The ridge was lost.
Elyra stumbled through the churned mud, her legs trembling with exhaustion as she helped a wounded rebel soldier to his feet. The storm had finally begun to wane, but its remnants still clung to the battlefield—jagged flashes of lightning illuminated the shattered barricades, and the rain had turned the ground into a mire of blood and muck.
The enemy forces had surged forward after breaching the defenses, their banners rising above the chaos like shadows swallowing the light. The rebels had fought valiantly, but they were overwhelmed, scattered, and broken.
Elyra's hand tightened around the soldier's arm as she pulled him toward the tree line where the remnants of their forces had retreated. His breath came in wet gasps, and his face was pale, smeared with blood and grime.
"We'll make it," Elyra said, her voice hoarse, though she wasn't sure if she believed it. "Just a little farther."
Around her, the battlefield was a grim tableau of devastation. Bodies lay twisted and broken, both rebel and enemy alike, their lifeless forms stark against the charred earth. The air was thick with the acrid stench of smoke and the coppery tang of blood.
A sharp cry drew her attention to the ridge behind her. She turned, her chest tightening as she saw the last of her soldiers being cut down. The enemy's banners swayed in the wind, their victory complete.
Her heart clenched, the weight of failure pressing down on her like a physical force. She had promised them victory, promised them hope—and now all she could see was ruin.
"Mara," she whispered, scanning the battlefield for her second-in-command. But there was no sign of her. No sign of anyone.
She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to focus. There was no time to grieve, no time to process the full weight of what had just happened. The only thing that mattered now was survival.
The soldier beside her groaned, his legs buckling beneath him. Elyra caught him before he fell, her arms trembling with the effort.
"Stay with me," she said, her voice firm despite the exhaustion that threatened to pull her under. "We're almost there."
The sound of approaching hoofbeats sent a jolt of panic through her. She turned sharply, her heart pounding as she saw a squad of enemy riders breaking away from the ridge, their silhouettes dark against the dim light of dawn. They were coming for the survivors.
"Go!" she hissed to the soldier, shoving him toward the trees. "Hide!"
He hesitated, his eyes wide with fear.
"Now!" Elyra snapped, drawing her sword.
The soldier staggered away, disappearing into the shadows of the forest. Elyra turned to face the riders, her breath coming in sharp, shallow bursts. She knew she couldn't take them all, not in her current state—but she had to buy time for the others.
The first rider bore down on her, his spear gleaming in the faint light. Elyra sidestepped at the last moment, slashing upward with her blade. The spear shattered in his hands, and he tumbled from his horse with a cry.
Another rider came at her, and she ducked under his swing, her sword biting into his leg. He howled in pain, his horse rearing as he fell.
But there were too many.
A third rider charged, his blade catching her shoulder in a glancing blow. Pain flared white-hot, and Elyra stumbled, her vision swimming. She barely managed to raise her sword in time to block the next strike, the force of the blow sending her to her knees.
The rider raised his weapon again, his face set with grim determination. Elyra braced herself, her grip tightening on her sword—but the blow never came.
A figure emerged from the shadows, dark and commanding. Kael.
"Stand down," he ordered, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade.
The rider hesitated, his weapon still raised.
"I said, stand down," Kael repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.
The rider lowered his blade reluctantly, casting a wary glance at Elyra before retreating with the others.
Elyra's chest heaved as she struggled to her feet, her sword still raised. "What are you doing?" she demanded, her voice raw. "Why did you stop them?"
Kael's expression was unreadable, his dark eyes fixed on her. "You've lost, Elyra," he said quietly. "There's no point in more bloodshed."
Her hands shook as she tightened her grip on her weapon. "You don't get to decide that."
"I'm not here to fight you," he said, his tone calm but firm. "Not now."
The words struck her like a blow. She wanted to lash out, to scream, to demand answers—but her body betrayed her, the weight of exhaustion and injury dragging her down.
Kael took a step closer, his gaze softening ever so slightly. "Go," he said. "Take what's left of your forces and leave. You can't win this battle—but the war isn't over."
Elyra's breath caught, her mind racing. Was this a trap? A trick? Or was there something else, something unspoken, in his offer?
She lowered her sword slowly, her eyes never leaving his. "Why?" she asked, her voice barely audible.
Kael hesitated, the storm in his eyes mirroring the one in her heart. "Because I owe you that much," he said finally.
Before she could respond, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the haze of the battlefield.
Elyra stood there for a long moment, her thoughts a tangled mess of anger, confusion, and something she couldn't quite name. Then she turned and staggered toward the trees, toward the remnants of her army, toward whatever came next.
The ridge was lost.
But the war was far from over.