CHAPTER VI: LEGION

  Trapped in a kingdom on the verge of war, Eve, Gideon, and Elena must for their freedom to return home.

  Gideon slumps in the corner of the dark cell. Blood drips from a cut above his eyebrow, staining the cracked stone floor. A guard swings a baton into his ribs, and he gasps, curling in on himself. Another kick hits his face, making him cough up blood. They grab him by his arms and drag him out. His boots scrape the floor as they haul him down a long hallway lit by torches that flicker against damp stone walls.

  The Throne Room looms ahead. Massive iron doors creak open, revealing a grand space filled with shadow and light. Marble pillars rise to a vaulted ceiling. Black banners hang above, each marked with the Legion’s red sigil. At the center of it all sits the King. His throne is carved from black stone and draped with crimson fabric. He leans forward slightly, his body wrapped in a dark cloak. His face is hidden behind an iron mask with no expression, only cold, hollow eyes that seem to pierce straight through anyone who looks his way.

  Gideon is shoved to his knees. Chains rattle as they lock him in place. His white dress shirt is torn and smeared with dirt and blood. His hair is a tangled mess, falling over his bruised face. His beard is wild like he hasn’t had a chance to shave in weeks. Without his trench coat, he looks smaller and weaker, like the fight has already been drained from him.

  Lynx stands in front of him, tall and composed. His long black hair is smooth and tied back into a neat ponytail. His clothes are immaculate, a sharp black coat with gold trim that gleams in the firelight. His polished boots shine against the marble floor. He carries himself with an air of superiority, every movement deliberate and controlled. His sharp features give him a regal look, but his eyes are cold, filled with disdain.

  “The traitor,” Lynx says, his voice smooth and commanding.

  He holds a scroll and unrolls it. The courtroom falls silent as his words echo off the walls.

  “Gideon. Former commander of the Shadow Legion. You stand accused of high treason. You conspired with the Dynasty. You attempted to assassinate the King of the Legion by poison.”

  Gideon clenches his fists. His chains clink as he looks up, his voice hoarse but steady. “I did no such thing. June and I wanted out. We wanted to leave this pointless war. That’s all.”

  Lynx steps closer, his boots clicking on the floor. “Out? You abandoned your people. You betrayed your king. You betrayed me.”

  Gideon’s jaw tightens. He stares at Lynx, fire in his eyes. “I didn’t betray anyone. I was tired of this endless fight. You don’t even see it, Lynx. We’re pawns in this war, nothing more.”

  Lynx shakes his head slowly. “You’re my brother, Gideon. You should have stood by me, by the Legion. Instead, you turned your back on everything.”

  Gideon stays silent, his head bowing slightly. The guards behind him tighten their grip, waiting for the King’s command. The iron mask tilts ever so slightly, watching, judging.

  The room grows deathly quiet. The King leans forward on his black throne, the iron mask catching the torchlight, turning it into an unfeeling glare. The hollow eyes of the mask fix on Gideon. The King raises a gloved hand, silencing any murmurs in the court.

  “Gideon,” his voice is low, calm, and chilling. It feels like the air itself recoils at his words. “Your crimes are undeniable. Your betrayal is unforgivable. The punishment is death.”

  Gideon stares at the marble floor beneath him, his hands balling into fists. His body tenses, but he says nothing.

  “You may start your prayers,” the King says, his tone void of pity.

  Lynx steps back, his lips pressed into a thin line. Gideon lifts his head slightly, his wild hair falling over his face. His jaw tightens, his teeth grinding, but he doesn’t give the King the satisfaction of a plea.

  The King turns to the guards, his iron mask unmoving. “Take him to the dungeon. Ensure he is ready for the execution at dawn.”

  The guards haul Gideon to his feet. He stumbles but refuses to let them drag him. His legs move on their own, though his steps are heavy. As he’s pulled toward the exit, he looks over his shoulder, his eyes locking with Lynx’s. For a brief moment, neither brother speaks. Then Gideon spits blood onto the floor and glares at Lynx.

  “Hope it’s worth it,” Gideon mutters, his voice a low snarl.

  Lynx doesn’t respond. His face remains cold, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. The King says nothing more as Gideon is dragged out of the Throne Room, leaving behind the heavy silence of judgment.

  The dungeon stinks like wet dirt and something rotten. The smell sticks in the throat and makes it hard to breathe. The air feels heavy and cold. It presses on the skin like a wet blanket. Water drips down the cracked stone walls. Thin lines shine as they run down the rough surface.

  A weak orange light shines through a rusted grate high above. It flickers and makes shadows crawl across the ground. The floor is rough and slimy. Stones stick up in uneven patches. Dark puddles fill the holes between them.

  Rusted iron bars divide the tiny cells. The bars are pitted and crumbly. Rust flakes fall off when touched. The doors creak and groan when they move. The sound is sharp and loud, echoing in the still air.

  Chains hang from the walls of some cells. Their ends are rusty and stained dark with old blood. Crude marks and drawings cover the walls. Some are deep scratches. Others look like angry swirls or desperate words. The ceiling hangs low. Bits of mortar litter the corners where chunks have fallen.

  Water drips somewhere far away. The sound bounces around like a tiny hammer. Rats skitter in the shadows. Their little claws scratch against the stones.

  Eve slams his shoulder against the bars again. The metal groans but doesn’t budge. His breath is ragged. Sweat drips down his face. He braces himself and charges again. Dust falls from the ceiling this time, drifting down like ash.

  Elena sits on the floor, watching him. She hugs her knees close and shakes her head.

  “You’re wasting your energy,” she says. Her voice is flat.

  Eve leans against the bars, panting hard. “We have to get out. We can’t just sit here.”

  “You can’t get us out,” Elena says. She picks at the edge of her cloak. “You’re not strong enough.”

  Eve slumps to the ground. His hands grip his hair.

  “I know,” he mutters. His voice cracks. “I know I’m not strong enough. But what else can I do?”

  Elena tilts her head.

  “Wait,” she says. “That’s what I always do.”

  “Wait for what? For them to kill us?” Eve’s voice rises.

  He looks at her, his eyes wide and desperate.

  “I don’t know,” Elena says softly. “For something. For someone.”

  Eve stares at her for a long moment. He drops his head and sighs.

  “I don’t want to die here,” he says. His voice is barely a whisper.

  Elena moves closer to him.

  “I don’t either,” she says. “But I’ve been alone before. I know how to wait.”

  Eve glances at her. “What if no one comes?”

  Elena shrugs.

  “Then we make it through somehow,” she says. Her tone is steady. “It’s what we do.”

  Before Eve can respond, the sound of heavy footsteps echoes down the hall. The faint clinking of chains follows. Eve and Elena watch as guards drag Gideon toward the opposite cell. His head hangs low, his unkempt hair hiding his face. His white shirt is torn and streaked with blood and dirt.

  The guards toss him into the cell. Gideon lands on the ground with a grunt. He doesn’t move for a moment. Then he slowly sits up, leaning against the wall. His breathing is heavy. His eyes are dark and unreadable.

  “Gideon,” Eve calls out. His voice is filled with concern.

  Gideon doesn’t answer. He just stares at the floor, his shoulders rising and falling with each breath.

  Gideon sits on the cold stone floor of his cell, staring at the ground, the dim light catching the faint sheen of sweat on his battered face. His mind drifts, pulled backward through time to a day when he was a different man.

  The clouds were dark that afternoon, shading a barren stretch of dirt road as the Shadow Legionnaires crouched in the underbrush. Gideon, younger and clean-shaven, motioned with two fingers, signaling his men to strike. They moved as one, emerging from the shadows and descending on the convoy with the precision of trained hunters.

  Arrows hiss through the air, slamming into shields and armor with dull thuds. One strikes a soldier’s neck, and he crumples to the dirt with a strangled cry. Dynasty soldiers stumble, their once-solid lines crumbling under the onslaught.

  A blade whistles through the air, slamming into another with a sharp jolt. Sparks fly as steel grinds against steel, the force reverberating down the fighters' arms. One soldier grits his teeth, pushing hard, but his opponent twists the hilt, sending the blades scraping apart with a shrill screech. The heavier man lunges again, his sword slashing in a wide arc. The other ducks low, the blade slicing just above his head, and counters with a quick thrust aimed at the ribs.

  Gideon surges forward, his blade flashing in the dim light. He sidesteps a spear thrust and drives his sword into the attacker’s gut. Blood sprays as the man drops to his knees. Another soldier charges, shouting, but Gideon meets him with a brutal slash across the chest. The man gurgles and falls.

  The defenders shout orders, their voices panicked. Their formation falters, gaps widening as men scramble to regroup. One drops his weapon and flees, spurring others to follow.

  Gideon’s men roar as they surge ahead. A soldier yanks open the canvas cover of a wagon, finding barrels of grain and crates of weapons. He hollers, and others rush to secure the spoils.

  The Dynasty forces scatter, boots pounding on the dirt as they retreat into the trees. A few hold their ground, swinging wildly, but they are quickly overwhelmed. One soldier tries to climb onto a wagon for safety, only for a blade to cut him down mid-climb.

  But then Gideon saw it—a royal carriage, ornate and gold-trimmed, its wheels kicking up dust as it tried to retreat. He signaled his men to halt and approached, sword in hand. The door of the carriage creaked open, and a woman stepped out.

  She was young, poised, and strikingly calm. Her silk robes, emerald, and crimson, shimmered even in the blood-streaked chaos. Her hair, tied in a tight bun, revealed a face etched with resolve. In her hand, she held a knife attached to a slender chain, its polished blade glinting in the sunlight.

  The chained knife snapped outward, spinning through the air like a deadly serpent. It struck one of Gideon’s men, slicing his arm before returning to her grasp. She moved like water, each motion flowing into the next. The chain coiled around her arm as she spun, then lashed out again, tangling a soldier’s legs and sending him crashing to the ground.

  Gideon stepped forward.

  "Stand down, Princess. There’s no need to die here," commands Gideon.

  Her dark eyes met his, fierce and unwavering. Instead of answering, she lunged at him, her movements swift and precise. The knife darted toward him, but Gideon dodged, sidestepping her strike. She followed with a spinning kick, her foot connecting with his chest and forcing him back a step.

  The two circled each other. Their gazes locked. The woman whipped the chain again. Gideon caught it, yanking it hard. She stumbled slightly, but only for a moment, closing the gap with a flurry of strikes.

  The knife swings for his throat. Gideon pulls back fast. The blade slices the air so close he feels it. A fist flies at his face next. He shifts his shoulder just in time. The punch barely clips him. An elbow comes down hard. He ducks low and feels the rush of air above his head. His body moves on instinct. His heart pounds as every attack comes faster than the last. His legs ache. His breath is short. He pushes himself to keep going.

  Finally, he saw his opening. He deflected her blade with the flat of his sword, stepping in close and locking her arms. He grappled her, pinning her wrists and forcing her to drop the knife. They stood frozen, breaths heavy, faces inches apart.

  For a moment, the noise around them dropped away. Her eyes locked onto his, burning with challenge. But just for a heartbeat, something in them softened. His chest tightened. He almost stepped back. The grip he had on his emotions slipped. He could feel it, like the crack of ice underfoot.

  "Go," he said, his voice low and hoarse. He released her and stepped back. "Run."

  The Princess hesitated but then turned, disappearing into the woods.

  The memory shatters like glass, and Gideon finds himself back in the cell. He leans back against the cold stone wall, his chains rattling softly. His fingers dig into his palms as despair settles over him.

  "I should have let her kill me," he mutters to no one.

  He tilts his head back and closes his eyes, the weight of regret crushing him.

  More memories plague Gideon’s mind like a film he can’t stop watching.

  He remembers the day they captured her like it happened yesterday.

  The moon shines cold and bright above the fort.

  The stone walls are rough and worn but still tough. Tall turrets sit at each corner like sharp teeth. The wood gates are heavy and reinforced with thick metal bands.

  Guards walk along the walls. They keep an eye out for anything strange. Above, narrow windows let soldiers peek outside but don't help those on the other side.

  Inside the fort is like a maze of halls and courtyards. Soldiers march in line. Their footsteps bounce off the stone floors. Sturdy wooden beams hold up the high ceiling. The air smells like damp stone and sweat. The courtyard is full of tents, weapon racks, and carts. Everywhere is busy but everyone stays sharp.

  Boots scrape against dirt. She’s dragged in. Her royal robes are torn. Her wrists are tied tight. She doesn’t fight. She just stares ahead with fire in her eyes. They shove her into the cell.

  Gideon watches from the shadows. His hand grips his sword. His stomach twists. He hasn’t felt this in a long time. He watches her move. She’s sharp. She’s controlled. Even locked up she moves like she’s still in charge.

  Later that night, Gideon goes to see her.

  He opens the door. It creaks loud in the quiet. She stands by the window. Her back to him. She doesn’t turn when he enters.

  "You’re here to gloat," she says, her voice cold.

  Gideon takes a step closer. His boots click on the stone floor. "No. I’m here to talk."

  She turns, her eyes narrow. "Talk? After everything you’ve done to me? To my people?"

  "I didn’t ask for this," he says. "None of us did."

  Her eyes flicker like she’s trying to figure him out. "So what do you want? An apology? You want to make up for starting the war?"

  Gideon sighs. He takes another step forward. "I want out. I want it all to stop."

  She raises an eyebrow. "You think you can just walk away from this? After everything?"

  "It’s been going on too long," he says. "I’ve lost too much. This war... it’s a trap. We can’t escape it."

  She watches him. Her face softens a little. "And you think I haven’t noticed? You think I want this?"

  "I know you don’t," he says. "I can see it in your eyes. You didn’t ask for this either."

  She takes a step closer. Her voice drops to a whisper. "Then why fight? Why follow orders when we both know this is pointless?"

  Gideon locks eyes with her. For a moment, it’s like time stops. There’s no past. No future. Just them. In this space. Caught between mistakes and hope.

  "Because sometimes," he says quietly, "we don’t know how to stop. But I want to now."

  Her breath catches. She steps closer. The space between them shrinks. "You don’t know what you’re asking."

  "Yes, I do," he says. His voice is calm. "You want out. I want out. We both do."

  She looks away for a second. Shakes her head. "It’s not that simple."

  "It is," he says. He steps forward. "We can make it simple."

  Her heart pounds. The heat between them pulls her in. She looks back at him. Her eyes search his.

  "And what do you want me to do?" she asks.

  "Come with me," he says quietly. "Run. Escape."

  She stares at him. Her mind races. She’s always been a princess. Always had a duty to follow. But the way he speaks... it makes her wonder if maybe, just maybe, they can escape all this.

  "I’ll help you," he says. His voice is firm but soft in his eyes. "I’ll make sure you’re safe."

  She bites her lip. She feels the weight of her decision. "You know they’ll come after me. They won’t stop."

  "I know," he says. His hand rests on the door. "But you’ll be free."

  There’s a long pause. It feels like the world is holding its breath. Finally, she nods.

  "Alright," she says. "But you have to help me disappear. For good."

  "I will," he says. "I swear it."

  He turns and walks to the door. Pauses.

  "I’ll give you a head start," he says. "Go. I’ll cover your tracks."

  She nods and slips past him and into the night. Gideon watches her disappear into the dark. His heart feels heavy but determined.

  June runs north.

  Gideon steps out of the room. He motions to his men.

  "Start searching South," he says. "Find our escaped prisoner."

  The Castle of the Legion. Far from the frontlines.

  Gideon’s room is grand but austere, a mix of royalty and solitude.

  The walls are made of stone and covered with dark tapestries with gold and red patterns showing old battles. The ceiling is high with dark wooden beams crossing each other like old bones.

  In the middle of the room is a huge four-poster bed. The thick velvet curtains are pulled back to show a mattress covered in heavy blankets. The blankets are soft but worn out. The bedframe is made of dark wood with sharp edges like it was meant for a king but has been ignored for too long. On the floor is a fancy rug with gold thread but it only covers part of the stone floor.

  A big window lets in some light but the glass is all dirty from years of dust. The room feels more like a prison than a home. On one wall is a heavy wooden desk full of papers, old weapons, and cups with something stale in them. Next to the desk is a chair with a fancy backrest.

  The walls have bookshelves filled with dusty books and war guides. Some maps, scrolls, and strange objects are scattered around, gathering dust like things no one cares about. On the other side of the room is a fireplace.

  There are a few personal things like an old sword leaning against the wall, a pair of leather gloves thrown over a chair, and a half-empty bottle of wine on the nightstand.

  The sound of the rain pounds against the windows, mixing with the occasional crash of thunder. Gideon sits at a wooden table cleaning his guns. The sound of metal clicking fills the room. His mind is far away from the task.

  A flash of lightning lights up the dark room. Gideon spots a figure outside in the rain. It’s June. Her shape is clear for a second before the storm hides her again. His heart skips a beat. He knows it’s her.

  He stands up quickly and walks to the window. There’s no sign of her now. Just the heavy rain. He feels a tightness in his chest.

  Gideon turns away. His eyes catch something small on the windowsill. A letter. He picks it up carefully. The paper feels soft. The edges are a little torn like it was rushed.

  "Thank you, Gideon. I never expected someone like you to help me, but you did. I will never forget it. This is goodbye, for now."

  He reads the letter but can’t finish it. The words blur in front of him. He hides the letter inside his jacket and heads for the door. His boots echo in the quiet hall as he walks out.

  The rain is thick outside. Gideon doesn’t stop to talk to the guards. They don’t look at him. The castle walls fade behind him as he walks toward the forest.

  The rain slows when he reaches an orchard in the border. Tall trees stretch their branches up. A large wooden mansion sits in the middle. June is packing a bag inside. She looks up when she hears him.

  “You made it,” she says softly. “I didn’t think you would come.”

  Gideon grins. “A mansion in the woods won’t hide you, Princess June.”

  She laughs. Her eyes have a little mischief. But there’s something heavier there too. “I’m not hiding, Gideon. Not in here.”

  She stops for a second, staring at the ground. The last light catches in her hair. It looks like fire.

  “I’m running from everything,” she says. “The war. The bloodshed. I never wanted any of this. I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t ask to be part of something that kills so many.”

  Gideon watches her, feeling the weight of her words. “You don’t have to fight anymore.”

  She looks at him, her face full of pain. “I never wanted to fight. But it’s my destiny. I’m supposed to wear the crown. The crown passed down through blood. I didn’t ask for it. I don’t want it.”

  Gideon sits on a nearby chair, watching her. “You think your family will let you walk away?”

  Her hands stop moving. She looks at him, her eyes hard. “No. But I have to try. I can’t keep being part of this war. Not anymore.”

  Gideon sees the truth in her eyes. “I get it. I never wanted this either. The Legion. The killing. It’s all part of a game. But once you’re in it for so long, you don’t know how to stop. I didn’t know how.”

  June meets his eyes. “You don’t seem like the kind of guy who just blindly follows orders.”

  “I never have,” he says. “That’s why they hate me.”

  She nods slowly. “They expect so much from me. They want me to carry the Dynasty’s crown. But I can’t do it. Not anymore.”

  Gideon leans back, crossing his arms. “You don’t have to be anyone but yourself. You can be free. We can be free. Together.”

  She looks at him for a long time. Her eyes are full of fear and hope.

  “You really mean that?” she asks softly.

  “Yeah I do,” he says. “I’ve seen enough bloodshed. I want out. I think you do too.”

  She steps closer. Her gaze softens. “I never thought anyone else felt the same. I thought I was alone.”

  “Me too,” he says with a small smile. “But you’re not alone anymore.”

  She reaches out. Her hand brushes his. At first, it’s quick. Then it stays. They stand there, the rain quieting around them.

  “I won’t let you go alone,” Gideon says.

  June looks up at him. “What now?”

  “We run,” he says. “We escape. Together.”

  Gideon crouches by an old car. He fills the tank with gasoline. The sound of the fuel sloshing is the only noise in the quiet morning. His movements are steady and quick. Then he moves to the driver’s side. He pops open the wires under the dashboard. His fingers work fast. He’s done this before. The car’s engine coughs and then sputters before roaring to life.

  Gideon smiles for a second. It feels good but there’s no time to waste. June watches him from the passenger seat. Her eyes are tired but there’s a spark in them. Her hand grips the door handle tight. She’s holding onto something that feels fragile like she doesn’t know if she should trust it.

  Gideon slams the trunk shut and jumps into the driver’s seat. He grabs the maps, food, spare clothes, weapons, and compasses. He packs everything away quickly making sure it’s all ready.

  “Ready?” Gideon asks.

  His voice is low but strong.

  June doesn’t say anything. She just clicks her seatbelt into place.

  “Where are we going?” she asks.

  Her voice is soft but he hears it.

  Gideon keeps his eyes on the road. He doesn’t look at her. “We’ll be far from both Legion and Dynasty territories in ten days. We head east to a village called Naraka.”

  “Naraka?” June tilts her head. “Why are we trusting a legend?”

  He shifts the car into gear. The wheels slide on the dirt road before they grab hold. The tires dig into the ground as they start driving away. His grip tightens on the wheel.

  His voice stays calm.

  “Because legends might be the only thing left that’s real. If there’s a chance it’s true, it’s worth trying. We take every chance we get.”

  The car speeds up. The engine roars as they drive into the sunrise. The sky is dark with the storm coming. The clouds swirl. Gideon doesn’t look back. There’s no turning back now.

  The wind picks up. It rustles the trees as they drive toward the unknown. June’s hand moves. She rests it on the armrest like she’s still not sure about this journey.

  “Do you think it’s real?” she asks.

  Her voice almost gets drowned out by the engine.

  Gideon glances at her and gives a small smirk.

  “I don’t know. But we’ll find out.”

  And with that, they drive into the unknown leaving everything behind.

  Gideon remembers what happens a month into their journey.

  The night air is cool, the sky above dark but speckled with stars. The city around them is a ruin, a once-thriving place now long abandoned. The buildings loom like faded ghosts, their crumbling facades a reminder of the world that used to be. Weeds and vines have crawled up through the cracks in the pavement, reclaiming what was once human-made. The quiet hum of the world feels distant here, replaced by the sound of crickets and the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind.

  Gideon and June sit around a small fire, the crackling flames throwing flickering shadows on their faces. The warmth of the fire cuts through the chill of the night, but it’s not enough to erase the tension that still hangs between them. They’ve been traveling for a month now, constantly on the move, always keeping their distance from both the Legion and the Dynasty. But something has changed. The world outside is as cold as the stone ruins around them, but here, in this forgotten city, there’s a strange sense of peace.

  June watches the flames dance, her fingers absentmindedly toying with the edge of her sleeve. She can feel the weight of the last month settling on her, the exhaustion from days spent on the road, from running, hiding, and surviving. But there’s something else too. Something she hasn’t quite figured out.

  “I never thought I’d end up here,” June says, her voice soft.

  She glances at Gideon, who’s cleaning his weapons by the firelight, his eyes sharp but his movements slow and deliberate.

  “In the middle of nowhere with you.” June continues.

  Gideon looks up briefly, a wisp of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Not what you expected from the enemy, huh?”

  June chuckles lightly, shaking her head.

  “No. Not at all. I expected... I don’t know. Someone cold. Someone ruthless.” She pauses. “But you’re nothing like I imagined.”

  Gideon doesn’t say anything at first. His hands work efficiently as he reassembles his gun, but there’s a shift in his posture, a subtle change in the way he’s holding himself. He looks at her for a long moment before he answers, his voice low, almost reflective.

  “I don’t blame you for thinking that. I’ve done things... I’ve seen things that would make anyone think I’m nothing but a monster,” says Gideon.

  June hesitates, unsure of what to say. She’s not used to this side of him———the vulnerability that occasionally slips through the cracks of his stoic exterior.

  “I didn’t expect to trust you,” she says after a long silence. “I thought it would be harder. But somehow... I did. And I don’t know why.”

  Gideon’s gaze lingers on her, his eyes studying her face for a moment. He’s been through enough battles to know when someone’s being honest. He sees the wariness in her eyes, but there’s also something else. Something deeper. He thinks back to the first time they met—when he spared her when she’d fought with him. When she had trusted him even when they were enemies. It hadn’t been easy, but it was something about her... something in the way she held herself.

  “It’s not easy, is it?” Gideon says finally. “To trust someone after everything that’s happened. But sometimes... trust is all we have left.”

  June nods slowly, letting his words settle in. It’s true. In this world, with everything they’ve been through, there’s not much left but the fragile thread of trust that’s been woven between them. It feels strange———unnatural even———but it’s there. And it’s enough to keep them moving forward.

  For a while, neither of them speaks. The fire crackles between them, the only sound in the quiet night. June looks around at the ruins again, her thoughts drifting to the Dynasty, to the life she left behind. She should feel guilty—she should feel like she’s betraying her people, her family. But instead, there’s only emptiness.

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  “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” June admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “I was supposed to fight for my people, to lead them. But now... I don’t even know what that means.”

  “You don’t have to know right now. No one has it all figured out. We’re just trying to survive, to get away from this war that’s been going on for centuries. If that means finding a new path, then so be it,” Gideon sets his weapon down and looks at her.

  June glances at him, her eyes searching his face for any hint of doubt. There’s none. Just a quiet determination. She can see it now, the way he carries himself, the way he fights———not just with his weapons, but with the choices he makes, with the people he chooses to trust.

  “You’re right,” she says softly, finally meeting his gaze. “I don’t know what I’m doing. But... I know I don’t want this war anymore. I don’t want to be part of it.”

  There’s a long silence before Gideon nods, his face softening slightly. “Then we’ll find a place where you can leave it behind. Together.”

  For a moment, June allows herself to believe him, to believe that there might be a place where they could start over. The thought is both comforting and terrifying. But for the first time in a long while, she feels like maybe, just maybe, it’s possible.

  The wind picks up, the distant sound of a storm rolling in. But the fire flickers on, casting a warm glow over them both. And for a moment, the world feels a little less broken.

  “Tomorrow,” Gideon says, breaking the silence, “we’ll move on. We’ll get closer to that place. One step at a time.”

  June nods, a small but genuine smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “One step at a time.”

  And as the night deepens, they sit in the ruins of an abandoned city, two fugitives from a world that’s tried to break them. But tonight, for just a little while, they’re more than that. Tonight, they’re two people who have found something worth fighting for.

  The night is still but something feels off. Gideon and June sit in the car looking out at the horizon. The engine hums softly. Then they see something up ahead. Shadows, tall and dark against the sky. Castles from the Legion and the Dynasty.

  "Impossible," June says quietly. She squints at the shapes. "How...?"

  Gideon narrows his eyes. The fortresses are far off. They look like mirages. But now in the dead of night, the shapes are clear. The Legion and the Dynasty have spread farther than he ever imagined.

  "They shouldn’t be here," Gideon says.

  He grips the wheel tighter. His mind races. What does this mean for their escape?

  June glances at him. Her eyes are wide but her voice is calm. "Gideon, we’ve been spotted."

  He knows she’s right. Her instincts are always spot on. Before he can say anything, they hear hooves pounding. The sound gets louder. And vehicles. Something fast is coming for them.

  "We have to move," Gideon says.

  He slams his foot on the gas. The car roars to life, kicking up dirt as they speed away. The fire they left behind flickers in the rearview mirror, but there’s no time to look back.

  The sound of hooves and engines is deafening now. June looks over her shoulder.

  "They’re getting closer," she says. Her hand grips the door handle.

  Gideon grits his teeth. He’s driven fast before but this is different. They have no choice but to outrun them. He slams the car into overdrive. The world outside becomes a blur.

  Then out of nowhere, a flash of movement. A rider on horseback. His face is hidden in the shadows. He pulls something from his saddle. A rocket launcher. He aims at them and fires.

  BOOM.

  The car jerks violently. The explosion rips through the side. The sound of metal screeching fills the air as the car flips. The world spins in a cloud of dust, debris, and shattered glass.

  The car lands on its side, and the engine sputters and dies. Gideon is thrown from his seat. He’s dazed but alive. He gasps for breath. He looks around, searching for June.

  "June!" His voice cracks as panic rises.

  He sees her. She’s barely conscious, trapped by the wreckage. His heart drops. He crawls toward her, ignoring the pain in his body. He grabs her hand, pulling her from the twisted metal.

  She groans, wincing. Blood stains her clothes, but she forces herself to speak. "Gideon... you have to go..."

  "Not without you," he growls.

  His hands are shaking as he presses against her side, trying to stop the bleeding. Before he can get her up, he hears a whistling sound.

  An arrow flies through the air. It strikes June in the back.

  She gasps. Her eyes widen. Then her body slumps into his arms.

  "June!" Gideon cries out, holding her close.

  Her hand, cold and limp in Gideon's, trembles faintly. The weight of the moment presses heavily on her, and as she slips away, it’s as if she’s still holding onto some part of him, her gaze locking with his one final time before it fades.

  “Why did it have to be like this?” Gideon whispers, his voice cracking as June’s eyes flutter, weak and dimming.

  She coughs, her breath shallow, barely a whisper. “We can’t change it… Gideon... leave me... run.”

  The memories slip away like smoke. Gideon sits in the dark, his back against the cold damp wall of his cell. The pain in his chest is sharp now. It feels real. It’s like the weight of everything he’s lost is pressing on him all at once. The silence of the dungeon wraps around him like a heavy blanket. It reminds him of everything he can’t change.

  His hand rests on the cold floor. His fingers scrape against the rough stone. He feels the chain on his wrists. Each link digs into his skin but he doesn’t care. His mind keeps going back to June. The road. The crash. Her last words. He still can’t believe she’s gone. He doesn’t want to believe it.

  His eyes move toward the faint light of a torch flickering past the bars.

  Naraka, he thinks. What a joke.

  The dungeon is silent, save for the soft shuffle of boots on stone. Eve sits against the cold wall, his hands shackled in front of him. He glances over at Gideon, who’s leaning against the far corner of his cell, staring at nothing. The weight of the room feels heavy on both of them.

  Then, Gideon mutters it, barely loud enough to be heard, but Eve catches it all the same. "Naraka..."

  “Mr. Gideon, you mentioned Naraka,” Eve blinks, not sure if he heard right.

  Gideon’s head snaps up, eyes flashing with a sudden fire, a frustration that seems to surge from deep within him.

  "What about it?" Gideon says, a hint of bitterness in his voice, as though the name itself is a burden he can’t escape.

  "It’s the name of the village I live in," Eve shrugs slightly, still unsure where the conversation is heading.

  Gideon’s eyes narrow, his brow furrowing. He stands up slowly, a weight settling on his shoulders as if the revelation has finally hit him.

  “So... it’s real,” he mutters, more to himself than to Eve.

  The words hang in the air, and Eve watches Gideon’s frustration build. The man had always been a mystery, and now, seeing this side of him, Eve begins to understand just how much pain is buried beneath the surface.

  "It’s real," Gideon repeats under his breath, almost as if the confirmation is too much to handle. "All this time, I thought it was just some... some damn legend. Some false hope. A joke."

  Eve doesn’t know what to say. He’s never seen Gideon like this before. Normally, the man’s eyes are sharp, filled with a hardened determination. But now there’s something lost in them. Something almost... desperate.

  The silence stretches between them, and Eve feels a strange mix of empathy and confusion.

  "What’s going on?" he asks quietly, almost cautiously.

  But Gideon doesn’t respond right away. He just grips the bars of his cell, his knuckles white with tension. His voice is tight when he finally speaks again.

  "Naraka... I thought it was just another place to die in. A story to distract us from the war. But it’s real. I could’ve... I could’ve gone there. I could’ve started over, but now..." He breaks off, running a hand through his unkempt hair, a sharp sigh escaping him.

  Eve doesn’t push any further. He knows better than to ask too many questions right now. But he can see it in Gideon’s eyes———the realization that the hope he’d clung to was never as far out of reach as he thought.

  He wonders if that’s the hardest part of it all.

  The cold stone floor feels hard under Eve as he wakes up. He’s groggy and confused. The dim light of dawn barely makes it through the cracks in the dungeon walls. Shadows stretch across the floor. Then Eve hears it—a loud noise. Yelling. Boots hitting the stone.

  Eve’s eyes snap open. His heart races. He hears Gideon’s voice. Then a horrible slap.

  “You think you’re going to get out of this traitor?” a guard says with a sneer.

  “I’ll die standing not crawling,” Gideon grunts.

  He sounds like he’s in pain.

  “Dying’s what you’re best at,” another guard laughs.

  Then another slaps Gideon’s face.

  Eve’s chest tightens. He jumps up and grabs the bars of his cell. He can’t do anything.

  All he can do is shout. “Stop it! Leave him alone!”

  The guards turn and grin.

  One of them laughs. “You think you can order us around little girl?”

  Eve’s fists clench.

  His voice shakes with anger. “I said stop! You have no right to do this!”

  The guards don’t listen. They drag Gideon toward the door. Elena watches, her eyes wide. Her body trembles. She can’t stop looking.

  “Gideon...” she whispers.

  They drag Gideon out of sight. Then a louder voice calls out———the captain’s voice. “You two are accomplices. You’ll be joining Gideon at the gallows.”

  Elena gasps. “No... no please...”

  A guard walks into their cell with a nasty smirk. He grabs Elena’s arm and pulls her toward the door.

  “Move it freak,” he spits.

  Eve’s heart races.

  “Let her go!” he shouts.

  Panic rises in his chest. He steps forward, rattling the chains. His whole body shakes with anger.

  “You can’t do this!” Eve yells even more.

  The guard laughs. “You’re next. Don’t think you’re getting off easy.”

  He pulls harder on Elena’s arm.

  Eve watches them take her. His fists tighten. He feels something inside him snap. He doesn’t know what it is. His eyes burn. Red light flares from deep within him. Heat rises, fast and powerful.

  The guard holding Elena feels the heat. He turns and looks at Eve. The air around Eve shimmers with fire. The guard’s skin starts to burn. Before he can do anything, flames burst from Eve’s eyes. The fire spreads fast, too fast for anyone to stop.

  The guard screams as fire engulfs him. His clothes catch fire. His skin burns. Elena stumbles back. She shields her face from the flames. She can’t believe what’s happening. Eve’s hands shake. His breath comes fast. His mind is a blur.

  More guards rush to stop the fire. But it’s too late. One by one the fire catches them. They scream and burn. The heat dies down. The air cools. Only smoldering bodies are left. The smell of smoke fills the air.

  Eve blinks. He looks at his hands. “What... what did I just do?”

  Elena stands frozen. Her eyes are wide. Her face is pale.

  “Eve... you... you set them on fire,” Elena stammers.

  Eve doesn’t know what to say. He shakes his head. “I didn’t... I didn’t mean to...”

  Elena looks at him. Her voice is shaky. “But you... you saved us. We’re free.”

  Eve lets out a shaky breath. For the first time in a long while he doesn’t feel free. He feels like something inside him has changed. Something he can’t take back.

  Elena stares at him. She’s still trying to understand what just happened. Slowly her face softens. The fear in her eyes turns into something else. Hope.

  But it’s not the fire that burns inside him. It’s the need to fight. To survive. Whatever it takes.

  The air feels damp and sticks to Eve’s skin like an unwanted blanket. He and Elena move through the dark halls of the dungeon. The stone walls are wet and slimy from mold and age. Every step echoes loudly through the halls. The ceiling feels low and heavy.

  Torches flicker on the walls. Their flames barely light the dark. Shadows dance across the floor. They stretch and change shape but disappear fast. Eve’s breath fogs up the air. He looks ahead. The paths twist and turn. He doesn’t know what’s coming next. All they have are the sounds of their footsteps to keep them grounded.

  “Keep moving,” Eve says quietly.

  His voice feels too loud in the silence. Elena stumbles behind him. She tries to stay calm and follow him but the darkness feels like it’s swallowing everything.

  The dungeon feels like a maze. They pass iron doors, bars, and empty halls. Some hallways are so tight they have to crouch to fit through. The stone scratches their arms. The air smells like rust and sweat. It mixes with a sour smell like the air hasn’t been touched in years. There are no windows. No light except the weak torches. It feels like they’re going deeper into the earth. Each step makes it feel harder to breathe.

  Then they turn a corner and feel a small breeze. It’s weak but it’s enough to make them feel a little better. Eve picks up the pace. Elena follows quickly, though her breath is fast and shallow. It’s close. They can almost taste the freedom waiting for them.

  At the end of the hallway is a big iron door. It’s old and scratched but still stands strong. Eve presses his ear to it. He hears sounds from the other side. Shouts. A crowd. Some clinking chains. People moving. Something’s happening.

  Then they hear it.

  A voice cuts through the noise. “Bring him out! The traitor must face justice!”

  Eve stops. Elena gasps. They both know what it means. The sounds get louder. The crowd is getting louder. The execution is about to start. Gideon.

  Eve’s brain races. “We need to hurry.”

  He tries to open the door. The hinges squeak loudly. It doesn’t open. He tries again, his hand slick with sweat. The door is stuck. Behind him Elena shifts nervously. Her eyes dart down the dark hallway.

  “Is he... is he really going to die?” Her voice is barely a whisper.

  Eve doesn’t know what to say. He slams his shoulder against the door again and again. His chest tightens with fear. The noise of the crowd gets louder. Their shouts are like drums. It reminds him of the chaos they left behind.

  He doesn’t stop. The door has to open.

  Finally the door cracks open. Light spills into the dark dungeon. They end up in a very wide courtyeard. The sounds of the crowd fill the air now. It’s loud and violent. It feels alive.

  “Let’s go,” Eve says urgently.

  He grabs Elena’s arm and pulls her forward. His heart races. They hear a rope snap. Chains clanging. Voices shouting. The crowd is getting crazier.

  The air outside is cold. It stings after the thick air of the dungeon. They hurry through the shadows. The noise of the execution is louder now. The crowd is getting wild. They hear the bloodlust in their voices.

  They find a small gap between two buildings. Eve looks through it. His heart sinks when he sees it. The gallows are there, standing tall. Gideon stands in the middle. Soldiers are around him. A crowd surrounds them, shouting and jeering.

  The sounds of the crowd mix together. Eve can barely hear anything over the thud of his own heart. He doesn’t know how much time they have. He doesn’t know what to do. All he knows is they need to act now or it’ll be too late.

  The gallows rise in the middle of a busy courtyard. The wooden platform looks old and dark. The rope sways gently, waiting like a snake ready to bite. The noose hangs heavy. Shadows dance on the stone floors below.

  Merchants line the edges of the courtyard. They yell to sell their goods. One man waves a flask and brags about the best drink in town. Another piles gunpowder and bullets on a wooden table. Horses stomp and snort as they pull carts filled with vegetables. Some farmers push through the crowd. They shout for people to move as they carry their goods.

  The crowd is a mess of people packed close. Everyone shoves to get a better view. People wear all kinds of clothes. Some have dirty leather or ripped shirts. Others have fancy cloaks that look too clean for this place. Kids dart through the legs of the crowd. They grab stolen bread or coins while no one notices.

  Guards stand at the edges of the chaos. Their armor glints in the daylight. They hold spears up and try to keep the crowd back. Their faces are tight with anger as they yell for people to stop pushing. Sometimes the crowd surges forward. The guards shove them back, gritting their teeth to keep control.

  The gallows stay still above the noise. The wood creaks and groans as if it knows what is coming. More guards stand on the platform with stiff, straight backs. The sun tries to shine through the storm clouds above. Its weak light flickers over the scene like a broken lantern.

  The smell here is awful. It’s a mix of sweat, spilled drinks, horse droppings, and smoky torches. The air is heavy with it. It smells like too many people crammed into one spot. It smells like fear, anger, and something worse.

  The noise grows louder. Soldiers march a person toward the gallows. The crowd roars as they turn to watch. For a second, all the chaos focuses on the platform. The gallows feel huge and important now. The crowd’s fury and hunger have found their purpose.

  The courtyard buzzes with chaos as Gideon is hauled onto the gallows. The noose dangles in front of him like a cruel promise. The executioners grip his arms, forcing him to stand under the swaying rope. The crowd screams louder. Their voices mix into a mess of anger and grim excitement.

  Below, Elena tugs on Eve’s sleeve. She points toward a barrel of gunpowder near a vendor’s cart.

  "Do that thing with your eyes again," she whispers, her voice urgent but mischievous.

  Eve narrows his eyes at the barrel. His jaw tightens as he focuses. His hands clench into fists. His breath quickens. Nothing happens. The barrel sits there, still and silent.

  “I can’t,” he says. His voice is low and tight with frustration. He looks down in shame. "It’s not working."

  Elena grunts, rolling her eyes. "Ugh, fine. Stay here. I got this."

  She slips into the crowd. Her steps are quick and light. People barely notice her moving through them. She spots a guard too busy with the rowdy mob to pay attention. Her hand darts out. She grabs the lighter hanging from his belt and disappears before he can blink.

  Back at the barrel, Elena crouches down. She flicks the lighter. A tiny flame dances to life. She grins and throws it into the barrel.

  Nothing happens for a moment, then— BOOM!

  The barrel erupts, and the courtyard plunges into chaos. Screams rise above the din as people scatter in every direction. Vendors’ carts tip over, spilling vegetables, liquor, and gunpowder everywhere. The panicked crowd jostles against the guards, overwhelming them.

  On the gallows, Gideon feels the rough rope slip over his neck. The executioner starts talking, but the explosion drowns out his words. The crowd shifts. Heads turn toward the blast.

  Another explosion shakes the ground. More smoke fills the air. People shout and run in all directions.

  Gideon’s sharp eyes scan the chaos and catch sight of Elena darting through the crowd. She’s lighting barrels left and right, her laugh wild and infectious.

  “We should have banned these merchants!” a guard yells.

  He clutches his helmet as another blast knocks him off balance.

  Elena darts behind the shouting guard. She jumps and smacks him in the head with a stolen rifle. The guard crumples. His partner spins around, too slow. Elena kicks him hard. He falls with a groan. She yanks grenades from their belts and starts tossing them into the crowd.

  “Man, this is fun!” she shouts, pulling pins and tossing grenades into the fray. "Best day in years! Wait, no———maybe second best!"

  Eve charges toward the gallows. His small frame weaves through the panicked mob. A guard blocks his way. Eve lowers his shoulder and slams into him. The guard stumbles and falls. Another lunges at Eve. Eve grabs the guard’s sword and knocks him back with a clean strike.

  Gideon watches as Eve climbs onto the gallows. The noose hangs above him. Eve swings a stolen sword. The rope snaps. Gideon falls to his knees. His breath comes in sharp gasps. The noose is gone, but his hands are still tied.

  Eve grabs the ropes binding Gideon’s wrists. He slashes through them. Gideon flexes his hands. He looks at Eve and nods. There’s a fire in his eyes now.

  Eve shoves a guard aside. Gideon follows him. Together, they leap from the platform. The chaos swallows them. The explosions and screams fade as they vanish into the crowd.

  The air is cold and heavy. Flames flicker in massive iron braziers at the corners. Shadows jump and twist on the polished floor. Huge dark tapestries hang on the tall walls. Each one bears the Legion’s symbol. They seem to drink up the dim light. At the far end, the King sits on a black iron throne. Spikes stick out from the throne's edges. Carvings of battles cover its surface.

  The King wears a mask made of iron. It hides his face. Only two narrow slits let his dark eyes show. The room is quiet. The fire crackles softly. Everything feels tense like the walls are holding their breath.

  The huge doors slam open. The sound booms across the room. A messenger stumbles inside. His armor rattles as he runs forward. His face is pale. His breathing is loud and uneven.

  “Your Majesty,” he shouts. His voice shakes. “Gideon escaped.”

  The room grows still. The guards standing along the walls shift nervously. Their hands grip their weapons tighter. The King does not move. His mask stays fixed on the messenger.

  Lynx steps forward. His coat gleams in the firelight. Gold trim shines on its edges. His ponytail swings as he moves. His face twists with anger.

  “Escaped?” Lynx’s voice cuts through the stillness. His words are sharp. “How?”

  “There was an explosion. In the courtyard. The crowd panicked. He was gone before we could stop him,” the messenger stammers.

  Lynx’s hands ball into fists. He spins to face the guards near the door.

  “Search everywhere,” he shouts. “Block the city gates. Look in every house. Every alley. Every building. Leave no stone unturned.”

  The guards salute. They hurry out. Their boots echo loudly in the hall.

  As the commotion swells, the King remains motionless on his throne. His iron mask turns slowly toward Lynx, the weight of his unseen gaze pressing on him. Though the mask betrays no emotion, the silence speaks volumes———a cold judgment, a reminder of the King’s expectations.

  Lynx stiffens under the gaze, then bows his head slightly.

  “I’ll see to it personally, Father,” he says, his voice quieter but laced with resolve.

  He turns and strides out of the room. His coat flares behind him as he moves. His voice carries into the halls as he barks orders to the soldiers waiting outside.

  The King watches him leave, unmoving. The flickering light of the braziers reflects off his mask, giving him the appearance of a statue. Only the faintest tilt of his head suggests thought———a slow, deliberate calculation as the throne room falls silent once more.

  The King sits on his iron throne, motionless and brooding. The mask on his face gleams faintly in the dim torchlight, its cold surface a mirror to his silent thoughts. The throne room is quiet, save for the distant howl of wind through the castle’s high towers. His fingers rest on the armrests, their grip light but deliberate, like a predator waiting to strike.

  His mind drifts to a night not long ago———a night of suspicion and blood.

  The grand dining hall had been alive with light and chatter. Golden chandeliers cast a warm glow over the long table, where polished silverware and rich goblets reflected the flickering flames. Servants moved silently, filling glasses with wine the color of rubies. At the head of the table, the King sat with Lynx at his side.

  Lynx had been speaking, his words calculated and smooth, as he often was. "The Legion thrives under your reign, Father. The Dynasty trembles at our name."

  The King barely nodded, his visage unreadable. His eyes, however, were sharp as they swept across the room. He noticed movement in the shadows beyond the great hall’s windows———a figure slipping away from the castle grounds.

  It was Gideon.

  The King’s grip tightened around his goblet, though he made no move to alert the guards. Lynx followed his gaze, his smooth voice breaking.

  "Gideon," he said, his tone laced with disdain. "Always skulking. Always defying his place."

  The King said nothing, but the seeds of distrust took root in his mind.

  Later that night, he sat in his private chambers, nursing a goblet of wine. The deep red liquid swirled as he brought it to his lips. Suddenly, a sharp sting pierced his throat. He froze, the goblet slipping from his hand and crashing onto the stone floor.

  His breath caught, the sting turning into fire. He clutched at his neck, choking as blood flecked his lips. He tried to call out, but his voice failed him.

  “Father!” Lynx’s voice rang out, panic in his tone. He stood in the doorway, his face a mask of alarm. “Guards! Guards!”

  No one came.

  Lynx hesitated for a moment, then bolted from the room, leaving the King on the floor, coughing and convulsing. The world around him blurred, the flickering flames on the walls smearing into shapeless streaks of light.

  Somehow, he forced himself to his knees. The fire in his veins was a war he would not lose. He stumbled through the corridors, his vision narrowing to a tunnel. In the distance, he heard Lynx’s voice again, shouting for help.

  The King rounded a corner, his iron boots scraping against the floor. He saw Lynx standing with a cluster of doctors. Their white coats were stained with hurried splashes of red, their hands trembling with vials and tools.

  "Save him!" Lynx barked, his tone commanding.

  The King reached out, but his legs gave way. He crumpled to the ground, darkness closing in as the last sound he heard was the clatter of the doctors’ tools.

  When he awoke, it was to the sterile smell of tinctures and the faint murmur of voices. A doctor leaned over him, her voice steady but urgent. “We pumped the poison from your stomach. You are fortunate, Your Majesty. A lesser man would not have survived.”

  Lynx stood at the foot of the bed, a letter in his hand. His face was a mask of controlled anger.

  "This was found in Gideon’s room," he said, handing it to the King.

  The King’s gloved hands unfolded the parchment. It was addressed to Gideon, the words graceful and personal. June’s gratitude bled from the ink, but there was no mention of a plot or treachery.

  The King’s dark eyes lingered on the letter. Something felt wrong. “It proves nothing,” he rasped, his voice gravelly from the ordeal. “Still... Gideon must be found.”

  Lynx bowed deeply, his long coat brushing the floor. “I’ll see it done, Father.”

  He turned sharply, his boots echoing as he strode to the armory.

  The King’s gaze followed him, his mind a storm of questions.

  Now, back on his throne, he stares into the shadows of the present. The faintest movement of his head signals the end of his thoughts, his focus returning to the here and now. His iron mask betrays no emotion, but his clenched hand rests heavier on the armrest.

  The armory shines under bright artificial lights. Polished steel walls and weapon racks gleam everywhere. Lynx stands in the middle of it all. His eyes move slowly, taking in every detail. He looks calm and in control like nothing can surprise him.

  The Heralds gather around him in silence, their presence imposing. They wear armor unlike anything seen in the wasteland———a sleek blend of matte-black Kevlar reinforced with titanium plates. The suits contour to their forms, every line of the design engineered for both mobility and protection. Their helmets obscure their faces, glowing visors slashing through the dim light with a faint blue hue. On their backs are advanced shotguns and assault rifles, weapons gleaming with a menacing efficiency that feels alien in the apocalyptic decay of the world.

  Lynx steps toward a mannequin displaying his personal tactical gear. He starts by slipping on a black, skin-tight underlayer woven with nanofibers, designed to regulate temperature and protect against shrapnel. Over it, he dons a chest plate, its surface etched with runes of authority and fear, more ceremonial than practical but still capable of withstanding a barrage of gunfire.

  Straps click into place as he secures his gear, each movement fluid. His arms slide into armored sleeves reinforced with segmented plating. Gloves snap over his hands, their fingertips equipped with sensors for precise control of his weapons. Lynx’s fingers linger for a moment on a small insignia engraved on the back of one glove———the emblem of the Shadow Legion.

  He reaches for his weapons. First, a sleek assault rifle bristling with attachments———a scope for pinpoint accuracy, a suppressor for stealth, and an under-barrel grenade launcher for devastation. He inspects it with the precision of a craftsman, every click and adjustment purposeful. Next, he holsters a sidearm, its design compact yet deadly, followed by a serrated combat knife sheathed at his hip.

  For his final piece, he picks up a helmet unlike those of his Heralds. Its visor is jet black, glowing red at the edges like a predator’s eyes in the dark. Lynx slides it over his head, the seal hissing as it locks into place. He activates the HUD inside, the display lighting up with maps, enemy tracking systems, and communication channels. The helmet’s voice modulator hums to life, giving his words a distorted, mechanical edge.

  The Heralds stand at attention as Lynx turns to face them, his armor reflecting their own but exuding a gravitas none dare to match. He strides past them, the heavy boots of his tactical gear thudding against the floor.

  “Today,” his voice echoes, cold and sharp. “This ends. Gideon will not escape. Move out.”

  The Heralds march out in perfect sync. Their boots pound like drums. Outside, armored vehicles wait, engines rumbling low. Lynx pauses. He looks back at the armory one last time. Then he steps into the lead vehicle. The convoy roars to life and rolls into the wasteland like a steel beast.

  The stolen car jerks forward with a loud growl. The engine roars as it tears up the cracked road. Gideon grips the wheel with a steady hand. His eyes scan the road ahead for trouble. Elena sits next to him. She stares out the window. A frown forms on her face. Eve is squeezed in the back, his small body wedged between the seats and piles of stuff. The desert stretches on forever. Shadows fall over the cracked earth.

  "Where exactly is Naraka?" Elena asks, her voice breaking the silence.

  "East," Eve and Gideon answer simultaneously, almost like a reflex.

  Elena raises an eyebrow. She’s surprised by how they both said it at the same time. She shifts in her seat. She can feel the question hanging in the air.

  "Hey, can I ask something?" she says, her voice casual but curious.

  "What?" Gideon sighs, his fingers gripping the wheel tighter.

  "What is that thing?" Elena points out the rearview mirror, her finger tracing a line toward several black vehicles in the distance.

  Gideon's eyes narrow, scanning the growing figures in the distance. His jaw tightens, and his hands move just slightly on the wheel. The vehicles are unmistakable, like predators in the wild, slowly closing in on their prey. Black Humvees with matte armor, their engines purring like mechanical beasts. The motorcycles dart around them like angry wasps, their riders dressed in dark gear, helmets hiding their faces, kicking up dust as they race toward them with alarming speed.

  Gideon’s eyes flicker to the side mirror, his lips curling into a tight, thin line. He whispers under his breath, almost inaudible.

  "Lynx."

  His voice holds a cold weight, filled with recognition, a warning more than anything. The cars behind them grow louder, the Humvees’ engines rumbling as they push forward, closing the gap. The motorcycles peel around them, cutting across the sand like they were born to move through it.

  The radio crackles to life, a sharp voice cutting through the static.

  "Azuma," Lynx's voice commands, cold and controlled, "neutralize them."

  "With pleasure," comes the smooth, almost predatory reply from the other end.

  The voice belongs to a figure concealed in a gasmask and a visor, the right lens glowing an ominous red while the left gleams a cool blue. The sound of the bike’s engine revs in the background, powerful and foreboding.

  A flash of movement. Azuma, the mysterious figure on the bike, twists around with precision, drawing a long spear from their back. The blade is an electric blue, glowing like some unnatural energy, radiating power in waves. With a single, fluid motion, Azuma hurls the spear forward. It slices through the air like a streak of light, its trajectory locked onto Gideon’s car.

  The blade’s blue glow shifts, retracting into itself, and in a heartbeat, the spear becomes a missile. The missile sinks into the rear bumper of Gideon’s car, and then———silence. A crackling, low hum follows as a pulse of energy erupts, sending a burst of EMP through the car. Gideon slaps the wheel in frustration, his heart racing as the car’s power shuts down entirely.

  "What the hell?!" he grinds his teeth, slapping at the dashboard, trying to restart the engine.

  But it’s no use. The car remains dead in the sand.

  Outside, the sound of rumbling engines grows louder. The Humvees close in, and motorcycles circle, their riders like vultures descending on their prey.

  Gideon curses under his breath, glancing around. The realization hits him———their escape is over.

  The dust settles as a woman steps off her bike, her boots hitting the ground with a heavy thud. She wears a tight, black combat suit, her hair pulled back into a messy mohawk. She looks down at Gideon with an amused smirk, her voice dripping with mockery.

  "Well, well, what do we have here?" she says, eyeing Gideon with disdain. "Looks like the mighty Gideon is all washed up."

  Lynx steps out from behind the Humvee, his presence as commanding as ever. The morning light catches the gleam of his metallic claws as they extend from the gloves he’s wearing, each one shining with a deadly promise. He steps forward with slow, deliberate strides, his gaze fixed on Gideon, every inch of him a predator preparing to strike.

  "He's mine, Cobra," Lynx calls out, his voice smooth, almost bored, like he's claiming ownership of a prize.

  Gideon’s eyes flicker to the claws, a wave of frustration and old rage welling up inside him. The air between them crackles with hostility, old wounds waiting to be reopened.

  Gideon charges at Lynx. His fist swings like a wrecking ball. But Lynx is too fast. He steps to the side without even trying. Gideon’s punch hits the dirt. Gravel flies everywhere. Lynx is already behind him.

  "Too slow Gideon," Lynx says with a smirk.

  Gideon growls. He spins around and swings his other arm. Lynx steps back. His claws flash through the air just inches from Gideon’s chest. They are close now. The space between them is tight. Gideon throws heavy punches. He wants to crush Lynx. But Lynx dodges every time. His moves are quick and perfect.

  Gideon’s teeth grind. He steps forward, trying to trap Lynx. But Lynx is already moving, twisting and spinning too fast to catch.

  Lynx’s claws rake across Gideon’s side. It’s a shallow cut but it stings. Gideon winces. Lynx laughs. The sound is mocking.

  "Is that all you’ve got?" Lynx taunts.

  Gideon snarls. He turns and slams his elbow toward Lynx’s face. But Lynx ducks, rolling on the ground. He gets up in a flash, faster than a snake. Before Gideon can react, Lynx’s claws are at his throat, cold against his skin.

  "Still too slow," Lynx says with a grin.

  Gideon grabs Lynx’s wrist. He pulls hard, slamming Lynx’s arm aside. He pushes Lynx back, then drives his knee into Lynx’s stomach. Lynx gasps for air. But he recovers fast. His claws swipe at Gideon’s ribs.

  They are both moving fast now. Gideon’s punches come like a storm. Lynx dances around him, always just out of reach. The ground is a mess of dirt and blood. They circle each other, neither willing to give up.

  Gideon’s fist lands on Lynx’s shoulder. Lynx stumbles but spins quickly. His claws are back at Gideon’s face. This time, Gideon is ready. He grabs Lynx’s wrist and twists it hard.

  Lynx grits his teeth. He tries to push back but it’s clear Gideon is stronger. The force of Gideon’s moves is too much.

  But Lynx is faster. He ducks low and jumps. His knee slams into Gideon’s chest. Gideon stumbles back.

  Gideon’s power against Lynx’s speed. Neither one gives an inch.

  “I know you tried to kill father! You always wanted to take his throne!” Gideon screams.

  Lynx’s lips curl into a cruel grin, his chest heaving with quiet laughter. The edge of his claws gleam under the dim light, but his gaze never wavers from Gideon’s eyes.

  “My ambitions are beyond that,” Lynx sneers, voice low and mocking. “As we speak, half my heralds have already conspired against the Dynasty. Both empires will fall in the war and I will emerge victorious.”

  His eyes gleam with the promise of something darker, something deadly. “It’ll be for you to know... June is going to die a second time.”

  The words hit Gideon like a physical blow, his heart thudding in his chest, the anger and pain mixing into a sickening knot. He blinks, his grip loosening for a second, disbelief flashing across his face.

  “June... is alive?” The words fall from his lips, barely a whisper, but they hang in the air between them like a challenge.

  The world feels impossibly still for a moment, the wind freezing in place as Gideon’s mind races. A memory of her face, her words, her dying breath.

  Lynx chuckles darkly, his eyes glinting with cruel satisfaction.

  "Did you really think she'd just die there, Gideon? Do you believe in fairy tales?" He takes a step closer, his voice smooth and dangerous. “I’ve kept her alive... for now. But when the time comes...”

  Gideon’s breath catches, the rage boiling in his veins.

  “You... you monster,” he spits, his voice thick with fury.

  He’s barely holding himself together, his fists trembling at his sides.

  Lynx's grin widens.

  “You don’t get it, do you? June’s death will be the spark that burns both empires to the ground. A new war will engulf everything, and I will rise from the ashes. The Dynasty, the Legion———nothing will remain but the Age of Lynx!” The sick pleasure in Lynx’s eyes is evident.

  Gideon’s head spins with the weight of the words, his mind struggling to catch up. June... alive? Or was it just another twisted game, another way to torment him, to destroy everything he fought for?

  The rage roars louder inside him, drowning out all other thoughts. Gideon lunges forward, his body instinctively moving toward Lynx, but the younger man sidesteps, his claws flashing through the air. The moment is electric, the two locked in a deadly dance of tension and violence, but all Gideon can think of is June.

  Alive.

  And somewhere, deep inside, a dark promise forms.

  "I’ll kill you, Lynx," Gideon mutters, his voice low and filled with venom. "I’ll make sure of it."

  The air crackles like a storm ready to break. Gideon’s fists slam into Lynx hard. Each punch hits with a heavy thud. But Lynx is fast. He moves like lightning. He sidesteps and his claws flash. They slice through the air, aiming for Gideon’s side.

  Gideon grunts as one claw scratches his skin. The pain burns but it’s nothing compared to the fire in his chest. He moves fast and lunges at Lynx. He’s trying to knock him down. But Lynx ducks. He strikes Gideon’s ribs. The hit knocks the air out of him.

  “You’re too slow, Gideon,” Lynx taunts, his voice dripping with contempt. He twirls his claws, his eyes gleaming with a sick satisfaction. “Always slow, always behind. That’s why you failed. That’s why you’re weak.”

  Gideon growls. Blood drips from his side. He gasps for air but pushes forward. He throws punch after punch. But Lynx is a blur. He dodges every hit and strikes back, his claws hitting their mark again and again.

  The fight slips from Gideon’s grasp. His strikes feel heavy. His arms feel like they’re made of stone. Lynx’s taunts hit harder than any punch. Every miss stings. Gideon feels broken.

  Then Lynx lands a brutal blow to the side of Gideon’s skull. Gideon crashes to the ground. His body refuses to move. Lynx stands over him, claws raised, ready to finish him off.

  "Pathetic," Lynx spits.

  He steps back. His eyes are full of cold satisfaction. Lynx turns his back. He walks away like it’s nothing.

  “Cobra. Azuma,” Lynx calls, his voice commanding. “Neutralize them.”

  Cobra and Azuma step forward. Cobra pulls out two sharp daggers. She moves fast and precise. Azuma takes out his naginata. He stands tall and ready. The rest of the Heralds line up. They raise their rifles. They all have their eyes locked on Eve and Elena.

  Eve’s voice rings out in a sudden, desperate scream. “No!”

  His eyes burn red. A wave of power shakes the ground. A bright laser shoots from his eyes. It cuts through the Heralds like a hot knife through butter in a brutal arc.

  Cobra stumbles back, the edge of the beam grazing her side, a line of blood staining her armor. Azuma, quick as lightning, activates a shield just in time, the laser deflecting harmlessly off his glowing barrier.

  Lynx twists, narrowly avoiding the blast, his body moving with the agility of a predator. The remaining Heralds fall, shredded by the force of Eve’s attack, their bodies crumpling to the ground.

  Azuma runs to Lynx. His eyes are wide with panic.

  "We need to leave. Dynasty soldiers are coming," urges Azuma.

  Lynx’s gaze flickers toward the horizon, where a fresh wave of soldiers approaches, but his eyes narrow as he pulls out a sleek, black pistol from his belt.

  A rock, thrown with surprising accuracy, strikes Lynx’s hand, knocking his aim off. The shot fires wild, but it doesn’t strike Gideon. Instead, it hits Eve in the chest, a searing wound that sends him collapsing to the ground in a cry of agony.

  "Eve!" Gideon shouts. His heart sinks.

  Lynx and Azuma exchange a look. They turn and run into the chaos.

  Gideon gets to his feet. He rushes to Eve. His hands shake as he lifts him into one of the Humvees left behind. The engine roars to life. Eve, still awake, raises his hand. He points weakly at Cobra.

  "We can’t leave her," Eve says in a strained voice.

  Gideon shakes his head. "We’re leaving now."

  But Elena says nothing. She drags Cobra’s body in with surprising strength and climbs into the vehicle. The car revs up as Gideon gets ready to drive. Then they hear it. The sound of soldiers’ boots.

  Dynasty soldiers. They’re surrounded.

  One of the soldiers steps forward, his rifle trained on Gideon.

  “Step out of the vehicle,” he commands.

  Elena grips Cobra tightly. Blood drips from her hands. She doesn’t flinch.

  "We have injured. They need help," she says. Her voice is panicked but her body is ready to fight.

  The soldier hesitates. He looks at the group. His face is hard to read. He doesn’t want to let them go. But with the wounded in the back, he looks unsure.

  Gideon grips the steering wheel tight. Every part of him wants to run.