The warehouse reeked of blood and smoke. Shadows flickered across broken beams where torches guttered in the chaos, the light catching on steel and crimson.
Cael stood alone now. The last of the rebels had vanished into the tunnels. Behind him, the yawning black mouth of the escape route still breathed with the dust of their passing, but he knew better than to glance back. To look away from the enemy was death.
The soldiers fanned out before him—dozens of them, their armor gleaming, their boots crunching on spilled grain and fallen bodies. Their captain, a broad-shouldered brute with a scar down his jaw, pointed his sword directly at Cael.
“Kill him,” the man barked.
And the tide came crashing forward.
---
The Storm
The first soldier lunged. Cael sidestepped, his blade arcing upward
