Jamie stays close, moving faster than I expect, though I can feel the tension in him; he’s holding himself together by sheer force of will. Jack shadows him, never more than a step away.
Sonny ranges slightly wider, scanning the area, while Solan brings up the rear.
And Caly, he leads like he’s done this a hundred times before. He’s confident and precise.
The passage narrows, then twists, opening briefly into a wider chamber before splitting again into routes I’ve never seen before.
“How the hell do you know this place?” I mutter.
Caly glances back, just once. “I pay attention.”
Fair enough.
We keep moving, deeper and further from the fight. Further from Varek. The thought insists harder than I like, but I force myself to ignore it.
We reach the end of the passage quicker than expected, the stone giving way to an opening that breathes cool air into the tunnel.
We’re in the surrounding forest, at the opposite side of the settlement.
Safe… or it should be. But then we step out into it, and everything in me goes still. Because it’s too quiet. While it’s not empty and definitely not peaceful, that’s not the issue. It simply feels wrong.
The sky above is darker now, the green hue deepening towards something heavier and storm laden. The air is colder, tinged with that tainted metallic edge that prickles along my skin.
Caly stops. Everyone else follows suit.
“What is it?” Jack whispers.
Caly doesn’t answer straight away. He listens. So do I.
And then there’s movement. It’s close—too damn close.
“Down,” Caly murmurs.
We drop into defensive positions just as figures break from the tree line.
Armour, weapons—the Crown is here in the form of Glowranth soldiers.
“Shit,” Sonny breathes.
And then they’re on us.
The first impact comes fast and without ceremony.
Steel meets steel somewhere to my left as Solan intercepts the closest soldier with a force that reverberates through the ground. The clash is loud and violent, and it snaps whatever thin thread of stillness remained into something intense and chaotic.
Everyone moves at once.
A second guard breaks right, aiming to flank, and Sonny is already there, faster than I’ve ever seen him move. He ducks low, pivots, and drives his blade upward in a brutal arc that forces the soldier back with a startled grunt. There’s no flourish to it. No wasted motion. Just speed and instinct and a kind of messy efficiency that works because it has to.
Jack doesn’t hesitate either. He steps in close, far closer than a trained warrior probably would, and uses his size to his advantage, slamming into one of the attackers hard enough to throw him off-balance before following through with a strike that is more practical than elegant but no less effective.
Caly moves like something else entirely.
There’s no hesitation, no visible calculation, just precise, almost surgical motion as he shifts between positions, redirecting attacks before they land, striking only when it counts. It’s controlled in a way that feels deliberate, like he’s already mapped out the angles before the fight even began.
And me?—
I react.
