The battlefield had fallen silent.
The echoes of shouting and screaming drifted away into the night, leaving only the wind—and the suffocating stench of blood and burnt flesh—lingering in the air.
They had won.
But no one celebrated.
One by one, the survivors collapsed where they stood. Some leaned against shattered walls, others sank beside cooling corpses. They gasped for breath, their bodies trembling. The frenzy that had carried them through the fight was gone, drained completely, leaving behind only exhaustion… and a hollow emptiness that reached deep into their bones.
The outpost—no, the fortress—was in ruins.
The broken gate lay twisted like the carcass of some dead beast. Blood pooled across the ground, reflecting faint crimson under the moonlight. Arrows jutted from the walls, and bodies—enemy and kin alike—were tangled among fallen logs and shattered stone.
It looked less like a victory… and more like hell.
Lina was the first to move.
Her eyes lingered on the scarred commander's corpse by the gate. Her stomach churned, but she forced it down. This wasn't the time to falter.
"The wounded… treat the wounded!" she called, her voice hoarse but steady.
That single command stirred the others awake.
They forced themselves up, moving through the wreckage, searching… calling… hoping.
Then came the sobs.
Soft at first.
Then breaking.
"Sarah…"
Goff's voice cracked like something inside him had shattered.
He knelt on the rampart, lifting her gently, as if she might still feel pain. The girl who had argued, laughed, trained—was gone. Her eyes remained open, frozen in that final moment between defiance and disbelief.
His hands trembled as he tried to close them.
Once.
Twice.
He couldn't.
The old hunter, who had faced beasts without fear his entire life, broke—his shoulders shaking as he wept like a lost child.
Not far away, Linna screamed.
She had found Ira.
An arrow had pierced straight through her chest. The blood beneath her had already gone dark. She must have fallen in the final moments, when the enemy made their last desperate push.
Two dead.
Five wounded.
For such a small, fragile group… the cost was devastating.
No one spoke of victory anymore.
Only loss.
Only silence.
Colin stood at the doorway, his back pressed against the splintered frame. Pain burned through the wound across his body, but he barely felt it.
His eyes moved slowly across the scene—
Goff cradling Sarah.
Linna frozen beside Ira.
The others, hollow and broken.
A weight settled heavily in his chest.
I wasn't enough.
He had planned. Calculated. Fought.
He had killed their leader.
But he couldn't stop a single arrow.
He couldn't save them.
This… was war.
Not glory.
Not heroism.
Just death—and the suffering of those left behind.
Colin exhaled slowly, then pushed himself forward.
Step by step, he walked into the center of it all.
He stopped beside Goff.
Said nothing.
Only reached out… and gently closed Sarah's eyes.
Then he stood.
Facing everyone.
"Separate our people from the enemy."
His voice was rough—but steady. Unyielding.
The women moved.
Carefully. Reverently.
Sarah and Ira were carried to the cleanest space they could find, laid side by side beneath the open sky.
Colin stepped forward once more.
Then, for the first time, he knelt.
Head bowed.
"Sarah. Ira."
His voice was quiet—but it carried.
"I swear… your deaths will not be in vain."
"You gave your lives to protect this home."
A pause.
Then, colder—
"Tomorrow, I will repay that sacrifice… with the heads of our enemies."
"I will make Earl Raymond—and everyone like him—pay a hundredfold."
No shouting.
No theatrics.
Just a promise.
Heavy as iron.
Goff lifted his head slowly, his eyes red—but no longer empty.
Around them, one by one, the others lowered their heads as well.
Silence returned.
But this time… it was different.
Not fear.
Not despair.
Something harder.
After a moment, Colin rose.
"We don't have time to grieve."
The words were harsh—but real.
"Those who live… keep fighting."
He turned sharply.
"Lina."
"I'm here," she answered, wiping her tears.
"Take whoever can still move. Treat the wounded. Boil water. Clean every wound. Boil the cloth before bandaging."
His gaze hardened.
"I don't want to lose anyone else… to infection."
She nodded immediately and got to work, pulling others with her.
Soon, the outpost filled with new sounds—
Low groans.
Quiet sobs.
The crackle of boiling water.
The tearing of cloth.
Not the chaos of battle…
But the aftermath of survival.
Blackwood Fortress still stood.
Broken. Bloodied.
But alive.
Like a wounded beast crouched in the dark—
Licking its wounds…
And waiting.
Its eyes, now, burned brighter than ever.