🪓 The Night After the Battle
Rain hammered the ridge as darkness spread. Remar knelt beside the broken envoy, the coppery scent of blood mingling with wet stone. The Order's host lay scattered, retreating beyond sight.
Across the ridge's jagged edge, smoke spiraled upward from fires near the forest. The villagers had gathered there—safe, for now.
Mael hovered at his side, soaked through and silent. Remar pressed a makeshift bandage to his side, every breath a sharp flare. The Dark Sword lay sheathed on his back, runes dim but urgent beneath his armor. He tasted copper. His world spun in dull echoes.
He turned to Mael, voice ragged: "You led them to safety."
Mael nodded, pale. "Yesterday—I doubted. Today… no." He shivered. "We need to move on the morning tide."
Remar nodded. The decision echoed: fight—or run onward. His ribs crackled with pain; his thoughts twisted with purpose.
🎯 Dawn's Demand
At first light, Remar and Mael descended from the ridge under low clouds. Past charred ravine and forest edge, they found Elder Raes waiting alone. Hooded villagers clustered behind him.
Raes bowed his head deeply. "We were saved. But your battle draws the Order's wrath closer."
Storm clouds scudded overhead. Raes cleared his throat. "They seek the blade—and the bearer."
The villagers whispered fearfully. Remar clenched the hilt beneath cloak. "Then we leave—for now. I'll draw them away—toward the east."
Raes hesitated. "Your vow to protect them… are you sure?"
Remar's jaw clenched. He'd tasted what he'd stand to lose. "Yes."
🧠Tracks of Pursuit
By midday, they moved through dense woods. Remar, supported by Mael, led through moss-carpeted trails and shaded paths. The Dark Sword throbbed in his back as though urging movement.
He paused beside a broken cart wheel in the undergrowth—rune-etched woodarm lay nearby. Something stirred in his mind: doubts, echoes of the contract he'd made earlier. The Autos Clause terms bound him—but at what cost?
A twig snapped. Silence followed.
Mael raised a trembling finger—a rider emerged atop a black horse, eyes hidden behind a wolf helm. No others. A courier, likely.
The rider dismounted quickly, cloak dripping rain. In muffled voice: "The Order demands: if you seek them, you will come alone—or none return."
Remar's gaze hardened.
As the rider turned to leave, Remar spoke: "Tell them I'll come."
🌪️ Hunt by Moonlight
That night, they marched toward a desolate crossroads marked by charred stones and shattered banners. Rain ceased, leaving damp fog in its wake.
At the fork, Remar faced the crossroads and inhaled heavy air. His ribs throbbed, rain slicked his hair, and the sword's presence pressed against his spine.
He turned to Mael. "You should go back. I don't want your blood on my oath."
Mael met his eyes. "I stay. You're my brother in this."
🔥 Confrontation Under Moon
From the east came war horns faint but ominous. The Order approached in formation, silver banners glistening as they emerged from fog.
Remar drew the sword slowly. The runes glowed violet beneath the moon. Its presence charged the air.
A knight stepped forward—helmet high, axe in hand. "You came," he said. No disdain—just calm judgment.
Remar inhaled cold air. His ribs flared. He stepped forward alone; every breath pained, every foot deliberate.
The knight raised his axe. Remar raised the Dark Sword to meet it. They collided with a shock—steel sang.
🔄 Turning Point
Remar parried blow after blow, faltering as his body trembled. The knight feinted left, then struck his side—pain exploded.
He staggered, nearly falling. The knight lowered his axe, breathing heavy. But Remar's sword pulsed, a dark current coursing through him.
He gripped the sword tighter, mustering strength beyond flesh—bond became action. The blades clashed again; the knight flinched.
Remar pressed forward, stepping past broken ridge and fog. His voice echoed: "This blade—this life—is mine."
Light flared along the blade's edge and the knight staggered backward. A hush fell among the approaching Order.
🌲 A Mysterious Witness
As the knight withdrew, behind him a cloaked figure stood on a mossy stone. Eyes—cold and unreadable—watched Remar.
They bowed deeply, cloak swirling, and vanished into the trees.
Remar felt something shift—not fear, but promise. The sword hummed faintly.
Mael reached for his shoulder. "Shall we go?"
Remar dropped to one knee, gasping. Rain began anew, soft and cleansing.
He closed his eyes. Dawn waited beyond this fight—purpose beyond conflict.
🌌 Cliffhanger Ending
Remar looked up at the rising sun against dark clouds. The Order paused in distance. The sword pulsed.
Behind them, footprints appeared in the fog—fresh and steady. They did not come from the Order.
Someone—or something—followed.