The wind grew drier as the trio continued their journey down the dusty road to Gresia. The once vibrant countryside had begun to wear the scars of distant conflict—burnt patches of forest smoldered like dying memories, trees standing like charred skeletons against the horizon. Abandoned carts lay in crooked positions, wheels broken and supplies long looted. Occasional pools of dried blood and shattered armor told stories of skirmishes that had ended in silence. The very air seemed to carry the scent of ash and tension.
Crows circled overhead, their black feathers catching the sun like glints of obsidian. Every now and then, one would descend to peck at some unseen carcass in the grass, only to flap away as the group passed. The road twisted and bent like a scar on the land, the silence between them more telling than words.
Even the wind had changed—once filled with the songs of birds and rustling leaves, it now howled low and mournful, as if echoing the despair of a place long forgotten by peace. The horses' hooves crunched against gravel and dirt, the only consistent rhythm in the landscape's eerie quiet.
Brea kept her hand on the hilt of her dagger, her eyes scanning the trees for signs of life—or danger. Reu's gaze remained locked on the distant silhouette of Gresia, his jaw tight with memories he did not yet share. Toby, for once, didn't speak, his youthful exuberance dulled by the heavy shadow looming ahead.
Toby rode behind Reu, legs swinging from the horse's flank, boredom getting the better of him. "Reu," he began, peering forward, "you're from Gresia, right? What should we expect when we get there?"
Reu didn't turn his head. His voice was flat. "Not much. Chaos, mostly. It's always been that way. Merchants have long fled. Most of the people, too. But the blacksmiths there... they're the best in the province."
Brea, riding alongside them, looked uneasy. "Is it safe?"
"Of course not," Reu replied. "Living there is like having one foot in the grave."
"Then why are they still fighting over it?"
"Because Gresia is rich in iron ores. Whoever controls those mines can mint their own power. The Nasyonalistas want it for dominance. Ashkins want it for survival or rebellion."
Brea chewed her lip, weighing his words. "So what happens when we get there?"
Reu shrugged. "We might go around the outskirts. But it'd add weeks to our journey."
Before they could continue, Toby interrupted, his voice charged with conviction. "No. We go to Gresia. We'll give that town peace."
Reu shot him a side glance but said nothing. Deep down, he knew peace in Gresia was as mythical as dragons in the sky.
Gresia emerged from the horizon like a wounded beast. Its once-proud buildings were now broken skeletons of wood and stone. Smoke curled upward from several points within the town. The clang of swords and distant shouting echoed through the air like a war song.
As they approached the town's entrance, a barricade of armored paladins stopped them. One stepped forward, raising his hand. "Halt! State your business."
Brea answered confidently. "We're travelers. My friend here needs a blacksmith. His sword's badly worn."
The mention of a weapon tensed the paladins. Several drew their blades, eyes narrowing.
"Wait!" Brea held up her hands. "We travel armed only to protect ourselves. Nothing more."
The paladins hesitated, glancing at one another. One finally nodded, and the swords were sheathed.
But another paladin approached Toby, sneering. "You there, nose-picker. Travelers, huh?"
Toby looked at Brea, who gave him a firm, silent glare: say yes.
But Toby, with a dumb grin, shrugged. "Nope. We're ashkins."
The air froze.
"You what?!" shouted the lead paladin.
Brea's palm met her forehead. Reu groaned.
Chaos erupted. The paladins surged forward.
Just then, a group of ashkins burst from the smoke-cloaked alleys, weapons drawn. Blades clashed. Arrows zipped through the air.
Reu drew his battered sword, swinging with precision. "Focus Slash!" he roared, sending a wide arc of force through a dozen enemies, knocking them down like bowling pins.
Toby flickered in and out of visibility, appearing behind paladins to strike with fast, bone-rattling punches.
The clash ended swiftly. Ashkins stood among fallen foes, their breathing heavy. One of them approached, his face marked by a wicked scar, yet his demeanor calm.
"Good day," he said, grinning. "You three have nerves of steel, announcing yourselves like that."
"We really are ashkins," Toby said proudly.
Brea smacked him on the head. "Idiot! You trying to get us killed?"
Reu simply smirked.
The man offered a hand. "John Blackheart. But don't worry, my heart's just fine. I lead the Helos Knights."
Reu tilted his head. "The ones raiding this town?"
John shook his head. "Liberating. We're freeing Gresia from the tyranny of the Nasyonalistas."
"However you say it."
Toby beamed. "I'm Toby, leader of the Vesper Knights!"
John blinked. "There's only three of you?"
Before Toby could respond, another group of paladins charged. John lifted a hand. "Hold. Let me see how you two handle yourselves."
Reu stepped forward. "Focus Slash!"
Paladins flew back like leaves in a storm.
Toby blurred between them, fists landing in rapid succession, knocking down man after man.
John watched, arms crossed. "Impressive. One's a swordmaster. The other's a heartstone bearer."
Brea crossed her arms. "Show-offs."
After the last paladin hit the ground, Reu and Toby high-fived.
One of John's lieutenants, a lean ashkin with a bandana, scoffed. "They throw rookies at us now. Cowards."
John nodded. "Come with us. We've got a blacksmith in our camp—one of the best in Felily."
Reu's eyes lit up. "Lead the way."
They rode together, weaving through broken streets and alleyways, heading toward the northern part of the town.
"You see," John said, voice steady, "we want Gresia to rise again. But the Lunas Knights, they want to burn it down. We fight for the people. They fight for control."
"I know the Lunas," Reu said. "I grew up here."
John gave him a curious look. "Gresian, huh? That explains the accent."
They reached a barricaded encampment surrounded by sharpened stakes and wooden walls. A sentry shouted, "The chief returns!"
The gates creaked open, revealing a bustling camp of ashkin warriors. Tents lined the inner perimeter. Blacksmiths worked at forges. Children helped carry water. It was more village than warcamp.
"Wow," Brea muttered. "You built all this?"
"These people helped me. Not many, but enough."
A cry rang out from a watchtower. "Lunas!"
John tensed. "Expected. Let's see what Killa wants."
Outside the gates, a striking woman in obsidian leather armor stood before her forces. Her eyes gleamed with malice.
"Killa," John said, stepping forward with a calm but steady presence. "What brings you to my gates again? Another empty threat or a real proposal this time?"
Killa raised her chin, her leather armor glinting in the dull afternoon sun. "I'm disappointed, John," she said with a mock pout. "A woman like me crawling through the filth of this broken town, all for a sweet little 'yes' from your reluctant lips."
John's eyes narrowed. "Because your idea of rebuilding is razing the town to the ground. You call it rebirth—I call it annihilation. We're not the same."
Killa gave a slow, sinister laugh. "Then that makes you my enemy. I'll turn your wooden walls to ashes, feed your misfit army to the wind, and leave this camp as nothing but a memory. Don't doubt me, John. I've done worse for less."
John's voice dropped, laced with warning. "Keep talking like that, and I just might have to make good on my promise to break your neck."
Killa's eyes gleamed with amusement. "Darling, I never joke—not when it comes to war. This is a goodbye. Enjoy your last sunset."
She turned to her brother. "Killi, ready the troops. We storm the Helos at dusk."
Killi bowed. "As you wish, sister."
Back in the camp, Reu finally found the blacksmith's forge. The air was hot and smelled of coal and iron.
"Excuse me," Reu said. "Are you the blacksmith told to me by John?"
A burly man looked up. "Yes.Gunbert. And you are?"
"Reu. I was told you could fix my sword."
Gunbert took the weapon, eyeing it carefully. "This blade has seen many lives. You look familiar."
"Gresian."
"That explains it. It'll take work, but I can make it sing again."
"That's all I need."
Elsewhere, John handed Brea and Toby off to a tall ashkin named Cory.
"Help them find a place to sleep."
"Right away, chief." Cory gave a small nod and beckoned them to follow.
Toby trudged after him, wobbling under the towering load of Brea's bags strapped to his back and arms. "Why do you even have many cooking materials here"
"Because one is for cooking, one for steaimng, one for grilling, one for frying, and one in case the others get ruined. Honestly, Toby," Brea replied smugly.
Toby groaned. "You're not a knight. You're a traveling cook."
As they walked deeper into the encampment, ashkin warriors passed by—some tending to weapons, others helping rebuild fortifications. A group of children ran past with buckets of water, giggling. In one corner, a flute player sat by the fire, his melody oddly calming against the brewing storm of war.
Toby looked around. "John's really built something here. Feels like a kingdom."
"John is like an ashkin king," he added with a soft tone of admiration.
Brea nodded. "And he might just be strong enough to deserve it. Look at this place—it's not just a camp. It's hope."
Suddenly, her gaze darted across the crowd. "Wait... where's Reu?"
Toby blinked. "Huh. He said something about finding a blacksmith. But that was a while ago."
"We should go find him. If he gets into trouble, we'll need to slap some sense into him—again."
They turned from Cory, who waved them off with a knowing grin, and began weaving through the maze of tents and forges, the tension of the looming night battle humming in the air like static before a storm.
Meanwhile, in the shadows beyond the walls, men in dark cloaks waited.
"We wait for the signal," one whispered. "Tonight, this camp falls."