The light faded.
He was still upright. Still breathing. But barely. The stink of sweat and old fire clung to him like wet cloth. His hands were bruised. There was dried blood under every nail. It wasn't his.
The field stretched ahead.
Broken towers, shattered barricades, blackened banners hanging limp.
Bodies.
So many more now.
Some missing limbs. Some faces. Some names.
The squad he'd seen last night, eight kids huddled around a canteen, laughing too loud, was down to two. And one of those two was screaming.
"Help! Help me!"
The boy's voice cracked like someone trying to scream through smoke. Merlin turned.
The trainee was on the slope. One leg stuck under a piece of stone. A giant slab. Arm stretched toward the rest of them. Toward anyone. Blood soaked the dirt beneath him. His eyes were wide and wild.
"I can't—I can't move—"
Merlin ran.
So did another. Sera. One of the quiet ones. She got there first. Tried to lift the stone.
