Trevor's eyes narrowed as he crouched in the bushes, peering through the dense foliage at the procession moving along the road below. The Everglade entourage, with its ornate carriages and gleaming knights, appeared from his vantage point to be a wealthy group of merchants, their riches ripe for the taking. A grin spread across his face as he noted the number of wagons and the apparent lack of guards—though he couldn't see the full scope of their defenses, his experience told him they weren't expecting trouble.
Satisfied with his reconnaissance, Trevor retreated from his hiding spot, slipping silently through the forest. He moved with the ease of someone who had spent years in the wild, his senses attuned to the sounds and sights of the dense woods. It wasn't long before he reached the clearing where the rest of his gang awaited, a ragtag group of men lounging around a fire, sharpening blades and gnawing on strips of dried meat.
Their leader, a burly man with a scar running down the left side of his face, looked up as Trevor approached, his one good eye narrowing in suspicion. "Well? What did you find?" he growled, his voice low and rough.
Trevor grinned, his teeth flashing in the dim light. "A rich bunch, boss. Looks like merchants headed to the capital. They've got a lot of wagons, probably full of goods. Not too many guards either—should be an easy score."
The leader's lips curled into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Merchants, eh? Then tonight's gonna be a good night. Get the boys ready. We move after dark."
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the bandits prepared for their raid. They were seasoned in this kind of work, and their preparations were swift and efficient. The plan was simple: surround the campsite, create chaos by setting fire to the smaller tents, and then swoop in to take what they wanted while the "merchants" were too busy putting out fires to defend their goods. It was a strategy that had served them well in the past, and there was no reason to think it wouldn't work again.
***
The moon was high In the sky by the time the bandits reached the edge of the Everglade camp. The men moved silently through the shadows, their torches ready in hand. From their position, they could see the flickering light of campfires and the dark outlines of tents, the occupants within blissfully unaware of the danger creeping closer.
Trevor was the first to move, his torch flaring to life with a soft whoosh. He grinned as he tossed it towards one of the smaller tents, watching with satisfaction as the flames caught and began to spread. The other bandits followed suit, and within moments, the camp was alight with the flickering glow of fire.
"Now, boys!" the leader hissed, and the bandits surged forward, weapons drawn, expecting to find panicked merchants scrambling to save their belongings.
But what they found instead was something far more formidable.
***
Kael was already on his feet when the first torch hit the tent. His senses had been on high alert ever since the Miara's warning, and now his instincts screamed that the time to act was now. He moved quickly, slipping out of his tent and into the night, his eyes scanning the scene before him.
The camp was Indeed under attack. Flames licked at the edges of several tents, casting eerie shadows across the ground as the bandits rushed in, their weapons gleaming in the firelight. but the Everglade guards were ready, weapons drawn, and a fierce battle erupted almost instantly.
Kael drew his sword, the weight of it familiar and comforting in his hand. He stepped forward, his movements fluid and precise, as he engaged the first bandit who crossed his path. The man lunged at him, a crude blade slashing through the air, but Kael sidestepped with ease, bringing his sword down in a swift arc. The bandit crumpled to the ground, a gurgle escaping his lips as blood pooled beneath him.
But there was no time to linger. More bandits were pouring into the camp, and Kael could see that the guards were holding their own, but just barely. He spotted Thorne in the midst of the fray, his sword flashing as he cut down one enemy after another, his expression grim but focused.
Nearby, a tent burst into flames, the fire roaring as it consumed the canvas. Kael glanced towards Elowen's tent, his heart skipping a beat. But before he could move, a blast of cold air swept through the camp, and the flames sputtered and died, snuffed out by a surge of frost magic. Elowen stepped out of her tent, her hand still raised, the air around her shimmering with residual ice. Her eyes were cold as she surveyed the battlefield, but there was a steely resolve in her expression that Kael hadn't seen before.
"Focus on the enemy, not the fire!" she snapped, her voice cutting through the chaos. "I'll handle the flames."
Kael nodded, his respect for Elowen grudgingly growing as he turned his attention back to the battle. The bandits were fierce, their attacks relentless, but they were also disorganized, each man fighting for himself. The Everglade guards, on the other hand, fought with the discipline and coordination of trained soldiers, and slowly, they began to turn the tide.
Kael's blade clashed with another bandit's, the impact jarring his arm. The man was larger than him, his muscles bulging as he pressed his advantage, but Kael held his ground, his eyes narrowing as he searched for an opening. The bandit sneered, thinking he had the upper hand, but in the next moment, Kael twisted his wrist, forcing the bandit's blade aside, and drove his sword into the man's chest.
The bandit staggered back, shock written across his face, but Kael was already moving on to the next foe. His breath came in steady gasps, his muscles burning with the effort, but he couldn't afford to slow down. The battle raged around him, the air thick with the sounds of steel clashing and the cries of the wounded, but Kael was focused, his mind clear.
And then he felt it—a sharp pain in his left forearm, the cold bite of steel slicing through flesh. Kael hissed, his grip on his sword faltering for just a moment as he swung his blade in a wide arc, forcing his attacker to retreat. Blood seeped from the wound, staining his sleeve, but he pushed the pain aside, his teeth gritted in determination. He couldn't afford to be distracted now—not when lives were on the line.
With a growl, Kael surged forward, his movements fueled by adrenaline and the fierce need to protect those under his charge. He caught the bandit off guard, his blade cutting through the man's defenses, and with a final, powerful strike, he ended the fight. The bandit fell to the ground, lifeless, as Kael stood over him, his chest heaving with exertion.
The battle continued to rage around him, but Kael's mind was already racing. The pain in his arm was a constant reminder of his vulnerability, of the fact that this body—this human body—was not invincible. As an angel, he had relied on his strength, on the toughness of his skin and the power of his wings, but here, he was fragile, breakable. The realization hit him like a blow to the chest, and he knew that he needed to change, to adapt if he was going to survive.
But there was no time for reflection now. The bandits were retreating, their numbers dwindling as they were cut down by the guards or fled into the night. Kael joined the others in pushing them back, his movements automatic as he fought to the end.
Finally, the last of the bandits broke and ran, disappearing into the darkness. The camp was a mess, the ground littered with the bodies of the dead and the wounded, but the guards had won. They had defended the camp, and the Everglade entourage was safe—for now.
As the adrenaline began to fade, Kael felt the full weight of his injury, the pain throbbing in his arm as he made his way to the center of the camp where the guards were gathering for roll call. He saw Thorne, bloodied but standing tall, giving orders as the guards began to tend to the wounded and secure the area.
Kael sat down on a nearby crate, his sword resting on the ground beside him as he cradled his injured arm. The wound wasn't deep, but it was enough to remind him of the dangers he now faced. He was no longer invulnerable, and if he wanted to survive, he needed to rethink his approach to combat.
Aria, one of Elowen's maids, approached him, a roll of bandages in her hands. She knelt beside him, her movements gentle as she began to wrap his arm. "You did well tonight," she said softly, her eyes focused on her task. "But you need to be more careful."
Kael nodded, his mind still reeling from the battle. "I know," he replied, his voice low. "I've been careless… too reliant on my strength. But that's going to change."
Aria finished wrapping his arm and tied off the bandage, her hands lingering on his skin for just a moment before she pulled back. "You're stronger than you think, Kael," she said, meeting his gaze. "Just… don't forget that strength isn't just about power. It's about knowing your limits too."
Kael stared at her for a long moment before nodding again. She was right, of course. Strength wasn't just about power; it was about understanding his own limitations and adapting accordingly. He had been reckless tonight, relying too much on the sheer force that had once been his hallmark as an angel. But this was a different world, and he was in a different body—a body that needed to be protected, not just wielded like a weapon.
As Aria stood and left to assist the other wounded guards, Kael leaned back against the crate, his mind replaying the battle in sharp detail. Every movement, every strike and counterstrike, was etched into his memory. He could see now where he had gone wrong—how he had left himself open, too focused on offense and not enough on defense.
When he was an angel, the thought of defense had been almost irrelevant. His wings had been his shield, his skin impervious to most attacks. But now, as Kael, he was vulnerable in ways he had never been before. The wound on his arm, though minor, was a stark reminder of that vulnerability. It was clear that he needed to change his fighting style—needed to think not just like an undying warrior but like a survivor.
Kael closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he began to formulate a new approach. He would need to learn how to shield himself, how to parry and dodge more effectively. He would need to rely more on strategy and less on brute strength. And most importantly, he would need to train this body—train it to endure, to withstand the rigors of battle, just as he had trained his angelic form so many millennia ago.
The night was quiet now, the aftermath of the battle settling over the camp like a heavy blanket. The guards moved about, tending to the wounded and securing the perimeter, their voices low and somber. A few fires still flickered in the distance, the remains of the tents that had been set ablaze, but the threat had passed. The bandits had been defeated, and the Everglade entourage was safe.
Kael opened his eyes and looked up at the night sky, the stars shining brightly above. The road ahead was still long, and there would be more battles, more challenges to face. But he was ready. He had learned a valuable lesson tonight—a lesson that would make him stronger, more resilient.
As he stood to rejoin the others, he made a silent vow to himself. He would not let this weakness define him. He would adapt, he would grow, and he would become capable of conquering this world1
The camp continued to buzz with activity as the guards finished their duties for the night. Roll call was completed, and the wounded were tended to. The captured bandits were secured, and the dead were accounted for. Thorne, ever the leader, moved among the men, offering words of encouragement and praise, his presence a steadying force in the aftermath of the battle.
When Thorne reached Kael, he paused, his eyes lingering on the bandaged arm. "You fought well tonight," he said, his voice gruff but not unkind. "But be careful. You're no good to anyone if you're dead."
Kael nodded, appreciating the advice more than he would have before. "I'll keep that in mind, sir."
Thorne grunted, satisfied with the response, and moved on to the next soldier. Kael watched him go, feeling a strange sense of camaraderie with the men around him—a connection that had been missing before. He was still different from them, still something more than human, but tonight had reminded him that he was also something less. And that was a realization that he wouldn't soon forget.
As the camp settled into a weary silence, Kael finally allowed himself to rest. The wound in his arm still throbbed, but the pain was manageable—a constant reminder of the lessons learned this night. He lay down on his bedroll, his thoughts still racing, but sleep came quickly, the exhaustion of battle finally overtaking him.
And as he drifted off, one final thought lingered in his mind, a promise to himself and to the world he now inhabited:
He would be ready for whatever came next.