "We would have broken without outside help."
His gaze narrowed slightly. "Outside help?"
She crossed her arms, jaw tight. "A man. Massive. Unarmed." She glanced toward the tree line as if expecting him to step from it. "He tore through the backline before the Kruul could collapse us. Threshen, Kruul, it did not matter. He walked right through them."
Eric's mouth twitched, part doubt, part restrained reaction. "A giant saved your flank?"
"Call him what you want." Elira's voice was cool. "But if you saw the battlefield, you would know we are still standing because of him."
Eric gave a slow exhale, a flicker of something sardonic at the edge of his mouth. "I will want that report in writing."
"Of course you will," Elira muttered.
Behind her, Nyra, Valen, and Luken stepped up, the three unmistakable even in a camp full of fighters. Their posture, their weapons, the way the soldiers' eyes followed them marked them immediately.
He turned smoothly to them, his expression shifting, not warm, but measured. Respect mixed with the subtle edge of expectation.
"Nyra. Valen. Luken," he greeted, a slight dip of his head. "Lions' Gate remembers its chosen."
Valen gave a lazy half-salute, smirking faintly. "Good to be remembered, Commander."
Nyra just inclined her head, expression composed but distant. Luken murmured a soft acknowledgment, his fingers still half-curled around his staff.
Eric's eyes swept over them. "Your names carry weight. Do not mistake that for shelter."
Valen's smirk sharpened just a touch. "Would not dream of it."
"We march for the Archon within two days," he said, his tone leaving no room for question. "I assume your giant will be joining?"
Nyra's eyes flicked toward the trees. "He will be here."
Eric gave a small, tight nod. "See that he is."
He turned sharply, barking quiet orders to his officers, and the camp dissolved into motion: supplies unloaded, wounded assessed, defences checked. The rhythm of soldiers settling in for the long march began to pulse again.
Nyra let out a long breath, easing the tension in her shoulders.
Valen stretched his arms overhead with a faint grunt. "Well, they seem fun."
Luken's lips twitched into the barest hint of a smile.
Nyra's gaze drifted once more to the tree line, to the place where no sound stirred, no branch bent, no sign of Thal or Tar marked the world. Her fingers tightened briefly around the haft of her axe.
"He will be back," she murmured softly, but the morning stretched on and the trees stayed still.
The sun had climbed higher, burning silver through a veil of pale clouds, by the time Eric summoned them. The camp hummed with its uneasy rhythm: soldiers stacking crates, sharpening blades, hauling the wounded into tents. At the command circle, the air hung heavy, waiting.
"Inside," Eric said, his voice low but edged. "All three of you."
Nyra exchanged a quick glance with Valen and Luken. Valen rolled his shoulders in a lazy stretch, muttering, "Charmed," as he fell in behind her. Luken trailed after, fingers absently tapping the butt of his staff.
The inside of the tent was dim, light filtering through patched canvas and catching on the faint gleam of maps spread across the table. Eric did not sit. He folded his arms across his broad chest, the scar biting up from his collar into the edge of his jawline tugging faintly as his expression settled into something between curiosity and calculation.
"I need clarity," Eric said quietly, voice tight. "About your companion."
Valen leaned back slightly, a lazy grin tugging at his mouth. "Big."
Luken gave a tired grunt, sliding into a seat and resting his elbows on his knees. "Very big."
Eric's brow twitched. "I gathered that much when your commander reported he was throwing Kruul across the field like broken spears."
Valen spread his hands. "There you have it."
The commander exhaled, sharp and thin. His eyes slid to Nyra, resting there longer.
Nyra's arms were folded, axe strapped to her back, her hair glinting in the pale light. Her face gave away nothing: no humour, no hesitation. "He is a Nephilim," she said softly.
Eric's brow furrowed. "A what?"
Her lips curved slightly, as if tasting the word. "Something old."
"That is not an answer."
Nyra's eyes flicked to him, cool and even. "It is the only one you are getting."
For a moment, Eric said nothing. His fingers tapped faintly against the leather band of his glove, his mouth tightening just at the corners. Around them, the camp's bustle filled the silence: the clang of metal, the shuffle of boots, the faint, restless murmur of soldiers eying the Heroes from a careful distance.
Finally, Eric's voice cut through again, edged with something colder. "Does he answer to you?" he asked.
"No," Nyra said flatly.
Valen gave a dry chuckle. "If anything, we try to stay out of his way."
"So you have brought a weapon into my camp, and I do not know where it points."
Nyra tilted her head. "He is not a weapon."
Eric arched a sharp brow. "No?"
She smiled faintly, without warmth. "He is worse."
Valen let out a soft, muffled cough that might have been a laugh. Luken's gaze dropped briefly, as if studying the dirt was suddenly fascinating.
Eric's jaw worked once, twice. His voice lowered.
"I am responsible for this campaign," he said, voice measured but tight. "For every soldier here, for every inch we push against the Kruul. I need more than campfire stories and half-names. If this Nephilim of yours decides we are a threat..."
"He will not," Nyra interrupted, quiet but firm.
Eric's eyes flicked between them, weighing, measuring. He was not used to being stonewalled, and it showed, not in anger, but in the subtle tension coiling in his shoulders, the faint crease pulling at the scar on his jaw. His voice came quieter, edged with a steel that had kept men in line longer than any rank.
"I do not like surprises," he murmured. "And I do not like assets I cannot command. When he returns, he will submit to the chain of command. He will take the oath. He will answer to me, or he will be counted as a hostile element."
Nyra's expression did not change, but her shoulders stiffened. "He is not one of your soldiers."
"Then he is a liability," Eric said. "And I do not march with liabilities."
Before Nyra could answer, a sharp commotion rippled across the camp: metal clattering, voices rising, the tense, unmistakable ring of drawn weapons. A soldier's shout cracked through the air: "Hold ranks! HOLD!"
The four of them turned in near unison.
Across the camp, shapes moved between the tents: massive, unmistakable shapes.
Tar emerged first, hooves pounding against the trampled earth, towering above the soldiers scrambling to form a line. His hulking frame was streaked with dried blood, fur matted from the long night, a double-headed axe slung casually across one shoulder. His black horns glinted in the light as his yellow eyes swept the chaos with mild, almost amused indifference.
Behind him, Thal stepped into view: slow, steady, broad-shouldered, hands loose at his sides, golden eyes half-lidded with the kind of calm that always carried an edge of something darker. The ground seemed to remember his weight. Even the dirt under his feet cracked with reluctance.
The camp exploded into motion. Soldiers surged to intercept: spears bristling, swords drawn, the nervous ring of armor clashing as they half-circled the two giants. Shouts overlapped, orders tangled.
"Stand down!"
"Identify yourselves!"
"Circle them! Do not let them pass!"
Tar tilted his head, a low rumble rolling from his chest, half amusement, half warning.
Thal smiled. A faint, fleeting thing, barely there. Then he murmured under his breath, dry as ash:
"Tar, I think they want you to kneel."
A strangled noise broke from somewhere in the line, a sharp, involuntary laugh from a soldier who immediately clamped a hand over his mouth. Tar let out a low, rolling huff of air, chest rumbling with faint amusement.
Elira's voice cut through the chaos like a blade.
"Stand DOWN!"
She moved fast, shoving between soldiers, one gauntleted hand raised high, glaive angled down in her other hand. Her scarred face twisted into a glare that could melt stone. She whispered to Thal, "Damn it, Thal, popping up like this," she snapped, planting herself between him and the bristling line of men, "you are going to give someone a heart attack."
Thal gave her a faint look of amusement. "Next time, I will send a raven."
Tar made a sound like a muffled chuckle, shoulders shaking once.
"Back to posts!" she barked. "Lower spears! They are ours."
The front line wavered, some soldiers flinching, others hesitating with eyes darting between Elira and the figures they barely dared to believe were friendly. A murmur rippled backward. Gradually, reluctantly, weapons dipped.
Commander Eric strode forward, his pace measured but sharp, cutting a path through the gathering crowd. His face was composed, but the flicker of his eyes betrayed it: wariness, calculation, and, buried deep, the faintest edge of something like unease.
He stopped a few paces from Thal, tilting his head to meet the giant's gaze.
Eric spoke carefully. "You are Thal."
Thal's golden eyes crinkled faintly. "Depends who is asking."
Eric's jaw tensed. He did not back up. To his credit, he held his ground, voice even. "Commander Eric, Second Battalion of Lions' Gate." His words were clipped, precise. "You saved my flank last night."
Thal gave a small, thoughtful noise. "Did not realize you were counting."
Valen muttered behind Nyra, "Oh, he is in form." Luken gave an exasperated sigh under his breath.
Eric's jaw tightened, but he forced his tone back to calm authority. "I count everything," Eric said evenly. "You have caused quite the stir. My men do not take well to surprises."
Thal tilted his head, arms folding loosely across his chest. "Neither do mine."
For the first time, something flickered in Eric's face: the twitch of a brow, the faint shift of weight from one foot to the other. He opened his mouth to speak, but Elira was already stepping in.
"Commander," she said sharply, "we need the camp calm before nightfall. And you will want these two in the next push."
Eric's jaw worked once, the scar biting up from his collar tugging faintly. His eyes flicked between Elira, the Heroes, and the two giants before him. Then, with a slow breath, he nodded. "Fine," he murmured. "But we do this clean."
He stepped forward, just enough to stand near Thal's towering silhouette. His voice lowered, quiet enough that only those close could hear.
"You stand in my camp," Eric said, the words tight with the habit of command. "You wear no colors. You take no oaths. You answer to no one." He paused. His gaze traveled up Thal's frame, taking in the breadth of his shoulders, the weight of his presence, the casual indifference in his stance. Eric was a man who had held lines against Kruul hordes, who had ordered men to their deaths and slept soundly afterward. He was not a fool.
The demand died in his throat.
"I should demand you kneel," Eric said, quieter now, almost to himself. "Take the mark. Submit to the chain."
Thal said nothing. He only watched, golden eyes steady, patient as stone.
Eric's jaw tightened. "But I suspect you would not kneel. And I suspect..." He glanced at the axe on Tar's shoulder, at the cracked earth beneath Thal's feet, at the way the soldiers still flinched whenever Tar shifted his weight. "I suspect I lack the authority to make you."
Thal's mouth curved faintly. "You are perceptive."
"Damn you," Eric murmured. Then, louder: "I cannot command you. I cannot count on you. But I can ask: will you stand with us? Or merely... among us?"
"I will keep the peace," Thal said softly. The words were not loud, but they carried, heavy as stones dropped into deep water. "I will stand between you and the dark. That is more than most will offer you. It is all I will offer."
Eric held Thal's gaze for a long moment, searching for any crack, any yield. There was none. Only the calm certainty of something ancient and immovable.
"It will have to be," Eric said finally, his voice rasping.
He pivoted crisply, barking new orders at his officers, his voice snapping through the camp like a whip. Soldiers dispersed, nervous glances lingering over shoulders as they pulled back to their duties. The ripple of tension faded, not gone, but folded inward.
Behind them, Elira let out a slow breath, glancing toward Nyra with a faint shake of her head. "Next time," she muttered, "warn me before you crash the party."
Thal's mouth curved faintly. "Spoils the surprise."
Tar let out another low, soft huff, his tail flicking once as he rumbled past the stunned soldiers. A few jumped instinctively, earning half-hidden grins from Valen and a quiet sigh from Luken.
Nyra moved toward Thal at last. Her steps were quiet, her expression unreadable, but her eyes never left his face. She reached him and stopped, close enough that her shoulder nearly brushed his arm. For a moment, she just breathed, the tension draining from her spine so suddenly she had to lock her knees to keep from swaying.
She reached out, not to his arm, but to his hand, her fingers finding his and pressing once, hard, before she let go.
"You are late," she said, her voice steady despite the relief that flickered in her eyes.
Thal's gaze softened, the gold warming as it settled on her. "I am here."
That was enough.
Evening settled over the camp like a bruise, purple and heavy. The fires crackled back to life, the weary glow of soldiers settling into half-sleep, armor unbuckled just enough to loosen stiff shoulders. Elira stood near the edge of the command tent, arms crossed, head tilted as she watched the last ripple of tension fade from the ranks.
Valen appeared from the gloom like a shadow that had learned how to smirk.
"Well," he announced lightly, striding up and stretching his arms over his head, "look who decided to make an entrance." He waved a hand in the vague direction of Thal, who stood near the supply wagons with Tar, both of them effortlessly looming over the soldiers handing out rations.
Elira arched a brow, half turning toward him. "You mean the walking earthquake?"
Luken ambled up beside her, still cradling his mug of cold coffee. His hair stuck up at odd angles, his eyes ringed with faint shadows, but his lips quirked faintly as he joined in. "I am just glad none of the recruits mistook him for a siege engine and tried to hitch a harness to his shoulders."
Valen snorted. "Give it time. By morning, someone is going to swear he is an Archon we forgot to kill, and then we will have to explain why we are feeding a world-ending horror stew instead of executing it."
Elira let out a sharp laugh, shaking her head. "If that is an Archon, the kingdom has been aiming too low."
Valen grinned, rocking back on his heels. "Imagine the report: 'Commander, we have misfiled one of the apocalypses. Turns out he has been wandering around punching the enemy in the face for us.'" His grin widened as he lifted a finger. "Someone is getting hanged for that paperwork error. Probably me. I volunteer."
Luken huffed quietly into his mug, shaking his head. "That explains the casualty math. Forty-three dead, twelve maimed, and one administrative disaster."
Even Nyra, half turned toward the wagon line where Thal leaned against a cracked post, let out a small chuckle, shaking her head softly. Her arms stayed folded, her weight shifted to one hip, but a faint smile tugged at her mouth as Valen's voice rippled across the camp.
She was not really listening, not fully. Her gaze kept drifting back to Thal, to the quiet angle of his shoulders, the way he spoke low to Tar, head bent slightly, golden eyes half-shadowed beneath his hair. However, Valen's antics worked their way under her skin all the same, pulling little smiles at the edges, softening the tension in her brow.
Valen followed her gaze, lifting a brow. "He is not going to disappear again, you know."
Nyra shot him a half-smile. "You sure?"
Valen grinned. "I mean, if he does, I am blaming you. And then I am stealing your boots."
From across the camp, Tar rumbled something low in his chest, a sound like stones shifting under old roots, just faint enough to carry. Thal's mouth curved slightly, a fleeting, dry amusement sparking in his eyes as they both watched Valen gesture animatedly toward them.
"I think they are listening," Elira murmured, biting back a grin.
Luken gave a slow nod, voice dry. "I would be more worried if they were not."
Valen threw an exaggerated wave toward Thal. "We are just trying to keep spirits up over here! Do not mind us!"
Thal raised a hand, one massive hand, and gave a single, slow wave back, the motion somehow both deadpan and faintly mocking, like a giant humouring the antics of small, noisy creatures.
Tar let out another low huff, shoulders shaking once, and bent slightly at the waist in what might have been his version of a bow.
Elira barked out a short laugh, shaking her head. "Great. Now they are humouring you."
"My work here is done." Valen beamed.
Nyra turned slightly, her arms still folded but her expression softer now. "Do not tempt them."
Valen tilted his head. "Tempt? Who, me? I am a delight."
Luken muttered under his breath, "Dangerous combination."
Nyra gave a soft laugh, the sound slipping past her guard before she could catch it. For a heartbeat, the tension threading through her chest eased just a little. Just enough to remember she was not the only one holding the edges of this night together.
As the chatter settled, Elira shot a final glance toward Thal and Tar, shaking her head with something almost fond beneath the hardened edge of her voice. "He really does have a terrible sense of timing."
Nyra exhaled slowly, watching Thal's silhouette in the flickering firelight. "Yes," she murmured. "But he always comes back."
Valen threw an arm around Luken's shoulder, steering him toward the closest fire with a grin. "Come on, wizard. Let us go make bad decisions before the horn blows."
Luken rolled his eyes but let himself be dragged.
Elira lingered a moment longer beside Nyra, her gaze flicking between the woman and the Nephilim at the edge of camp. She smirked faintly, then clapped Nyra once on the shoulder. "Try to get some sleep, hero."
Nyra gave her a small, absent nod.
And across the firelit clearing, Thal leaned his weight back against the wagon, golden eyes watching, mouth curved in a faint, unreadable smile, like he knew exactly how much they were all pretending not to worry, and like he appreciated it anyway.