"Some wars are never won. They only finish burying us."
— War Diary of General Evarios, Year 1,224.
Avedhel Valley smelled of stagnant water, old blood, and burnt wood.There were no trees—only hollow stumps like broken ribs. The grass grew in twisted, dark clumps, curling away from the light as if it had learned to fear it. Footsteps left deep impressions, not from mud, but from the blanket of ash covering everything.
Five figures moved in silence, cloaked in worn fabric, shadows with breath. In the far distance, the towers of the enemy city pierced the horizon like broken teeth.
"We're too far ahead," grumbled Sion, the tallest of them, his voice worn like cracked stone. "The rest of the army won't arrive for another two days."
"Then we'll have two days more to think," answered Thaan beside him with a crooked smile. "What could possibly go wrong?"
"You, for example," snapped Laereth, without turning.
"And yet, you tolerate me. Which says very little about your judgment."
Veyra smiled faintly, as if the joke were a secret meant only for her. She moved without sound, her layered robes gliding along the ash like a ghost.
Iralya, by contrast, carried herself like someone who hadn't sat down in days. She held her mana staff with both hands, eyes sharp and scanning the edges of the road.
"When was the last time we slept without weapons near?" she asked to no one in particular.
"Years ago," said Sion. "Before Cloris betrayed the southern front. Before there were no loyal cities west of the Divide."
"Before Löez vanished," whispered Veyra.
The group stopped.
For a moment, the wind seemed to carry that name away, like the earth itself remembered.
Löez.The lost archmage. The master. A remnant of a time that had already crumbled. They hadn't seen him in four years, but his presence hadn't left them. He lived in their scars, their spells, the unspoken rules they still followed.
"Do you think he's alive?" asked Thaan.
"No," said Laereth.
"Yes," said Veyra, at the same time.
"If he was, he would've returned," added Sion, though it sounded more like a wish than a truth.
"What if he doesn't want to?" asked Iralya.
And then, they walked again.
They made camp near a dry riverbed, encircled by jagged stones like broken teeth. No trees. Only the remains of old totems, rotting and forgotten. Iralya lit a small fire using a flicker from her crystal. The flame hesitated, flickering as if it doubted the worth of burning.
Sion carved defensive runes into the ground. Thaan sliced hard bread with a chipped blade. Veyra sipped slowly from her misty vessel, her crystal shards dissolved into the water like dreams. Laereth sat apart, etching a fresh symbol into her forearm with a sliver of obsidian.
"Not again," said Veyra, approaching in silence.
"Each mark holds what I must not forget," replied Laereth, eyes distant.
"You'll run out of skin."
"You'll run out of voice."
Veyra knelt beside her and cleaned the blood with damp fingers. A gentle act. Intimate.
"You don't have to suffer to remember."
"You don't have to watch to care."
But Laereth didn't pull away.
From the fire, Iralya watched without expression. Sion didn't notice. He was still carving—always carving.
Thaan arrived with pieces of dry bread.
"War bread. Smells like boots, chews like regret," he grinned.
"No thanks," said Iralya.
"I didn't ask," he replied, dropping a chunk beside each of them.
Night fell with no ceremony.
One by one, they settled near the flame. There were no songs. Only the slow crackle of wet wood and the ever-faint hum of mana crystals that never fully slept.
Iralya reached out. Her hand met Sion's, rough and calloused. They shared no words. No kisses. Just presence.
Laereth closed her eyes.
Veyra opened hers wider.
And Thaan, as always, listened to them all.
Dawn brought no color.Just a lighter shade of grey.
They walked into a ruined village, swallowed by dust and bone. Houses lay crumbled, statues melted by old fire, and twisted ropes hung from nothing.
Carved symbols marked stones and broken wood.
"These aren't kingdom glyphs," said Iralya, tracing one with her staff.
"They're not language," said Veyra. "They're emotion."
"Emotion?" Sion frowned.
"The chamanes don't write what they mean. They write what they want you to feel."
Laereth paused before a spiral etched in charcoal.
She didn't read it.
She felt nausea. A memory she didn't own.
"I don't like this place."
"Welcome to the club," said Thaan, unsheathing his knife.
They saw them then.Not approaching. Just there.
The chamanes.
Five figures cloaked in skin and dirt. One wore a necklace of baby bones. Another held a staff made from human femur. No boots. No crystals.
"Hold formation," said Sion. "Don't provoke."
"They don't need provoking," murmured Laereth. "They've dreamed of killing us already."
One stepped forward and made a sound. Not a word. A... memory being broken.
The air thickened.Their crystals vibrated—not in use, but in fear.
"They're channeling without a core," whispered Iralya.
"They are the core," said Veyra.
The largest chamán lifted his staff and broke it.
Then cut off his own arm.
Blood spiraled into the air and formed symbols no one understood.
Then the sky screamed.
Iralya launched a wave of molten heat, scorching the earth and disintegrating flesh.
Laereth carved the air with a whip of her own blood.
Sion cracked the ground and buried two beneath slabs of stone.
Veyra touched the air—and her enemy collapsed, sobbing at a vision no one else could see.
And Thaan…
sang.
A single, pure note that ruptured bone and memory alike.
The chamanes scattered.
But before disappearing into the smoke, one turned back—and bowed.
They reached a clearing.
There, trees bent in spirals, all pointing to a stone altar.
A corpse sat atop it, still fresh.Eyes open.Crystals glowing inside them.
"That's mana," said Iralya.
"No," said Sion. "That was a man."
And no one closed the body's eyes.
By dusk, they stood at the top of the last hill.
Below: the enemy city.Scarred, breathing, waiting.
Sion stared. "We're outnumbered."
"As usual," said Iralya.
"What if we don't return?" Thaan asked.
"Then we'll have earned the silence," Laereth murmured.
Veyra placed her mask upon her face.
Sion sat down. Old bones. Heavy thoughts.
"Do you remember what Löez said the day he brought us together?"
"That we were a collective mistake," laughed Thaan.
"That we couldn't choose what we were… but we could choose what to protect," said Iralya.
"That we would die," whispered Veyra. "But that we must leave something worth remembering."
"I don't remember the words," Laereth said softly. "Only his voice."
The wind blew.And for a heartbeat, they felt like he was still there.
Watching.
Sion raised his eyes.
"Tomorrow, one of us won't return."
"More than one," said Iralya.
"Maybe all," added Laereth.
"Then let it hurt," said Thaan.
And for the first time,he didn't smile.