The battle had become chaos. Smoke rolled through the streets like storm clouds dragging across the ground. Firelight flashed off metal and stone, showing only pieces of the struggle before hiding it again in shadow. Every sound, bronze clashing, wood breaking, screams and orders, blurred together until it became one unending roar.

  Maruzan stumbled through the side alleys, trying to find a way out of the mess. His sword arm ached, his lungs burned from the smoke. He had told himself he would retreat, that he’d done enough. But each time he turned away from the noise, his feet carried him back toward it. He couldn’t stay away.

  He had fought stray kobolds on his way through the streets, creatures blinded by smoke and madness. Some were barely standing, their armor cracked, their eyes wild from the fire’s glare. He’d learned to move quickly, strike, duck, move again. It wasn’t courage that drove him, but something quieter. He couldn’t leave the others behind. Not like Elzibar.

  Then, through the haze, he saw him.

  First Captain Vane.

  The man was a storm all his own, his sword flashing through the air, cutting a clean path through the chaos. Every movement had purpose. He didn’t waste a swing or a step. His armor was dented, his face streaked with soot, but he looked unshaken. He wasn’t fighting just to survive. He was fighting to win.

  Maruzan froze for a moment, just watching. There was something about the way Vane fought, like he belonged here, like he understood battle in a way no one else could. It wasn’t about glory or rage. It was instinct, shaped by years of knowing what it meant to lead.

  Then Vane’s attention shifted. He was looking at something deeper in the smoke.

  Maruzan followed his gaze, and felt his stomach drop.

  The kobold leader. Keshik.

  The war chief towered above his kin, his armor spiked with jagged bone and dark metal. His eyes glowed with a faint red shimmer from the blood magic running through his veins. He barked orders in a language Maruzan didn’t understand, his voice rolling through the battlefield like thunder. The kobolds around him moved with eerie discipline.

  A group of dwarves, too far forward, too few in number, were being surrounded. Keshik’s forces pressed toward them, cutting off their escape.

  Vane didn’t hesitate. He lifted his sword, pointing straight at the kobold commander.

  “You!” he shouted.

  The two closed the distance fast. The noise around them faded as if the world itself knew to make space for what was about to happen.

  When their blades met, the sound was sharp and final, like the crack of lightning.

  Keshik’s strength was monstrous. Each strike came with the weight of a hammer, forcing Vane back a step at a time. But Vane didn’t falter. He shifted his footing, adjusted his stance, let Keshik’s rage burn itself out while he waited for his moment.

  The air between them filled with sparks as their weapons collided again and again. Keshik laughed, a low, guttural sound that carried even through the chaos.

  “You sure don’t smell like human,” he said, his voice thick with mockery. “What are you, captain? Some kind of ghost?”

  Vane didn’t answer. His focus never wavered. He sidestepped a sweeping strike and countered, his blade slicing through the edge of Keshik’s armor. The kobold snarled and struck back, but Vane ducked, rolling to the side.

  They circled each other in the smoke.

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  The ground trembled beneath their feet from the fighting nearby. A troll roared in the distance, then fell silent. The smell of burning pitch and metal filled the air.

  Then, for a moment, everything stilled. The noise dulled.

  Neither of them moved.

  Keshik stood with his chest heaving, his weapon raised, his teeth bared. “Show yourself!” he bellowed into the fog, his voice carrying like a challenge to the world itself.

  The answer came not in words, but in motion.

  Vane’s blade flashed low, sweeping through the smoke in a single, clean strike. The sword bit deep into the exposed joint of Keshik’s armor, slicing through muscle and sinew.

  The kobold dropped to one knee with a roar that shook the stones beneath them. His weapon clattered to the ground. Vane kicked it aside, stepping forward with his sword still raised.

  “Who leads you?” he asked, his voice low and steady.

  Keshik’s eyes burned with fury. “I lead myself,” he spat. “I take orders from no one.”

  Vane’s jaw tightened. He struck him across the face with his fist.

  “Who leads you?”

  Keshik coughed, blood running from his mouth. He grinned through broken teeth. “You’ll see soon enough.”

  Vane hit him again, harder this time, until the kobold slumped forward, dazed. Then, without ceremony, he grabbed Keshik by the collar and hauled him upright.

  Maruzan had watched it all from the edge of the street, unable to look away. He stepped forward as Vane dragged the defeated war chief through the smoke.

  “Captain!” he called out.

  Vane glanced over, sweat and soot streaking his face. “You’re still here.”

  Maruzan nodded. “Couldn’t just run.”

  Vane studied him for a moment. “Good. You might yet make a soldier.”

  Maruzan’s stomach twisted at that word. He didn’t feel like a soldier. He barely felt human after what he’d seen. But he followed anyway.

  They reached a half-collapsed warehouse near the inner market, where several soldiers were regrouping. The air there was thick with the smell of smoke and blood. Lysa and Narl were among them, their faces drawn and gray.

  Lysa stepped forward when she saw Vane dragging the massive kobold behind him. “You caught him?” she asked, disbelief clear in her tone.

  Vane dropped Keshik to the ground with a thud. “He’s their commander. Or close enough. I want him alive.”

  Keshik stirred, letting out a low laugh. “Alive now. Dead soon. You’ll all burn.”

  Narl raised his spear, ready to end him, but Vane lifted a hand. “Not yet.”

  Lysa crossed her arms. “You think he’ll talk?”

  “He already has,” Vane said quietly. “Just not in words.”

  Keshik smiled again, his fangs glinting. “You think you’ve won? You think this fire was yours?”

  Vane’s expression hardened. “What are you saying?”

  The kobold’s voice dropped to a growl. “We came to draw you out. To make you gather here.” His grin widened, blood dripping down his chin. “He is coming.”

  Maruzan felt a chill crawl up his spine. “Who’s coming?”

  Keshik’s gaze met his, and for the first time, Maruzan saw fear flicker behind the madness.

  “The one who commands death,” Keshik whispered. “The one who promised us power.”

  Then his head dropped forward. Whether he was unconscious or worse, none of them could tell.

  The group fell silent.

  Outside, the battle was still raging. The fire roared higher, painting the sky red.

  Vane turned to Lysa and Narl. “Get what’s left of your squads together. We hold the inner wall until Ennett returns with reinforcements.”

  “What if she doesn’t?” Narl asked.

  “Then we hold anyway.”

  Maruzan stared down at Keshik’s motionless body. The words “the one who commands death” echoed in his head. He didn’t know what it meant yet, but part of him felt like the battle they were fighting now was only the beginning.

  He looked back toward the burning streets where the dryads’ wind still howled through the smoke. The sky above Harbinth was dark and alive, shifting like something that was watching.

  Vane turned toward him. “You did good,” he said, voice low. “Now go. Find anyone still breathing and get them behind the last line.”

  Maruzan nodded, though his mind was elsewhere.

  As he slipped back into the streets, the thought lingered in his chest, heavy as stone.

  If Keshik wasn’t the true leader of this army, then who was?

  And somewhere, beneath the roar of battle and fire, he thought he heard an answer waiting in the dark.