THE STORY OF A WARRIOR

The sky above Citadel City didn't just fall it burned, bleeding a thick, choking violet that choked the breath from the lungs of anyone still left standing. In the limestone basin below the ruined spires, the final survivors of the King’s Vanguard huddled around a dying fire of salt-wood. They were starving, exhausted, and completely surrounded by a dead world. Their rations were down to a handful of moldy root, their water skins scraped dry, and every shadow stretching across the dunes felt like a predator waiting to strike. Lycus sat at the edge of the rocky ridge, his round spectacles reflecting the dim, bruised twilight. His fingers rested heavily on the hilt of the massive iron broadsword strapped across his back. Beside him, young Kaelen shivered, clutching a bleeding arm where a jagged stone had torn his flesh hours earlier during their frantic escape. "Do you think anyone is left out there?" Kaelen whispered, his voice cracking with exhaustion and fear. "Beyond the waste? In the outer provinces?" "More than you think, boy," Lycus replied, his voice dangerously low. "Fear keeps people hiding in cellars long after the monsters wake. But fear won't keep us alive much longer." Captain Vane limped over, clutching a bruised side where a shadow-stalker’s claw had nearly cleaved his breastplate in two hours ago. His face was twisted in a grim, desperate scowl. "We can't stay here," Vane hissed, scanning the dark horizon. "The scent of our blood is already drawing things out of the ruins. If we don't move toward the southern river basin tonight, we won't see tomorrow." As if the wasteland itself had heard him, a sharp, metallic chime cut through the howling wind. Clang... clang... A mile away, half-buried in a dune of gray ash, stood the skeletal frame of an old frontier watchtower. Suspended from its broken apex was a heavy bronze warning bell, swinging violently back and forth. But it wasn't the wind moving it something massive was scaling the iron beams, its crimson eyes glowing through the dust. Vane gripped the hilt of his short sword, his eyes narrowing to slits. "It’s a trap." "No," Lycus said, standing up and drawing his broadsword with a deafening ring of dark steel as the ground began to tremble beneath their boots. "It's a hunt. And we're the prey. Run!" If you enjoyed this chapter, please don't forget to vote (leave a star) and add this story to your reading list!