The wind howled through the devastated valley, lifting clouds of ash and dust that clung to clothes and armor. The acrid scent of burned wood still lingered in the air, though the flames had long since died out. Kael gazed at the horizon, his eyes lingering on the ruins of an ancient stronghold, once flourishing.

  Around him, his army advanced cautiously through the remnants of a forgotten world. Shattered statues, walls scarred by fire, and skeletons bleached by time littered the ruined streets. Each step raised a cloud of dust, each breath felt like an intrusion into a past that refused to be disturbed.

  Kael stopped at the center of a square, partially buried under the rubble. A broken fountain stood there, its basin filled with debris and scattered bones. On the stone edge, an inscription, half-erased, still resisted the passage of time:

  "Glory belongs to those who dare to seize it."

  He traced the letters with his fingertips, feeling a strange resonance with those words. How many kingdoms had vanished in pursuit of this same glory? How many lives had been sacrificed for a throne that no longer existed?

  Behind him, Lysara, crouching near a pile of bones, looked up.

  — "This place has seen more than one war," she murmured, her voice a whisper in the heavy silence.

  Darius, standing nearby, crossed his arms and grimaced.

  — "And it will see more. This world knows only war."

  Kael slowly nodded. These ruins, once full of life, were now a symbol of what awaited the weak. But they also represented an opportunity.

  — "We will set up camp here," he declared. "The ruins will offer us shelter, and the elevated position will give us a defensive advantage."

  Orders were quickly given. The men began setting up tents in the most protected corners, while sentries took positions on the heights.

  Kael stepped away from the commotion, letting his gaze wander over the expanse of debris. He couldn’t help but imagine the screams, the panic, the madness that must have seized the inhabitants when destruction fell upon them.

  Everything they had built—reduced to nothing.

  He briefly closed his eyes, feeling a deep rage welling up inside him. Was this how all civilizations were destined to end?

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Twilight enveloped the ruins, plunging the remains into a menacing darkness. Kael’s soldiers had lit campfires, their flickering glow barely pushing back the night. But the surrounding silence was oppressive. Too quiet.

  Lysara returned from a patrol, her expression grim.

  — "There’s something strange here, Kael."

  — "Tracks?" he asked, his instincts already on alert.

  — "Yes. Recent footprints. But what’s worrying is that they stop abruptly. As if those who left them had vanished into the shadows."

  Kael frowned. He knew this kind of terrain—where the enemy blended into the darkness, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

  A scream suddenly echoed, shattering the heavy silence. A cry of pain, followed by a dull thud.

  Kael drew his sword and ran toward the source of the cry.

  In the shadows, he saw one of his soldiers on the ground, a crossbow bolt buried deep in his throat. His lifeless eyes stared blankly, his hand frozen in a desperate attempt to clutch his wound.

  — "Take cover! We’re under attack!" Darius roared.

  The shadows moved.

  Figures dressed in black, concealed by the ruins, emerged from all sides. They struck with unsettling speed, appearing and disappearing between the rubble.

  Kael parried a dagger aimed at his throat and countered with a swift slash of his sword, severing his attacker’s hand. The man let out a muffled scream before collapsing, his blood staining the gray dust of the ground.

  — "These aren’t mere raiders," Darius spat, cleaving an enemy with a brutal axe swing.

  Perched on a crumbled wall, Lysara fired her arrows with surgical precision. She skewered an attacker mid-air, pinning him to the ground before he could reach a soldier.

  Kael quickly assessed the situation. These fighters knew the ruins as if they were their home. They had prepared this ambush.

  He dodged an attack and struck back, his blade sinking into an enemy’s ribs. The man collapsed in a gurgle, blood trickling from his lips.

  Then, as swiftly as they had appeared, the assailants retreated.

  Kael remained still, his chest rising and falling with the adrenaline coursing through him. Who were they?

  Lysara crouched beside a corpse and tore off its mask.

  — "Look at this," she said, handing him a pendant engraved with an ancient symbol.

  Kael took the object, feeling a chill run down his spine.

  He recognized this symbol.

  It was the emblem of an order thought to have vanished decades ago. A legendary faction, feared for its political assassinations and its influence in past wars.

  — "These are not mere bandits," he murmured. "We’ve awakened a ghost from the past."

  He clenched the pendant in his fist and turned to his army.

  — "Prepare yourselves. They will return."

  Darius gripped his axe, a feral grin on his lips.

  — "Then this time, we’ll be ready for them."

  Kael nodded.

  The war was far from over.