Stonefall rose from the plain like arrogance made stone.
High curtain walls, pale limestone polished by generations of wealth. Towers spaced with mathematical precision. Wide roads leading to its gates, built for trade caravans and triumphal marches, not desperation. It was a city that had never truly believed war would come to its doorstep.
That belief was its weakness.
We watched it from the hills as dawn bled into the sky, the light catching on tiled roofs and temple spires. Smoke curled lazily from cookfires inside the walls. Bells rang for morning prayers. Life continued, unaware that it was already dying.
Rethan stood beside me, arms crossed. "They haven't seen us."
"They won't," I said. "Not until it's too late."
Stonefall's strength was also its flaw. It faced outward—toward the roads, the plains, the expected threats. The hills to the east were considered inhospitable, barely patrolled.
Old watchposts had been abandoned decades ago, their garrisons reassigned to more 'important' routes.
Tarek would never have made that mistake.
Which meant he wasn't here.
Yet.
We moved before sunrise.
No banners. No horns. Just boots on rock and breath held tight. The path we followed wasn't on any map—an old quarry trail half-swallowed by scrub and time, discovered by shepherds and forgotten by soldiers.
By the time Stonefall's eastern wall came into view, the city was waking up.
And then we were inside it.
The postern gate was guarded by six men.
Six.
They died without raising an alarm.
We poured through the gap like water through a crack, spreading fast, disciplined, silent. This wasn't a sack. This was an operation.
Targets had been chosen days ago.
Storehouses. Barracks. Signal towers.
Not homes.
Not temples.
Steel flashed in alleyways. Throats opened. Doors were barred from the outside and set alight. Smoke rose—not in chaotic plumes, but in calculated columns.
By the time the city bells rang in alarm, we owned the eastern quarter.
Panic did the rest.
Stonefall's garrison was large—but scattered. Half asleep. Officers scrambling for armor, for orders, for meaning. The city had never needed a single unified response before. It had always relied on walls.
Walls mean nothing once the enemy is already inside.
I fought through a merchant square where statues of old kings loomed uselessly overhead. A squad of city guards tried to form a line there—polished shields, ceremonial helms, hands shaking.
"Hold!" their captain shouted.
I didn't slow.
They broke before we even reached them.
One ran. Two dropped weapons. One tried to stand and died screaming when Rethan's axe split his chest.
This wasn't glorious.
It was brutal efficiency.
We reached the inner garrison by midmorning.
That's where the real fighting began.
Council regulars, not city guards. Hardened men, well-armed, angry and confused. They pushed back hard, reclaiming ground street by street. Arrows flew from rooftops. Oil poured from windows.
I took a cut to the thigh, shallow but burning.
Another across the shoulder that numbed my arm for a terrifying second. Pain became background noise, filed away for later.
A man in red-trimmed armor challenged me near the armory gates. Big. Confident. A veteran who still believed in fair fights.
We circled once.
"Your name will curse you," he said.
"My name already does," I replied.
He attacked with strength, not finesse. I let him drive me back, baited him into overextending, then drove my blade up under his breastplate. He sagged against me, breath wet and rattling.
I held him long enough to hear his last breath.
Then I shoved him aside.
By noon, Stonefall was burning.
Not everywhere.
Just enough.
Smoke coiled into the sky, visible for miles. A signal no beacon could ever match.
I stood on the western wall as the city fell quiet behind me—too quiet. Fires crackled.
Somewhere, people cried. Somewhere else, men begged for mercy or cursed my name.
I didn't enjoy it.
But I didn't regret it either.
Rethan joined me, blood up to his elbows.
"Scouts report dust clouds to the north."
I closed my eyes briefly.
"How long?"
"Half a day. Maybe less."
Tarek.
Of course.
We hadn't taken Stonefall to hold it. That had never been the plan. A city like this couldn't be defended against a full marshal's army with what we had.
Stonefall wasn't a fortress.
It was a message.
I turned back toward the city and raised my voice.
"Signal withdrawal!"
Horns blew—short, sharp notes. Our men disengaged with discipline, pulling back along planned routes, leaving confusion and smoke in their wake.
But Tarek wouldn't be confused.
He would be furious.
We were halfway out when the first of his vanguard appeared on the northern ridge—black banners snapping in the wind. Even at a distance, I could feel his presence, like pressure behind the eyes.
He had come faster than expected.
We didn't run.
We moved.
The hills swallowed us again, but this time not cleanly. Tarek pressed hard, forcing skirmishes, bleeding us with relentless pursuit. He didn't overcommit. Didn't rush.
He learned from every clash.
By nightfall, we were exhausted and wounded—but alive.
And Stonefall burned behind us.
We made camp in a narrow ravine choked with thorn and stone. Fires were forbidden.
The wounded bit down on leather and suffered in silence.
Rethan sat across from me, face grim. "That city will curse your name for generations."
"Yes," I said.
"And the realm will fear it."
"That's the point."
He studied me for a long moment. "You crossed something today."
"I know."
"You can't uncross it."
"I don't intend to."
Silence stretched, heavy as the dark around us.
Finally, he asked the question everyone was thinking.
"Was it worth it?"
I looked toward the north, where somewhere beyond the hills, Tarek al-Rhazim was standing amid the ruins of Stonefall, reading the shape of what I'd done.
"Yes," I said quietly. "Because now he knows."
"Knows what?"
"That I won't play the war he wants."
That night, the wolves came close to camp, their howls echoing off the ravine walls. Men woke with hands on weapons, hearts pounding.
I didn't move.
I lay staring at the stars, feeling the war shift beneath me like a living thing.
Stonefall would fall silent.
Stories would spread.
And somewhere in the realm's halls, the Council would realize the truth far too late.
This was no longer about killing a traitor.
This was about stopping something they had helped create.
And they had already failed.