The wind had changed. It carried the scent of smoke, of burnt timber and scorched earth—not from our recent battle, but from villages and outposts left in the wake of our passage. Each plume a message: Cairos moves. Cairos strikes. Beware.
We traveled at first light, moving through narrow passes that twisted between jagged cliffs.
The sun had barely touched the horizon when we saw the first signs of panic—farmers fleeing with carts overturned, soldiers half-dressed, scrambling to form lines that had no hope of holding.
I dismounted at the first sight, boots sinking into mud softened by morning dew. "Stop," I commanded. My voice carried, though I did not raise it.
The Bloodline obeyed without question. Their eyes were sharp, alert—they had learned the weight of my silence.
A group of fleeing villagers approached cautiously, hands raised. An elderly man stepped forward, eyes wide and fearful. "Master… sir… they… they're sending troops. More than ever before. They've put a bounty… a real bounty…"
I didn't interrupt. Let him finish.
"—and they've conscripted every able man in the surrounding counties.
They say if Cairos is found, the villages that aid him will burn!" His voice cracked, and he took a step back, glancing nervously at the others.
I studied him for a long moment. The boy beside him clutched a small wooden sword like it could ward off reality.
I knelt slowly, bringing myself level with their trembling forms. "You will not fight for me," I said. "You will survive."
The man blinked. "But… they will come anyway."
I straightened, feeling the familiar weight of responsibility settle in my chest. "Then let them. Because when they do, they will not find a man hiding in the dark. They will find the Bloodline standing."
Behind me, Rethan smirked, though his eyes were serious. "That sounds like a threat," he said.
"It is," I admitted. "To those who chase us. Not to those who survive."
By midday, we reached the ruined outskirts of a small town called Dervain, its gates splintered, walls scarred from the battering of hastily organized forces.
Smoke rose in a thin column above the eastern quarter, where patrols of Council soldiers had attempted to burn supplies before being driven off by scattered resistance.
I crouched, inspecting the streets below.
"We hold the high ground," I said. "Rethan, take half the men. Sweep the alleyways. Lysa, secure the remaining civilians and wounded. Joren, you'll coordinate scouts.
Find their commanders."
They moved with the practiced precision of a well-oiled machine. Every step, every glance, every shift in weight was calculated.
The Bloodline had changed since the valley battle; no longer just survivors, we were becoming hunters.
It did not take long to find our first target: a minor general named Marvik, tasked with chasing the Bloodline through the region.
He had underestimated us. That mistake cost him dearly.
The alleyway was narrow, shadows folding over the stones like waiting predators. Marvik's men moved cautiously, believing the town empty.
They did not see the sharpened edges of the Bloodline's blades until it was too late.
Rethan struck first, a whirlwind of steel that cut through the lead soldiers like wind through wheat.
The others fell in swift, coordinated succession, leaving Marvik exposed.
He drew his sword, a heavy thing meant for intimidation, and raised it with a yell that faltered as I stepped into the light.
"Marvik," I said. "Do you know why you are here?"
"I… I…" He stammered, panic finally overtaking training. "I… I was following orders!"
"And yet," I said, voice cold as the iron in my hand, "your orders brought death to innocents. You chose to obey blindly. That choice ends here."
He lunged, desperate, and I met him without hesitation. The clash was brutal, steel ringing against steel, sparks flying where our blades met. He was strong—well-trained—but predictable.
Every strike, every feint, every overcommitment I had anticipated.
The fight ended quickly, a sharp cut along his shoulder ending both his movement and his resistance. He fell to the ground, gasping. I stood over him, blade poised for the final blow.
"You will tell your men," I said slowly, letting the threat linger. "Tell them who they serve. Tell them the Bloodline does not kneel. And then… you will leave this town, or you will die here."
Marvik's eyes were wide, shaking, but he nodded. "I… I understand…"
I stepped back. Rethan pressed a hand on my shoulder. "Mercy?" he asked.
"No mercy for those who cannot think beyond orders," I replied. "But for those willing to learn, there is a choice."
By nightfall, Dervain was calm. Fires were extinguished, wounded tended, and civilians reassured.
Scouts reported no further troops approaching. The town, once trembling, now regarded us with a strange mixture of fear and hope.
I stood on the wall, watching the horizon turn gold and crimson as the sun dipped below distant hills. The valley below was quiet, but I knew it would not stay that way.
Lysa approached, her dagger sheathed but hands still smeared with blood. "This is only the beginning," she said.
I nodded. "Yes. The Council will not let a single victory go unanswered. But neither will we."
Rethan smirked, tossing a stone over the wall. "So what now, leader? Where does the war take us next?"
I turned my gaze to the east, where the rising smoke of distant cities marked the beginning of a new campaign.
"Forward," I said simply. "Always forward.
Let the ashes of today remind them of what waits for those who underestimate the Bloodline."
The men behind me murmured agreement, a low, unified sound that carried in the wind like a promise—and a warning.
Somewhere beyond the hills, I knew Tarek would hear it too. Somewhere far in the Council halls, generals would debate the cost of hunting me. And somewhere, across the length of Aereth, whispers of a single name began to grow louder.
Cairos.
The Bloodline.
And the war was only beginning.