The sewers stretched endlessly before them, winding through the darkness like a serpent burrowed beneath the ruined city.

  Hours had passed.

  Maybe more.

  Time was a strange thing down here—lost in the dim glow of bioluminescent moss, the echoing drip of unseen water, and the occasional groan of something moving in the tunnels far ahead.

  They had taken turns on guard shifts, resting in rotations, and now, with no better plan than ‘keep moving forward,’ they were back on their feet.

  Ciel walked near the front, her boots sloshing softly in the dampness, her revolvers still resting in her grip.

  She hated thinking.

  But lately, she was doing too much of it.

  And that was not helping.

  Because the reality was they had no plan.

  At least, not one that made sense.

  "So, just checking, we’re all aware that we don’t actually know where the hell we’re going, right?"

  Veyra, walking beside her, stretched her arms behind her head, her rifle slung lazily over her shoulder. “Oh, yeah, absolutely. We’re completely winging this.”

  Sylva sighed, rubbing at her temples. “We’re trying to get through the sewers, but there’s no guarantee that there even is a way through.”

  Raze, who had been leading just ahead, let out a low, grumbling exhale. “There’s always a way through.”

  Ciel smirked. “Okay, but what happens if we don’t find anything in two weeks?”

  Silence.

  They all knew what would happen.

  Veyra exhaled dramatically. “I guess we start eating Skrimp.”

  Skrimp honk-growled, flaring his tiny wings in what was probably meant to be an intimidating display.

  Gorrug hissed again so violently that it nearly echoed through the tunnel. “You are a heathen! Skrimp is not for eating!”

  Ciel laughed, shaking her head. “Seriously, though. We run out of rations, and then what? Starve to death in some godsforsaken sewer tunnel?”

  That was not a thought she wanted to dwell on.

  But she was thinking too much now.

  Overthinking.

  Again.

  Skrimp snorted-growled beside her, waddling along on his much-too-thick legs, his strange, stubby wings twitching.

  The thing was trying to walk and fly all at once, flapping so desperately it almost looked like it would get off the ground, only to fail spectacularly and keep running to catch up.

  Ciel sighed. “You good there, buddy?”

  Skrimp chittered, as if personally offended.

  Ciel rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

  Thinking. Overthinking.

  She needed a distraction.

  Luckily, one presented itself.

  “You’re remembering it wrong,” Raze said suddenly, his tone exasperated.

  Gorrug snorted loudly. “Impossible. My memory is flawless. You, on the other hand, are just bitter.”

  Raze scoffed, his cigar clenched between his teeth as he trudged forward. “Bitter? Gorrug, we were literally running for our lives. You were screaming.”

  Gorrug let out a booming laugh, one that echoed slightly in the tight tunnel. “Screaming in victory!”

  Veyra looked far too amused. “Oh, this is already good. Keep going.”

  Ciel glanced at Sylva, who was already pinching the bridge of her nose, like she had heard this argument before.

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  “What are they even talking about?” Ciel asked.

  Sylva sighed. “Something from the ‘glorious days,’ as Gorrug calls them.”

  Raze exhaled through his nose. “Yeah, glorious my ass. That was the worst ambush we ever walked into.”

  Gorrug grinned. “And yet, we walked out, did we not? That is glory. That is triumph.”

  Raze took a slow drag of his cigar, looking like he was questioning every decision that had led him to this moment.

  “We walked out because I dragged your oversized ass through that wreckage while you bled all over the damn place.”

  “A bonding experience!” Gorrug clapped a massive hand to his own chest. “I knew, in that moment, that you and I would fight together until the end! And now, look at us! Unstoppable! A team of warriors unmatched!”

  Raze, flatly: “You passed out on me halfway through.”

  Gorrug waved him off. “Semantics.”

  Ciel smirked. “So, wait, let me get this straight. You two were serving in the same militia after Raze committed treason?” She knew this, she just wanted the distraction.

  Raze let out a slow exhale, as if he had accepted his fate. “Technically.”

  Gorrug grinned. “Technically, he got to keep his life because he walked the line so perfectly between traitor and hero that even the crown didn’t know what to do with him.”

  Sylva arched a brow. “And yet, you still protected knights under the same crown you were accused of betraying?”

  Raze tapped his cigar against the tunnel wall, the embers glowing faintly. “That’s not something I like talking about.”

  “Then allow me!” Gorrug beamed, stepping forward dramatically.

  Raze groaned.

  Gorrug turned toward the group, spreading his arms grandly.

  “Picture this! A battlefield of smoke and steel! Betrayal and honor clashing in the same breath! And at the center of it all—Raze, the Ironfang, a warrior torn between duty and survival!”

  Raze, deadpan: “That is not how it happened.”

  Gorrug, grinning: “It is how I remember it.”

  Ciel laughed, shaking her head, but there was something deeper beneath her amusement.

  Something settling in her gut.

  Raze and Gorrug had history. Real history.

  They had been through war together. Lived through fire, betrayal, blood.

  And they had walked away from it.

  Together.

  Ciel wondered—if they ever got out of this hellhole, if they lived through the next fight, the next impossible battle, would someone tell stories about her like that?

  Would there be anything worth remembering?

  She bit the inside of her cheek.

  More overthinking.

  She needed to stop.

  So, Ciel grinned, shaking off the creeping thoughts, feeling herself slipping back into her usual rhythm. The momentary pause for self-reflection? Yeah, that was over.

  She had better things to focus on—like Gorrug dramatically recounting one of Raze’s “glorious” tales, despite the man himself looking like he wanted to shove his own head into a wall.

  Gorrug, ever the storyteller, spread his massive green arms, voice booming as they walked.

  “Now, listen well, warriors! For this is a tale of true defiance! A moment where honor and rationality met upon the battlefield!”

  Raze sighed through his teeth, adjusting his cigar between his lips. “It wasn’t that dramatic.”

  Gorrug ignored him entirely.

  “The battlefield was set! Raze, the Ironfang, led his brigade to seize a stronghold, small, yes, but a vital supply station for the enemy! If they took it, they could sever supply chains, cripple the opposition!”

  Ciel raised a brow. “And let me guess… it all went to shit.”

  Raze grunted, rubbing his temple. “Like every other military operation in history.”

  Gorrug’s grin was all teeth. “Indeed! The enemy was greater in number than the scouts predicted! The brigade was outmatched! Surrounded! But the orders from the high command were clear…”

  His voice dropped into a dramatic growl, imitating some faceless general,

  “You will die on that hill. You will fight and inflict as much carnage as possible. Make the enemy bleed, no matter the cost.”

  Ciel’s grin dimmed just slightly.

  She’d heard those kinds of orders before.

  Suicide missions wrapped in fancy words and false valor.

  Gorrug paused for effect, then jabbed a massive finger at Raze. “But the Ironfang did not kneel to senseless slaughter! He did not throw lives away like coin to be spent! He did the unthinkable!”

  Raze exhaled, dragging a hand down his face. “I told my team to retreat. That’s all.”

  “No, no! You forced them to retreat!” Gorrug corrected, his golden eyes gleaming.

  “You surrendered, Raze. You made the call to live. You made the call to fight another day.”

  Raze’s expression remained unreadable, his eyes fixed ahead, his cigar smoldering in the dark.

  Ciel watched him, tilting her head slightly.

  It was easy to forget, sometimes, that Raze had been a leader before all of this. Before the mercenary work, before the crew.

  He had stood at the front of an army once.

  And he had chosen to turn his back on them.

  “So that’s why you were labeled a traitor?” Sylva asked, watching him carefully.

  Raze didn’t answer right away.

  He took another slow drag, exhaled the smoke, then said, flatly,

  “That’s why they wanted to kill me. But I walked the line just enough that they didn’t know whether to hang me or pin a medal on my chest.”

  Ciel grinned. “Sounds about right.”

  Raze huffed a quiet breath, shaking his head.

  Gorrug wasn’t done.

  “You saved hundreds that day.” His voice dropped, losing its dramatics, becoming something closer to reverence.

  “Men and women who would have died for no reason walked away because of you. And many of them followed you into the militia afterward. They followed you because they believed in you.”

  Raze grunted, waving a hand. “You make it sound a lot more noble than it was.”

  “It was noble!” Gorrug insisted, stepping in front of him for a moment, forcing Raze to actually look at him.

  “You could have thrown your life away, as so many before you have. You could have followed orders. But you didn’t. And that’s why you live to fight another day. That is glory, Raze. Not some empty death on a forgotten battlefield.”

  Raze held his gaze for a moment.

  Then, with a low sigh, he stepped around the orc, continuing forward.

  “You’re too sentimental, Gorrug.”

  Gorrug let out a deep, satisfied chuckle. He gave a brief smile to the women following him as if he was proud of himself.

  Ciel grinned, shaking her head. “You two are adorable.”

  Raze shot her a look. “I will throw you into the nearest death hole, Astara.”

  She winked. “Kinky.”

  Veyra, half-tuned into the conversation, groaned. “Please don’t start flirting with Raze, I’m already suffering enough.”

  Ciel laughed, fully shaking off the weight of earlier.

  No more overthinking.

  No more dwelling.

  She was back. Focused. Ready. Smirking at death instead of fearing it.

  The sewers still stretched endlessly before them.

  But for now?

  They kept walking.