Marek’s POV

  The badlands opened up before them like a cracked, sun-bleached fist.

  Captain Marek stood at the head of the column, boots planted on the high ground overlooking the narrow pass they had chosen as their intercept point. Behind him, nearly 300 fighters spread out in three loose groups — locals with spears and patched armor, travelers with whatever weapons they could carry, mercenaries who had taken the coin, and a handful of scavengers who simply didn’t want to lose their home.

  He had split them into three formations, each anchored by one of the camp’s three aura users.

  Marek himself led the center group — his aura steady, disciplined, a quiet pressure that felt like the weight of years of command. He carried a longsword, simple and well-worn, the blade etched with faint Solvaris runes from his old life.

  To his left, Zhulkar Sandvein commanded the western flank — a rugged Zharathan local with sun-baked skin and a heavy stone hammer. His aura felt like packed desert earth — slow, crushing, immovable. He had been a miner before the Fracture, and he fought like one: no wasted movement, just overwhelming force.

  To his right, Sir Rowan Hale held the eastern flank — a tall, silver-haired bounty hunter from an Avalon guild. He carried a longsword and a small round shield, his aura a mix of knightly discipline and raw survival instinct. Rowan had arrived in Camp Tile chasing a bounty and decided to stay when the trouble started. His eyes were calm, but his grip on the sword was tight.

  Three aura users in a force of 300. Rare. Precious. Dangerous.

  A scout came running up the ridge, breathing hard.

  “Captain,” he gasped. “The horde is coming.

  Eight giants in the front ranks — massive, thick-skinned.

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  More than a hundred soldier trolls behind them.

  They’re still far, but moving fast.

  Ashfall is already burning — pillars of fire, ice, and… something like giant bones rising from the ground. I don’t know magic, but it looked wrong.”

  Marek’s jaw tightened.

  Powerful people are already fighting. The strong ones stay and clash. The weak ones flee — and stray toward us.

  He turned to the scout. “Good work. Get some rest.”

  Then he sent runners to Zhulkar and Rowan.

  “Tell them: we kite and retreat. We don’t hold the line forever. The numbers are too great. We bleed them, slow them, draw them toward the river bend where the terrain favors us. If they reach Camp Tile, we fall back and fortify. Watch for humans coming from Ashfall — they’re vile and dangerous. They don’t fight like trolls. They fight like us… but worse.”

  The runners sprinted off.

  Marek looked toward the smoke on the horizon.

  We’re not heroes. We’re just trying to keep our home.

  He raised his sword.

  “Move out!”

  The camp marched forward.

  Back to Camp Tile – Gray’s POV

  Gray stood on the porch of their small hut, watching the armed column disappear into the badlands. His ribs still ached with every breath — “Hssst…” he hissed under his breath as he shifted weight. Tamemoto sat beside him, one hand pressed to his chest bandage, face pale but determined.

  Gauis stepped out behind them, sword already in hand. He looked toward the western smoke, then at his sons.

  Rebecca followed, walking stick in her right hand. It was no ordinary stick — polished dark wood, etched with faint runes, a relic from her past. She held it like a staff, and for the first time in months, her posture wasn’t frail. It was coiled. Ready. Like a volcano that could erupt at any moment.

  Gauis spoke quietly. “We’re not joining the march. Not yet. If the trolls break through, we defend the camp. If they don’t… we stay ready.”

  Gray nodded. “We’ll stay here. Watch the road.”

  Tamemoto looked up at them. “We can help. If it comes to that.”

  Gauis placed a hand on his shoulder. “You will. But only when it’s necessary.”

  Rebecca looked at Gray. Her voice was soft but firm.

  “Rest for now. You’re still healing. But when the time comes… we fight together.”

  Gray met her eyes. He felt the weight of her words — the weight of everything they had lost, everything they had protected.

  He nodded.

  The camp prepared.

  And in the distance, the smoke grew thicker.

  The world was coming closer.