Dawn thinned across the Ashen Road, pale light spilling over dust and broken stone. The line that moved south from Stonecross was no longer only frightened villagers. It had grown. Men carried farm tools gripped like spears. Women walked with poles or staffs. Even youths had taken up sticks and knives, willing to stand guard.
For the first time, they did not walk scattered. Brenn moved steadily along the column, voice low but firm, giving shape to the march.
"Not scattered now. Walk steady. Two by two, always in pairs. If you fall behind, take a hand, link arms, keep pace. The road runs straighter when the people do. You've been prey long enough. A line holds longer than a crowd of stragglers."
The people obeyed, falling into rows. Feet struck the dirt with less chaos than before.
Harel muttered to Lira with a crooked grin. "Never thought I'd live to see old Brenn drilling us like soldiers. I've held a plow my whole life, not a spear. Yet here we are, walking in rows like some war band."
Lira tightened her shawl but allowed herself a faint smile. "Better than running like prey, Harel. You'd rather stumble and scatter again? I'd rather march steady and know the man beside me won't leave me when the riders come."
Mira drew closer to Draven, watching the way the people moved. "They listen to him. Even the stubborn ones who always muttered back, they don't now. They just fall in step, as if they've been waiting their whole lives for someone to show them how to walk without fear."
Draven's gaze stayed on the road ahead. "They listen because they're tired of running. Fear scatters, but order gives them a spine. A line gives them more than legs to stand on — it gives them the thought they can stand together."
On the ridges, shadows flickered. Dominion riders — small knots, holding distance, watching.
By midmorning, the first skirmish came.
Jast spotted them first, his arm shooting out. "Look there! Riders coming down. Not a full charge, just a handful. They're not here to break us yet — they're testing, watching to see if we scatter when hooves come close."
Brenn's voice carried steady and hard. "Hold the line! Pairs tight, shoulders close. Don't scatter! A row will stand where loose feet fall. You want to live, you stay side by side. If one runs, the rest break. Hold!"
Dust rose as the riders spurred forward. Their commander's shout rang out. "Break them! Break their line! Shacklers forward, drive the chains!"
One handler thrust his rod, runes glowing sharp. "Chain the beasts—now, before they strike! Bind them tight!"
The runes flared, then cracked. A sharp fracture split the air, the handler screamed, dropping the rod as the weapon splintered in his hands.
A refugee gasped, then shouted. "It broke! The rod broke, I saw it split with my own eyes!"
Another pointed toward Draven, voice rising. "It's him! Near him their rods turn weak! Their shackles die the moment they reach for him!"
Brenn's reply rumbled steady. "The air bends around him. Shackles don't hold as strong when he's close. That's why we can strike them down."
The cheer swelled.
"The rod split in his hands!"
"The runes burned out, I saw the light die!"
"They can't hold them! They can't hold!"
Joran surged forward, hammer scrap swinging. The clang rang out as it struck a rider's shield. His teeth bared. "Steel's thin, but it still kills! Come on then, riders! You think farmers don't know how to swing iron? I'll show you iron enough to break bone!"
A refugee thrust his pitchfork, shouting wild and fierce. "Stand with him! Don't let them through! Push them back like beasts from a pen! Hold the line — don't give them a step!"
The fight was messy, uneven, but the line did not scatter. The clash rang raw: wood on steel, hammer against armor. Imperfect, faltering — but a line.
Then the falcon screamed.
A handler fixed Mira in his sights, driving his rod at her. "There! The girl! Take her! Bind her now before she calls again!"
Mira's cry cracked, half fear, half defiance. "No—get away from me! Don't you touch me!"
The falcon answered. It dove like a shard of storm, wings cracking the air, talons flashing with light. The rod met its strike and burst apart, rune-lines unraveling in sparks. The handler fell back, clutching his hand, staring in horror.
Refugees cried out in shock and awe.
"The falcon! The falcon broke it!"
"It struck the rod, split it in two!"
"It fights like his beasts!"
"It fights like a Noble!"
Lira clutched Harel's arm, her breath gone. "It rose higher… stronger than before. The falcon fights like his great beasts. I swear it — it's risen to stand beside them."
The bird wheeled back into the sky, its wings shimmering faintly with power.
The Dominion riders faltered. One panicked, yanking his reins. "Fall away! Pull back before we're broken too! Pull back!"
Another handler staggered, clutching his useless rod. "They don't scatter anymore! Don't you see it? They fight like soldiers! Not a mob, not prey — soldiers!"
The riders broke away, retreating in a churn of dust.
Refugees lifted their voices in triumph.
"We held them! We held the riders!"
"We drove them off, broke their rods!"
"Stonecross stands, and so do we!"
When the cheers dimmed, Mira stood catching her breath, the falcon gripping her arm tight. She looked at it as though seeing it new.
"It chose again. You saw it, all of you. It rose higher, stronger than before. And all I did was call. I only asked, and it came. It came because I asked."
Draven's voice steadied her wonder. "That's what choice is. When it's asked, not forced. Bonds rise higher when they're chosen."
Around them, refugees murmured openly, no longer whispers passed in fear.
"He makes us fight like soldiers."
"Even her falcon rose higher beside him."
"The Chainbreaker walks, and chains fall behind him."
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