Chapter 6: The Weight of Victory
The forest was eerily silent in the aftermath.
Ash and embers drifted through the moonlit air, remnants of the battle that had just ended. The monster's body lay motionless, its unnatural form dissolving into thick, black smoke. Not far from it, the mangled remains of its creator sprawled in the dirt—his twisted experiments finally ended by the very power he sought to exploit.
Kaze stood still, bloodied and breathing heavily, his eyes flickering with wind magic that had yet to settle. Atlas knelt beside him, soul magic still faintly pulsing in his hands as he retracted the last of his threads from the enemy's mind. His face was pale.
Behind them, the few remaining fighters from Gage Village limped through the scene, tending to the wounded or covering the dead with cloaks. The night was won—but at a price.
"Kaze…" Atlas called quietly. "Over here."
Kaze walked toward him, heart pounding as he reached a clearing near the hideout's entrance. The stench of rot grew stronger. Inside the crude stone shelter, a grim sight awaited them: small, lifeless forms wrapped in tattered cloth, gently lined up against the wall. Around them were crude drawings, torn dolls, and bloodied toys.
One object caught Kaze's eye—a small, wooden horse stained with dried blood. Beside it, carved shakily into the floorboards, were words that made his chest tighten.
"I miss momma."
Kaze dropped to one knee, his fingers brushing the carving. Tears welled in his eyes. Behind him, Atlas bowed his head, the loss hitting them harder than any physical wound.
One of the villagers who had survived, a quiet older man named Renn, entered the shelter. He didn't speak—just stared at the bodies of the five missing children, then sank to his knees with a choked sob. His niece had been among them.
"We should… wrap them," Atlas whispered, his voice cracking. "We'll carry them home."
The journey back to Gage Village was long and silent.
The once-proud band of warriors returned smaller, slower, and broken. Kaze walked at the front, carrying one of the children in his arms. The others followed, each burdened with the weight of grief, their faces drawn and tired.
When they passed through the outer treeline and into view of the village, people rushed to greet them—hopeful at first, smiles blooming on their faces. But then, those smiles fell.
The parents stepped forward. They counted the faces.
They didn't see their children among the living.
Mrs. Lark stumbled forward, eyes scanning desperately. "Where's Elira?" she whispered.
No one answered.
Then she saw the body in Renn's arms, and the truth hit her like a blade. Her knees gave out.
Cries erupted across the square—sobs of parents who knew before a word was spoken. Some tried to reach their children's bodies, only to be gently held back by the warriors who bore them. Others turned away, unable to look.
Kaze lowered his burden to the ground, tears falling freely. "We tried," he whispered, barely audible. "We tried to save them."
Atlas placed a hand on his shoulder, but his own face was blank with grief.
The Village Head emerged, her expression hard and trembling. "We will honor them," she said through clenched teeth. "And the ones who died to bring them home."
That night, a pyre was lit on the hill. The whole village gathered—silent, mourning, and bound by loss. The flames reached toward the stars, casting long shadows over the faces of the living as they said farewell to the innocent lives stolen by cruelty.
And amid the firelight, Kaze and Atlas stood side by side, the wind still for once, the air heavy with sorrow.
They had survived.
But the cost of victory was no longer just theirs to bear.