Chapter 63 — Scars of Ash

  Ash drifted from the sky like heavy snowflakes — gray, scorched, lifeless. The battle with Ovius's warriors was not yet over, but the first wave had been repelled. The screams had faded, the earth breathed smoke, and the sky, as if wounded, bled crimson light.

  Mirellis stood over the twisted figure of one of the shadow soldiers. Her face held no anger, no fear — only weariness. Her cloak fluttered in the wind, her hair was tangled, and in her eyes burned a reflection of fire and silent sorrow.

  Leonel approached from the other side, still gripping a sword, crimson with spilled blood. His gaze swept across the field, where the dead and the living were indistinguishable through smoke and pain.

  “This is only the beginning,” he said quietly.

  “I know,” Mirellis replied, her eyes fixed on the horizon. “But somehow, it already feels like we're losing.”

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  Ethan approached, leaning on his staff, and muttered with a faint smile:

  “If I had a gold coin for every time we were ‘about to lose,’ I’d have opened a tavern by now. Somewhere far from here.”

  Stan, wrapping his injured arm, nodded:

  “Agreed. Though if he were the cook, we’d have all died of poisoning long before the battle.”

  “Hey!” Ethan protested. “I only confused salt with gunpowder once!”

  “And the whole camp got roasted,” Reina muttered as she joined them.

  Just then, a whistle broke the air. Mayra, wounded but alive, appeared from around the bend, leading two survivors from the village. Her face was tense, but a flicker of hope burned in her eyes.

  “They’ve retreated. For now,” she reported.

  “Where are the others?” Leonel asked.

  “We lost seven fighters. I remember their names. We won’t forget them.”

  Silence fell. Ethan removed his hat. Mirellis closed her eyes. Even Stan, usually sarcastic, lowered his head.

  “We will endure,” Leonel said at last. “For those who’ve fallen. For those who remain.”

  “For the sake of keeping the Dark Lords from ever setting foot in our world,” Reina added.

  Then he stepped forward. The ground creaked beneath his boot. Behind him — silence and scorched shadows. Ahead — uncertainty, new battles, and perhaps a confrontation with one of the Lords.

  “We move on.”

  No one objected. No one hesitated.

  They all knew that the next step might be their last.

  But such steps are what forge legends.