A full year had passed since that fateful night by the campfire, and in that time, the world had changed. Not just the battlefield, but the men and women in Michael's squad, the people around him, and the weight of leadership that now settled more naturally on his shoulders. A year of missions, successes, losses, and constant tension had forged them into something stronger than they had been. Each member of the squad had grown, in one way or another, and it was no longer just survival that kept them together—it was a sense of purpose. A shared vision.
Michael had leveled up in his cultivation, reaching the coveted third level in the Verdant Cultivation Method. His growth wasn't just in power—though his ability to manipulate nature and wood-based magic had flourished—but also in his confidence as a leader. The weight of command that once threatened to break him was now something he could bear. He had come to understand the gravity of every decision, every life that depended on his judgment. Now, he could carry that weight.
His mastery of the Verdant Blade, the synthesis of wood, earth, and water, had become seamless. His control over the land and the battlefield had increased tenfold, making him a force to be reckoned with. His ability to think several steps ahead, to read the terrain as if it were an extension of his own body, was almost second nature. The squad had come to rely on him, and he had grown into his role with quiet certainty. But more than that, he had come to understand what it meant to be responsible for others—not just as their commander, but as their protector.
Gregor and Velara had also made significant strides. Gregor, ever the reliable presence, had reached the fourth level in his earth-based cultivation, gaining the ability to manipulate terrain with greater precision. He could create massive barriers with ease, and his attacks had become more devastating as his power grew. His role as a defender was invaluable.
Velara's growth had been more profound—emotional as much as magical. Her fiery temper had cooled, tempered by the experiences of the past year and the strength she had found in her squad. Her magic had also evolved, her control over fire becoming more refined, deadly, and precise. She, too, had reached the fourth level, though it was her inner transformation that was most striking.
Gone was the reckless, independent woman who had once fought to escape the shadows of her past. In her place was a more open, more trusting Velara, one who allowed herself to care again. She had begun to heal.
Her pain, the scars left by the loss of her parents, the brutal destruction of her childhood during the last war, still lingered—but they no longer defined her. There was something new in her eyes now—hope, perhaps. Or at the very least, the possibility of it.
Velara and Michael had spent more and more time together over the months, not just as comrades, but as something more—a spark had ignited between them, something unspoken but undeniable. The quiet moments shared between missions, the long hours spent training or strategizing, had brought them closer. The connection they shared was more than the physical bond of two warriors fighting for survival—it was something deeper, something born out of mutual understanding and the scars of their pasts.
For Michael, the bond had become a solace. Velara, who had once kept the world at arm's length, now allowed herself to open up. He was the one she turned to, the one who understood the weight she carried. And he had come to realize that perhaps he had found something he had long thought lost—a way forward through the war, with someone beside him who could carry the weight of the world just as he could.
Their relationship was still complicated, a delicate dance between friendship and something more, but it was a comfort they had both come to rely on.
The squad had become something of a legend over the past year. Their reputation spread across the kingdom, and whispers of their victories filled the camps of both allies and enemies alike. Michael and his team had become known for their uncanny ability to survive ambushes, to outthink their enemies, and to turn the tide of battle in their favor. They were the squad that no assassin could touch, the team that always found a way to win.
But with that fame came a target. The Zeranthian forces began to take notice, and the squad found themselves facing increasingly dangerous missions. Assassins, spies, and saboteurs were sent to disrupt their operations, but none succeeded. Michael's ability to read the land, to detect ambushes before they even began, kept them one step ahead. His tactical brilliance, combined with the squad's growing synergy, made them a formidable force.
Yet even with all their success, the squad was not immune to loss. The last year had not been without its tragedies. Squad leaders from the outpost of Halford, one of the most strategically important locations in Verdwryn, had fallen. A surprise attack by a rival faction had taken their lives. The loss had shaken Michael to his core.
He had known some of those leaders. They had been friends—men and women who had, like him, given everything for the kingdom. Their deaths were a stark reminder of the brutal reality of war. Even the best, the most capable, could fall in an instant. Michael's heart had weighed heavily in the aftermath. The loss had forced him to confront the truth—no one was safe. Not even him.
But it also strengthened his resolve. He could not let their deaths be in vain. He had to push forward. The kingdom depended on him. On them.
On the squad.
They were a family now—each member had become irreplaceable, bound by the shared suffering of war and the unspoken understanding that they had to protect each other, no matter the cost. Michael was their leader, but he was also their brother in arms. And he would do whatever it took to keep them safe.
Velara, for her part, had become more involved in the squad's leadership. Her bond with Michael had deepened, and it was clear that she was no longer the lone wolf she once was. She took on more responsibility, offering suggestions, helping to train the newer members of the squad, and standing beside Michael in times of crisis. Her fiery presence was a constant reminder of the strength they all had within them, even when the odds seemed insurmountable.
One evening, as the squad rested after a particularly brutal mission, Velara approached Michael, her eyes softening as she saw him staring out into the distance.
"You're thinking about them, aren't you?" she asked, her voice quieter than usual.
Michael nodded, his gaze never leaving the horizon. "I can't stop. Every time we go out there, I wonder if this will be the last mission. If I'll lose another one of you."
Velara stepped closer, her presence a quiet comfort. "We'll survive this, Michael. I promise. We've made it this far. Together."
Her words were simple, but they carried weight. Michael glanced at her, a soft smile tugging at his lips. "Together."
Her gaze lingered on him, and for a moment, they simply stood there—two warriors, bound by the war, but also by something more.
In the distance, the sound of the camp's evening bell rang out, signaling the end of another day. The squad would soon be ready to move again, to face whatever the next mission would bring. But for now, in this quiet moment, they had each other. And that was enough. For now.
But the war was far from over, and the true test of their strength had yet to come. As the squad prepared for the next phase of their journey, Michael knew that the challenges they would face in the coming months would test them all in ways they could not yet imagine. The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear—whatever came next, they would face it together.