Dawn crept over the Outpost like a gentle sigh after a long scream. Smoke still curled from broken rooftops, drifting lazily into the pale sky. The courtyard was littered with shattered shields, splintered arrows, and dark streaks of blood that gleamed in the first light.
Talon stood by the main gate, leaning heavily on her sword. Her armor was scorched and dented, her hair clinging to her face in sweaty strands. But her eyes… they shone with something fierce and unbroken.
Tony sat on a barrel nearby, wrapping a torn strip of cloth around a gash on his arm. Every movement made him wince, but he grinned when he caught Talon looking at him.
"Not bad for a ghost, huh?" he called out, his voice hoarse but playful.
Talon snorted softly. "You scream like a ghost too," she shot back.
Janzo stumbled out from the alley, arms full of bottles and bandages. He looked like a raccoon dragged through a fire pit — face smudged black, hair standing in wild tufts, and eyes wide with relief.
"Here!" he cried, nearly tripping over a fallen spear. "I found extra salves! We'll need these before infection starts eating all of us alive."
He dropped the bottles beside Tony, then knelt by Talon. Carefully, he pressed a damp cloth to a deep cut on her shoulder. She hissed but didn't pull away.
"You're lucky you didn't lose this arm," Janzo muttered. "Next time, please try not to make my heart stop twelve times in one night."
Talon cracked a small, tired smile. "I'll try my best."
Garrett approached from the far end of the yard, still in his battered armor, blood and soot smearing his cheek. He scanned the scene with weary eyes, then finally stopped in front of them.
"You all fought like devils," he said. His voice was rough but steady. "If we hadn't held last night… this Outpost would be nothing but ashes today."
Tony looked up at him, exhaustion softening his usual sharpness. "We didn't just hold," he said. "We proved they can't break us. Not now. Not ever."
Garrett nodded, then reached out and clasped Talon's forearm, gripping it tight. She returned the gesture, a warrior's bond sealed without words.
Behind them, villagers started to creep from their homes, eyes wide and faces pale. Some carried buckets to douse lingering fires. Others began dragging debris away, revealing the wounded or the fallen underneath.
A young boy ran up, dirt smeared across his cheeks, eyes big as moons. He stopped in front of Talon, clutching a broken wooden sword.
"You… you're really the hero, aren't you?" he breathed.
Talon knelt carefully, resting her heavy sword beside her. She looked into the boy's eyes and managed a gentle smile.
"No, little one," she said. "I'm just someone who refused to run."
The boy's lip trembled before he grinned and ran back to his mother, clutching his toy sword tighter than ever.
Janzo stood and stretched, bones cracking like old wood. He glanced at the sky.
"We should rest," he said. "Rebuild what we can. And, uh… maybe wash."
Tony snorted. "Speak for yourself. You smell like you slept inside a troll's mouth."
Janzo shoved him lightly, and Tony nearly toppled off his barrel, both of them breaking into tired, relieved laughter.
Talon rose again, wiping ash from her cheek. Her kinje had dimmed now, its glow nothing more than a faint pulse beneath her skin. But even in that quiet flicker, it seemed to promise something stronger than any fire: hope.
Garrett sheathed his sword and stepped back, finally allowing himself to exhale fully. He glanced over the courtyard — at the cracked stones, the smoking ruins, and the small clusters of people already starting to rebuild.
"We'll rebuild," he said softly, almost to himself. "Brick by brick, life by life. This place isn't just walls. It's us."
Talon looked at him, her eyes fierce and steady.
"And as long as we stand," she replied, "the Outpost stands."
In that moment, under the broken but brightening sky, something new stirred among them. A quiet strength, a stubborn promise stitched together by fire and blood.
They hadn't just survived the night. They had given birth to a new chapter — one they would write together, no matter what else came for them.