The fire burned bright, wet wood crackling as it fought to catch, embers bouncing as steam pushed through the bark. The sound of liquid boiling in an iron pot rolled softly through the clearing. Ren opened his eyes at the noise, realizing the warmth spreading through his body—a feeling he had almost forgotten. He shifted, sitting cross-legged as Shin came over, stirred the pot, and handed him a bowl of warm soup. Ren took it, tasted it with a small sip, then began to gulp it down. Shin, seeing the hunger in him, passed another bowl with a piece of bread.
"Eat to your heart's content, then we talk," Shin said.
Ren finished the first bowl and seized the second as if that was his answer.
Time passed. Ren wiped the bowl clean with bread, a few empty bowls scattered around him. Shin waited, letting him finish before asking the questions that had been pressing on him since they left the fortress. Before he spoke, Ren's gaze dropped to the fire.
He had come to this fortress with a man and his daughter.
He had not been heading there in particular. He had simply run into them in the forest, fleeing a couple of chimeras. After cutting down those beasts, the father had been injured from pulling a small cart loaded with his daughter and a few supplies. That was when they had asked him for help reaching their destination. Ren agreed, and with the father guiding the way, they reached the fortress.
They were letting a few survivors in. The three of them were among those allowed through the gate. Once inside, with the others gathering in the courtyard, the lord came out and asked for any capable men who could wield weapons. He explained that it would increase the chances of the women and children inside surviving the waves. The lord coughed often, clearly ill, but he seemed fair and caring toward his people.
The man Ren had met in the forest was allowed to have his wound treated first. When asked about his daughter, he requested to stay inside and care for her, as she had no one else. Ren stepped forward and offered to take his place instead. The lord refused at first—until Ren showed them what he could do, lifting that same cart one-handed. The sight left everyone stunned.
The knight commander, a man named Gorann, asked Ren if he knew how to fight chimeras. Ren answered that he had encountered some and could manage. Gorann pressed the lord, and eventually the lord accepted Ren's offer. The wounded man was assigned to take on guard duties inside the fortress, a task he accepted gladly.
As everyone cleared the courtyard and went inside, only the volunteers remained. The lord gathered them with his knights to distribute clothes and gear. Layers of fabric and a thick beard wrapped him, but Ren still saw through it all—a frail body mustering strength just to stand.
"I know what you are all thinking," the lord said, voice rough but steady. "The lord of the fortress is the shield that protects this place. The lord's duty is to lead men into battle against those beasts. But I no longer have the strength to lead you. This illness has crippled me beyond any hope of treatment. Even so, I will die standing, protecting this place. And if death takes me, my most trusted knight, Gorann, will lead you well. I ask you to put your faith in him, as you have in me all these years of my service."
The words kindled resolve in those shivering from the cold. When he finished, the lord turned away, leaving the rest to Gorann. The knight commander began giving instructions, and the volunteers prepared to head out.
"Out?" a volunteer had asked earlier, while listening.
The fortress Maarath had survived this long because of a strategy the lord had created. By fighting the chimeras down in the villages, they drew the creatures' attention away from the fortress entirely. With no movement on the walls and no sounds from within, the only clear target became the defenders in the village. Using clustered buildings for cover, they could thin out the beasts rather than facing them in the open.
Ren had taken his place among those village fighters.
They held for 264 days , receiving aid and supplies from the fortress. The lord used Akrion weavers to watch the chimera movements, searching for any sign that the waves were slowing and fading so they could predict the end. The results were unsettling. The waves did not show signs of stopping. The lord ordered food to be preserved and unnecessary fights to be avoided. They were not to attract attention unless chimeras approached the fortress itself , they kept counting each day trying to anticipate the end of winter , they were fighting two enenmies at once and gorann kept track of it as it's his duty as knight commander to keep record of how defense went and how many lost , how many supplies consumed , chimeras movements and behaviour especially
time passed.
A group of survivors emerged from the fog and made it to the village—twenty people, mostly men. The knight commander spoke with their leader, a man named Orrin, and then took them up to the fortress. When they met the lord, he said they should rest a couple of days and then be sent to fight with the others.
Orrin refused. He called the lord a coward, trading fierce words in front of everyone. Gorann stepped in, explaining that fighting was the only way for them to stay. If they would not, they should seek another fortress. Orrin eventually accepted, but his stare held nothing but hatred.
The knight commander informed the lord that he would return in a few days, when the plains were safe enough, to collect supplies and escort the newcomers back down with Ren.
When the time came, the knight commander called Ren and a couple of knights to help carry supplies to the village, while he escorted the newcomers. Over those hellish nine months, they had already lost almost half their men. The rest were exhausted, morale worn thin as chimeras attacked at any time and their numbers refused to dwindle.
They reached the fortress, but no guards stood on the walls to receive their signal. Gorann stepped forward and hammered his fist against the gate. After a long moment, the doors began to open.
There stood Orrin, holding the lord hostage. Behind him, his men restrained the remaining guards and two knights. Four men—Gorann, Ren, and the two who had come with them—faced eighteen, with hostages in their grip. There was no way for everyone to walk away unscathed.
Orrin spoke calmly, as if explaining something inevitable. He said he understood how Gorann felt, trapped under an incompetent lord. He claimed he himself had been a knight commander like Gorann, his men knights like these. Because of their former lord's lack of responsibility and poor management, their fortress had fallen. First the food had run out. Then, neglect of the walls had let the chimeras' attacks take a toll, until one section collapsed and a breach opened. They survived only by hiding underground until the beasts finally left. By then, the battle was lost. They had done what they had to do to survive.
"And here we are," Orrin said. He was tired of fighting. He wanted to stay there until the chimera waves ended. He insisted he had no intention of harming anyone.
Ren barely heard him. His eyes were fixed on the man who had come to Maarath with him—the father—bound among the hostages.
Gorann wanted Orrin to leave, promising supplies for the road.
Orrin refused. He said he would rather die by Gorann's sword than be left to the beasts. The lord spoke up, telling Gorann it was all right, locking eyes with him in a silent plea. Gorann eventually accepted Orrin's terms. One of Orrin's men pushed a cart of supplies toward them, then the gate closed swiftly.
On the way down, Gorann ordered them to say nothing to the men in the village until they had figured out what to do.
Every week, they went back to the fortress for supplies. Every time, the scene was the same: hostages held inside, a cart pushed out. The only difference was the amount of food—more meat than before. The change made the men in the village more tolerant, less prone to questions. Only Gorann grew more troubled. Mismanaged supplies could kill them all if winter never ended, and the chimeras now hunted openly across the plains. Supply routes from elsewhere were cut. Week after week, the pattern repeated—hostages, cart, gate, silence—while Gorann's worry carved deeper lines into his face.
pressure is a strange thing. Sometimes it reshapes things for the better and sometimes for the worse. It's been 72 days since the incident. There were only a few men left now, and one thing was clear: pressure had subdued these men, but that was expected—unlike Gorann, who had been stranded and distracted. One idea kept lingering: Did I fail to protect my lord, our people, our fortress?
But things were about to get even worse.
Today the supplies were due, and as he headed there, there was no open gate, no hostages, no usurpers. It was as if the fortress had been abandoned. It was as if it were dead. Gorann's fear pit grew whole sizes. He was about to gather the men and try to infiltrate the fortress, but chimeras do not wait for anyone to rest. The chance was gone now. They were attacking while Gorann was still making up his mind.now they need to hold them off with hunger as their third enemy , how long is unknown
A week passed. The two hundred fifty‑three men who had held the village defense were now four: two young farmers , a knight commander, and Ren.
Hunger was their biggest enemy now. The chimeras had not shown up since yesterday, and now it was death or saving what was left. Gorann asked Ren to help him, knowing those boys were deadweights, so he sent them to deliver a message—that the fortress of Maarath had been seized by deserters. The two villagers mustered every bit of courage they had left and decided to take their chances, heading for the nearest weavers' watchtower to send the message. Sunset was near, so they wasted no time.
Ren, unlike them, suggested waiting for the sun to set and climbing rather than trying to breach the gate. They could do it, but it was night—no time to dig a hole you cannot step out of.
The sun set on what remained of the village defenses: blood soaking the muddy, narrow streets; broken wooden barricades everywhere; claw marks gouged into stone walls; broken horns scattered—and yet no chimera corpses in sight.
Ren and Gorann reached the top of the lower walls. Their silent gazes fell on the courtyard. It was empty.
Gorann advised using the stairs down to the courtyard and starting from below, then going up, instead of using the inner stairs. Their priority was the safety of the people, most of them women and children. They moved swiftly and silently down into the underfort through the courtyard.
As they descended, things did not add up. Each step that should have ended in light met only darkness and silence.
The stairs ended. Gorann pointed. It was the inner chambers. Yet they seemed empty—hallways and rooms that should have been filled with women and children.
Ren picked up a torch and Gorann struck flint against his sword. The two stood facing each other as the torchlight spread.
Bones lay in every direction they looked.
Gorann's anger twisted his features. He ran without light, guided only by memory toward the lord's great hall. Every open door, every hallway—skulls staring back at him. Each time he trembled.
He stopped at the great hall. It was empty.
Then he heard sounds from the lord's living chamber. He ran. As soon as he reached it and looked through the open door, he froze.
It was them—the usurpers and Orrin. Around sixteen men were inside, laughing. Some stood over a big iron pot, eating around the fire. Others drank at the far wall. Three skinny women lay chained.
His rage hit its limit. He screamed and rushed them with his sword.
The men jolted at his scream, fumbling. Gorann cut down the first one in front of him. The others took distance and rushed him while he was busy with the first. As Gorann's sword split the man's neck, he finished him with a spin, slashing the next one as he jumped in. He kicked another away and head‑butted a fourth, then stabbed him, kicking him toward his allies. He finished the ones on the ground.
The remaining men stopped and did not move, silently admitting the difference in skill.
Orrin shoved them aside and stepped forward.
"Well, well. You survived the hell outside," he said with a smug smile. "You should be joining us, not fighting."
Gorann pushed his sword down and closed his eyes. The enemies laughed. Then he released his Akrion, coating his body and blade. The red aura stunned them, shocked them.
With a single swing, he cut two men in half, even though they were blocking. The red aura of Akrion overwhelmed them, revealing the difference in rank.
Gorann's Akrion output weakened; it was no longer as intense. Orrin noticed and was certain he was at his limits. He signaled his men to move, as if to prepare. Six men rushed out through the other door.
Gorann saw them and charged at Orrin, hoping to cut him down while distracted. Orrin grabbed one of his men and shoved him toward Gorann. Gorann cut him, but his sword was stopped by Orrin's dagger. Orrin had sacrificed his ally to soften the blow.
Anger flared. Gorann focused his Akrion in his fist.
Orrin focused on his dagger, ready for it to snap under the Akrion pressure, then watched the red aura vanish from the sword, only to realize the glow flaring in Gorann's fist beneath. It happened in an instant.
Gorann's punch sent him flying ,he did not feel his bones break from the blow Somehow, Orrin was sturdy; The others trembled, just standing there, watching.
Gorann turned his focus back to Orrin—and froze.
Orrin was holding the lord, dagger pressed to his throat.
"My lord…" Gorann breathed.
"It's all right. And I am sorry," the lord said.
Gorann's anger erupted. He unleashed all the Akrion he had left and charged with terrifying momentum, his first step cracking stone. The distance shrank in a heartbeat.
Orrin saw it and shoved the lord toward him.
Afraid of hurting the lord, Gorann's speed faltered and his aura faded as he prepared to catch him. As he reached out, the lord passed straight through him and faded into the air.
Gorann stared at his empty hand and the space where the lord had been, shocked.
He felt Orrin's dagger push through his chest. Orrin smiled.
Gorann's life flashed before him as his sword slipped from his fingers. He remembered when the lord had appointed him knight commander, the weight of that hand on his shoulder, the words: "You've done well." Past Gorann's eyes filled with tears; he was about to smile—
But the image of the lord shifted into Orrin's face as he gripped the dagger and pulled it free.
Gorann's almost‑smile vanished. He fell to the ground.
"Huff… huff…" Orrin panted. "How many times did I tell you morons to shut every door tightly?"
He looked at one of his men. That man was staring past him.
Orrin turned.
Ren stood in the doorway.
What Ren saw made him freeze—the lord vanishing into thin air and Gorann dying.
"And who might you be, little fellow?" Orrin asked.
Ren tightened his fist.
In an instant he crossed the room and punched one of Orrin's men. Orrin's eyes tried to track him and failed, falling behind Ren's movement.
The punch sent the man flying across the room. He hit the far wall hard enough to shake it, then slid down, chest caved in.
Orrin ran toward the other door at the end of the room while Ren rushed the two remaining men. All Orrin could hear behind him were screams and the walls vibrating.
Ren broke the chains of the women, who were barely hanging on, then left them and chased after Orrin.
He reached the great hall. Orrin stood there holding a little girl—the same girl Ren had come with, the one he never managed to ask for a name.
Between them stood six chimeras, growling.
Ren had fought through the entire winter with his fists because every weapon he picked up broke. He kept relying on his hands.
Now, seeing the chimeras guarding Orrin as if he controlled them, Ren rushed in and punched the first, knocking it away. The others bit and grabbed his other arm. He punched one, killing it, and kicked another, driving it back, but these chimeras felt sturdy—like punching steel.
He kept punching and kicking, and they kept getting back up.
Ren grew bloodier with every exchange while Orrin just stood there, watching, noticing how Ren's focus never left the girl. He realized Ren knew her.
Ren's punches slowed. No visible damage showed on the beasts. He had been fighting for months without rest. His body finally failed him, and he dropped to his knees.
Orrin stepped forward, grabbed a shield, and smashed it into Ren's head.
He hit him again.
Ren fell, still conscious, eyes fixed on the girl.
Orrin struck him a third time.
Ren went stone‑cold.
As the scene pulled back, there were no chimeras at all—only men in heavy armor and shields, metal claws strapped to their hands, some of them using Akrion.