A commotion erupted near the triage tent. Arthur, just stepping out from
Hadrix's side, turned sharply. Several soldiers were shouting at each other,
faces flushed, some on the verge of tears.
"Why the children first?! My father is still inside! He's a Valorian
soldier—he fought long before King Arthur was even born!" a young soldier
cried, voice cracking.
"Shut your mouth! You think children can survive the night without care? Do
you want them to die in front of you?!" his comrade snapped, grabbing his
shoulder.
The quarrel nearly spilled into blows. Lionel Drest strode forward, his
spear striking the ground with a thunderous crack. "Enough!" His voice cut
through the night like a blade. "Do you want the captives to see their rescuers
tearing each other apart?"
But the young soldier's defiance did not fade. Tears streamed down his face
as he shouted again, "You don't understand, Lord Lionel! I watched my father
dragged out, broken and bleeding, and now you tell me he won't be given
priority?!"
Arthur finally stepped forward. His gaze swept the gathering, silencing
them. He approached the soldier and laid a steady hand on his shoulder.
"I understand," Arthur said quietly. "I've lost many I loved. I too want
everyone saved. But tonight, we do not have the strength for all."
The soldier trembled, lowering his head. "So… we just let them die?"
Arthur drew a long breath. "No. We save those who still can be saved. That
doesn't mean we abandon the others—it means we refuse to surrender the hope
that remains."
The young man broke, sobbing. He sank to his knees, covering his face.
Lionel motioned, and a few soldiers gently pulled him back.
Arthur straightened, his voice carrying across the field. "I never wanted to
be a King who decides who lives and who dies. But tonight, I cannot turn away.
Know this—this is not abandonment, but rescue. We save those who can still be
reached, and we bear that burden together."
Silence fell heavy. Some soldiers bowed their heads, others nodded grimly.
Bitter as it was, the command was accepted.
Arthur returned to Hadrix's tent. The air was thick with herbs and dried
blood. Hadrix lay pale beneath rough cloth wrappings. The healer shook her
head. "His breath grows weaker, Your Majesty. Even with magic sustaining him,
his chances are slim."
Arthur sat beside the stretcher, gripping his friend's hand. It was cold,
lifeless to the touch.
Memories rushed back—Hadrix standing tall at the gates of the palace, eyes
fierce, voice ringing with conviction: "As long as I live, Valoria will not
fall." That vow now cut Arthur deeper than any blade.
He bent low and whispered, "Don't choose this night to give up. You once
saved me when I was nothing but a castaway in doubt. Now I beg you—hold on,
Hadrix."
Lionel appeared at the entrance, his face grave. "Your Majesty," he said
softly, "the men are waiting."
Arthur exhaled slowly, then rose. Before leaving, he pressed Hadrix's
shoulder gently, as though leaving behind his strength.
Outside, a small fire burned. Children huddled around an old soldier,
listening wide-eyed as his raspy voice spun a tale of a bird flying through
storms without fear. For a brief moment, their terror receded.
Arthur halted, watching. A fragile warmth flickered amid the night's
shadows.
Not far away, a beastwoman with torn ears staggered forward. Wrapped in a
thin blanket, her face pale, she bowed her head. "Your Majesty…" her voice
cracked. "…thank you."
Arthur looked at her, searching for words. But she continued, "We are free…
yet do we still have homes to return to?"
The question struck harder than any soldier's cry. Arthur lowered his head,
unable to answer.
Lionel joined him, eyes fixed on the fire. "I know your decision was right.
Still… my heart resists it."
Arthur's breath shuddered. "Defeating the cult was easier than tonight. My
blade could cut chains, but it cannot cut away this guilt."
Lionel turned, his eyes rimmed red. "That is why you are King. You carry
what none of us could bear."
Arthur said nothing. The words felt like both praise and curse.
Dawn crept in. Mist draped over Grimhollow's ruins, painting them in pale
gray. Survivors sat clustered around small fires, sipping thin porridge, others
lying motionless, too weak to eat.
Arthur stood tall in the center of the camp, weary eyes unyielding. He knew
this was only the beginning of a longer burden.
Suddenly, hurried footsteps broke the quiet. A scout burst into the camp,
clothes caked in dust, face drawn tight. He dropped to one knee before Arthur.
"Your Majesty! Villagers from the surrounding lands are abandoning their
homes. Some flee into the forests, others to the cities. They fear the cult
still lingers… or that a plague will spread from these caves."
Lionel cursed under his breath, jaw tight. "We've crushed the cult, yet to
them Valoria looks weaker than ever."
Arthur turned eastward. The first light of dawn pierced the mist, falling
upon the weary faces of soldiers and freed captives alike. And yet behind that
light, the shadow of his people's fear loomed heavier still.
His voice emerged low, steady, and sharp. "The cult is ended. Now our enemy…
is fear itself."