The cavern stank of smoke and rot. Already the humans dragged corpses into heaps, black ichor saring across the stone as torches hissed. Fire crackled low, the heat sickly rather than warming. The sll clung to the throat, thicker than ash.
Lindarion stood where he had cut down the last of the mutants, shadows receding from his fra like reluctant servants. The sword at his side pulsed faintly, a reminder, but his grip had loosened. His chest burned, every rib bruised, but he forced himself still. Weakness here would unravel everything.
The commander approached, boots grinding bone shards into dust. His face was haggard, but his eyes carried sothing new, fervor where despair had once hollowed them. He bowed his head slightly, not fully, but enough.
"My lord," he rasped. "We will do as you said. But we need more than fire and corpses to stand against him. You saw what your power did. Ours..." His hand flexed uselessly. "...ours will not hold."
Behind him, the humans gathered, so limping, so still bleeding. They sharpened rusted blades, bound wounds with cloth torn from the dead, stacked rocks into crude barricades. They worked like ants around a collapsing hill.
Lindarion’s gaze swept them. Thin, starved, broken, but alive. Alive only because he had stood between them and Maeven. They looked at him with hunger that had nothing to do with food. Hunger for survival. Hunger for him.
’They will follow until they die,’ his thoughts whispered cold. ’And they will die.’
He let his voice carry, low but iron-bound. "Then I will teach you."
The commander blinked, startled. Around him, the whispers flared again.
"Teach us?"
"The elf prince..."
"...train us?"
The commander steadied himself, squaring his shoulders. "What would you have us learn, my lord?"
Lindarion’s eyes narrowed. "To fight as more than cattle. To use what little you have as if it were enough. Maeven will not fall to your steel, but he will bleed from it if you wield it as one."
The commander nodded quickly, relief cutting through his scarred features. "Then tell us where to begin."
A flicker of warmth stirred faintly in the back of Lindarion’s mind. Not words, Selene did not intrude. Just her presence, steady, like a hand against his spine. He did not summon her. Not yet.
He turned, his cloak stirring dust, and pointed to the cavern wall. "Maps. Bring parchnt, coal, anything to mark with."
It took them ti, but scraps were found, old rations wrappers, torn cloth, shards of slate. They laid them out across a flat stone. Crude, but enough.
The commander crouched, gesturing with a bloodstained finger. "We know these tunnels. We’ve lived in them long enough. Here," he marked, "the western shaft. Wide, but unstable. Too many collapses."
"Then seal it," Lindarion said. "Collapse it yourself before Maeven does."
The man nodded, scribbling the mark darker.
"Here," he continued, "the water vein. We drink from it, but it floods if struck."
"Defend it," Lindarion ordered. "Without it, you starve faster than he kills you."
One by one, they traced the tunnels. Each mark beca an order, sharp and swift. Where to dig trenches, where to place barricades, where to line archers, where to choke the mutants into narrow funnels. Lindarion’s voice carved through the chamber like a blade.
The humans listened. They wrote. They obeyed.
Nysha watched from the edges. She did not kneel, did not speak, her crimson eyes flicking between the humans and Lindarion with a weight that pressed. Her shadows curled faintly at her feet, restless.
When the commander paused to catch breath, Lindarion spoke again. "Your blades are dull. Your mana is weaker still. But both can kill if placed well." His gaze cut across them. "You will not fight as heroes. You will fight as hunters."
The whispers rose. So with fear, others with grim approval.
"Hunters..."
"Kill them like beasts."
"For once... not prey."
A thin man stepped forward, voice trembling. "But my lord... many of us cannot wield magic. We... we have only steel."
Lindarion’s stare pinned him. "Steel cuts flesh, no matter how twisted. Strike as one. Do not waste your strength on glory. You fight for the man beside you, or you are nothing."
The man swallowed hard, then bowed his head. "Yes, my lord."
The commander’s eyes glead with sothing like faith. "Then you will lead us?"
The word struck heavier than stone.
’Lead them...’ His jaw clenched. ’Every step drags from my path. Every order binds deeper.’
But he saw their eyes. Saw the hollowed cheeks, the trembling hands still lifting broken blades. Saw the children watching from behind the fires, silent, wide-eyed. If he turned away now, they would scatter. Maeven’s shadow would devour them whole.
’Damn them,’ his thoughts hissed. ’Damn for even considering it.’
He spoke. "I will lead until Maeven is ash. Then I leave. Do not mistake my blade for your crown."
The commander bowed deeper. "As you say, my lord."
The whispers surged again, louder, a fever in the air. Savior. Prince. Leader.
Lindarion turned from them before the words could settle deeper. He moved toward the fire, lowering himself carefully onto a stone. His ribs ached, shadows twitching faintly under his skin where Selene’s warmth had sealed flesh. He exhaled slow, tasting iron.
Nysha followed, kneeling beside him. She kept her voice low, ant for him alone. "They will worship you until they break. Do you an to let them?"
His gaze stayed on the flas. "I an to make them useful."
Her lips pressed thin. "And when they die for you?"
His eyes slid to her, crimson reflecting the firelight. "Then their deaths will buy ti."
Her shadows twitched, but she said nothing more.
Silence stretched between them, filled by the humans’ labor, the scrape of stone, the crack of burning corpses, the low murmur of plans spreading through tired throats.
Lindarion closed his eyes briefly, reaching inward. Not to summon, but to brush against the presence that lingered always. Selene’s warmth stirred, like a sleeper shifting beneath silk. He did not call her fully. He only let her be. For now, silence was enough.
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