The Shadow Legion rode through the wasteland in grim silence. Their black cloaks trailed like smoke behind them, their formation unbroken even after the night's failure. The bodies of those lost to the boy's power had been left where they fell — the Legion did not bury their dead. They were shadows, and shadows left no trace.
At the head of the column rode General Kaelith. His face was hidden beneath his helm, but his thoughts burned cold and sharp. He had seen it with his own eyes — the cursed star child wielding power that should have been impossible for one so young. The villagers' whispers had been no exaggeration.
When the Legion halted at a dried riverbed, Kaelith dismounted and stood before his soldiers. The wind howled, whipping dust into their ranks, but the general's voice carried steady and clear.
"Last night was not defeat. It was revelation."
The soldiers shifted, their armor clinking softly.
"The boy carries the mark," Kaelith continued. "The prophecy is not mere superstition. His power is real — dangerous, untamed. And if left to grow, it will bring ruin to the throne."
A murmur of unease rippled through the ranks. Some soldiers had seen the silver light with their own eyes, seen their comrades thrown aside like rag dolls. Fear lingered, unspoken but heavy.
Kaelith's gaze swept over them, hard as steel. "Fear has no place in the Shadow Legion. We are the king's blade. We do not falter, we do not question, and we do not fail."
The murmurs died instantly. The Legion straightened, silent once more.
But one soldier, braver or perhaps more foolish than the rest, stepped forward. His voice was low, hesitant. "General… if the boy's power grows, what if even we cannot—"
The soldier never finished. Kaelith's sword flashed in a single motion. A clean cut, swift and merciless. The man collapsed into the dust, his words silenced forever.
Kaelith sheathed his blade without looking back. "Doubt," he said coldly, "is more dangerous than any curse."
The Legion did not move, did not speak. Only the wind mourned the fallen.
Kaelith turned his eyes toward the horizon, where the wasteland stretched endless and bleak. Somewhere out there, the boy lived. The cursed child who bore the mark of the stars.
He spoke again, softer now, more to himself than to the Legion. "Prophecy or no prophecy, I will not allow a child to decide the fate of the throne. He will be found. He will be broken. And his blood will feed the dust."
Behind him, the Shadow Legion raised their fists in silent acknowledgment. Their loyalty was absolute, their will bound to their general's command.
Kaelith mounted his steed once more. "We ride east. Scouts will fan out. The wasteland cannot hide him forever."
As the column moved, the ground trembled faintly beneath the pounding of hooves. The Shadow Legion advanced like a tide of black, unyielding, inevitable.
And though Kael had survived the first clash, the general's vow ensured this: the hunt would not stop until prophecy itself was drowned in blood.