The rain slicked his hair to his face, blurring his vision, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t see enemies anymore. He saw her. Mara’s smile, the softness in her voice when she teased him, the determination in her eyes when she’d fought beside him. And then, he saw the moment it had all been ripped away—the blood, the stillness, the cruel finality of her death.

  “Talon, stop!” Aerin’s voice broke through the storm, but it was as distant as a memory.

  A monstrous soldier loomed ahead, twice his height, its jagged sword swinging down toward him. Talon didn’t flinch. Instead, he lunged, a reckless move that sent both of them tumbling into the mud. His blades found flesh, plunging into the creature’s throat with a sickening crunch. He stayed there, his hands shaking as he twisted the swords deeper, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

  “You should have died instead of her,” he hissed through gritted teeth, his voice cracking with grief.

  Behind him, Aerin was fighting to hold the line, her magic burning through the onslaught. She glanced back at him, her chest tightening as she saw the emptiness in his eyes.

  “Talon!” Elden’s shout came from somewhere nearby, but even he hesitated as he approached. He’d seen men like this before—men who fought like they had nothing left to lose. Dangerous. Unstoppable. Already half-dead.

  Talon rose slowly, his bloodied swords hanging at his sides. The rain plastered his hair to his face, but he didn’t bother wiping it away. He didn’t care. All that mattered was finding the next target, the next life to take, the next drop of blood to spill in Mara’s name.

  “They’ll all pay,” he muttered, his voice barely audible over the thunder. “Every last one of them.”

  And then he charged again, disappearing into the chaos.

  Talon fought like a man with nothing left to lose. His steps faltered on the slick mud, but he didn’t care. His blades were extensions of his fury, cutting through enemy after enemy, leaving a trail of shattered bodies in his wake. The rain was unrelenting, the storm a mirror of his own chaos. With every step and force of his sword the darkness within him grew stronger. Everytime he drew a deep breath he saw her before his eyes, Mara stood by her kitchen, mixing herbs and oils together making potions. The scent of her apartment surrounded his every movement. He had loved her for a very long time and never told her, holding his distance as they became friends. When they had won this war he was supposed to tell her, tell her about everything. All of it.

  He stumbled forward, slipping on the churned-up ground, and fell to one knee. He didn’t rise immediately. His hands tightened around the hilts of his swords, his knuckles white, as his breath came in short, ragged bursts. Around him, the battlefield churned on, the cries of the dying mingling with the thunder.

  “Talon!”

  The voice was steady, cutting through the chaos like a beacon. It wasn’t Aerin or Elden—it was him. Serath, the man who had been more a father to Talon than his own blood. His deep voice carried authority, even now, even in the madness.

  Talon didn’t turn. He couldn’t. His body trembled, his grip slackening on the blades. “Go away,” he muttered, his voice hoarse and broken.

  Serath ignored him, moving closer. He dropped to one knee in the mud, placing a hand on Talon’s shoulder. His grip was firm, grounding. “This isn’t the way, boy,” he said, his tone low but unyielding.

  Talon flinched, his jaw tightening. “She’s dead,” he spat, his words venomous. “And I couldn’t stop it.”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “You think this—” Serath gestured to the carnage around them, “—will bring her back? You think this is what Mara would want?”

  Talon’s head snapped up, his eyes blazing. “Don’t. Don’t you dare speak her name.” His voice cracked, and for a moment, the fire in him dimmed, replaced by something raw and fragile.

  Serath didn’t flinch. “I’ll speak her name because she wouldn’t want this for you. You’re better than this, Talon. And she knew it.”

  Something inside Talon shattered at those words. His swords fell from his hands, sinking into the mud, and he pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, as though trying to block out the pain. “I don’t know how to stop,” he whispered. “I don’t know how to be without her.”

  Serath pulled him to his feet, his grip steadying Talon even as the battle raged around them. “You survive. That’s what you do. For her. For yourself. You fight for something that matters—not just to destroy, but to protect what’s left.”

  For a moment, Talon stood there, rain washing the blood and mud from his face. Then he nodded, barely perceptible, and reached down to pick up his swords. His movements were slower now, more deliberate.

  Serath didn’t let go of his shoulder. “One step at a time, Talon. That’s all it takes.”

  And with that, they turned back toward the fray. Talon wasn’t whole—not even close.

  The battlefield stretched out before them like a nightmare that refused to end. Smoke mingled with the rain, curling upward in ghostly tendrils, and the screams of the wounded and dying punctuated the relentless clash of steel. Talon moved forward, his swords gripped tightly, each step heavier than the last.

  Serath stayed close, his presence grounding amidst the chaos. "Talon, focus. This isn't just a fight; it's a stand. If we fall here, there will be no one left to guard the rest of us, guard Yaveria."

  Talon's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. His mind clawed through the fog of grief and rage, finding a single thread of purpose in Serath's words. Protect. That word meant something, even now. He couldn’t protect Mara. He wasn’t there. He was on the other side of the battlefield when she fell. He was the one who was supposed to protect her. And he didn’t.

  A new wave of enemy soldiers surged toward them, their faces obscured by helmets, their swords glinting dully in the dim light. Talon raised his blades, the motion instinctual. When the first strike came, his body reacted before his mind could catch up.

  The clang of metal reverberated through his bones as he parried, spun, and countered. Serath fought beside him, his strikes precise and calculated, a sharp contrast to Talon's raw ferocity. For a moment, they moved as one, carving through the oncoming force like a storm unleashed. Memories of them fighting battles long ago came clear.

  But even storms faltered.

  A sharp pain exploded across Talon's side as an enemy blade found its mark. He stumbled, a cry torn from his lips. Serath was there instantly, cutting down the assailant and dragging Talon behind the remnants of a shattered cart.

  "You're bleeding," Serath muttered, his voice taut with concern.

  Talon gritted his teeth. "Not enough to stop."

  "Stubborn bastard." Serath tore a strip from his cloak, pressing it firmly against the wound. "You're going to get yourself killed."

  Talon's eyes flickered up to meet Serath's, and for the first time, there was something softer there, something fragile. "Maybe that's the point."

  Serath's grip on the makeshift bandage tightened. "No. Not today, Talon. You don’t get to give up. Not after everything. Not while there’s still a chance to save what we’re fighting for."

  Before Talon could respond, a shadow fell over them. The towering figure of an armored enemy raised their axe high, the blade poised to strike.

  In a blur of motion, Talon surged forward, ignoring the sharp protest of his injured side. His sword arced upward, meeting the axe in a shower of sparks. The impact rattled his arm, but he held firm, using the momentum to drive his blade into the gap beneath the enemy's breastplate.

  The soldier collapsed, and Talon stood over the body, his chest heaving. Blood trickled from his side, mingling with the rain, but his grip on his sword never wavered.

  Serath joined him, his gaze unreadable. "You're not done yet."

  Talon gave a sharp nod, his voice hoarse but steady. "One step at a time."

  And together, they plunged back into the storm, the weight of their losses carried with them, but not enough to break them. Not yet.