The retreat was chaos.

  The Ashguard had always been hunters, but not tonight. Tonight the battlefield shifted, and the realization struck them with every ragged breath: they were prey.

  Kael ran with the others, his lungs burning, sweat mixing with ash on his face. He risked a glance back and felt his chest seize. The mutated Rhupenshron were regrouping, their monstrous bodies moving in eerie synchronization. They weren’t just chasing anymore—they were herding. Learning.

  “We need to get out of here, now!” Kael shouted, desperation raw in his voice.

  Commander Raithe Dorn was already ahead of him, signaling for a defensive wedge. The squads shifted, trying to cover each other as they cut toward higher ground. It was the only chance they had of holding together long enough to regroup.

  Vaeyna surged to the front, her blade already in hand. She spared a glance at the tightening pack of Rhupenshron behind them, their claws gouging trenches into stone. They would not outrun them.

  “Kael, cover us!” she barked. Her tone left no room for argument.

  Kael spun mid-stride and fired his coil-spear. The tether shot out with a metallic whip, striking one of the beasts directly in the eye. The creature blinked and kept coming.

  “Damn it! It’s not working!” Kael cursed, ripping the weapon back.

  The Ashguard were being forced step by step toward a rocky gorge, the terrain narrowing into a killing ground. There was no more room to run.

  “We need reinforcements!” Duran cried, straining to keep a second line of defense together.

  Raithe knew what had to be done. His hand went to the flare at his belt. With a sharp pull and a flash of crimson, the sky split open with red fire, screaming above the battlefield. A call no one could mistake.

  “Move!” he roared.

  The Ashguard shifted again, blades sparking as they slashed against claw and hide. They were not fighting to win anymore—they were fighting to endure.

  Nessa darted forward, twin daggers flickering like silver fire. She parried a swipe that would have torn through three soldiers at once. “They’re too fast! We can’t outrun them!”

  “Just keep moving!” Raithe bellowed. His voice carried iron. “Hold them off as long as you can!”

  The cliffs rattled with every impact. Marl’s broadsword slammed into the ribcage of one creature, the shockwave rippling through its form. The beast staggered, then lunged again as if nothing had touched it.

  Kael’s hands shook as he pulled grenades from his belt. He hurled them into a cluster of beasts, the blast tearing the ground apart. For a heartbeat, silence. Then the Rhupenshron pushed through the smoke unharmed, their roars shaking dust from the cliffs.

  “Where the hell are those scouts?!” Kael shouted. His eyes flicked skyward, clinging to the fading trail of the flare.

  Vel loosed arrow after arrow, each shaft glancing uselessly off armored hide. “We’re running out of options, Commander!”

  Raithe’s jaw locked. His people were dying, and there was no weapon that would break this tide. All they could do was endure and pray the flare had been seen.

  Far from the gorge, the red flare had already been spotted.

  Scout Tessor Kyll saw it first, her sharp eyes catching the bright streak through smoke. Her breath caught at the sight of red. Green was for tactics, red for death. She turned at once and sprinted toward camp.

  Zaric Vailor was already there, gear half buckled, black cloak dragging dust as he strode out of the barracks. His hard-set eyes met hers and the unspoken understanding passed between them.

  “Red signal. The Ashguard’s in trouble,” Tessor said.

  Zaric didn’t hesitate. “Horses. Carts. Every junior we can muster. Move.”

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  The camp erupted into motion. Juniors scrambled from bunks, some half-armed, others still wiping sleep from their eyes. Within minutes, they were strapping armor and sharpening blades, answering the urgency in Zaric’s voice.

  “How many carts?” Zaric asked.

  “Three,” Tessor replied. “Two for wounded, one for supplies. If they’re alive, we can pack fifteen to each.”

  Zaric nodded. “Then we don’t waste a second. Ready them.”

  The horses strained against the weight as the carts rolled into position. Juniors mounted up, grim-faced, every one of them knowing this was no training exercise. Zaric swung into the saddle, raised a hand, and the convoy thundered into the night.

  The Ashguard were barely holding.

  The Rhupenshron pressed closer, shrieking, their mutated limbs breaking steel lines like twigs.

  “Fall back, fall back!” Raithe bellowed. His glaive cut deep, buying a heartbeat of space before another beast lunged forward to take its place.

  But they were slowing. Every strike cost them more strength. Every wound drained them faster than the last. And the creatures just kept coming.

  Then—hoofbeats.

  Zaric and the juniors burst over the ridge. Carts thundered behind them, wheels rattling across stone. Juniors leapt before the carts even stopped, blades flashing as they crashed into the rear of the Rhupenshron.

  “Cover the Ashguard!” Zaric shouted, swinging down with his sword. “Pull them out!”

  The battlefield became chaos layered on chaos. Juniors rushed to form a second line, pulling wounded Ashguard into the carts. But the beasts had already claimed blood.

  Nessa cried out as claws ripped through her ribs, throwing her against stone. She didn’t move. Marl screamed her name and fought harder, but another swipe nearly took his head off.

  Vekar Thorne cleaved one of the beasts clean in half with his glaive. For a moment it looked as if it might fall. Then the severed pieces twitched, knitted together, and the creature rose whole again.

  “No…” Vekar whispered, his voice strangled with disbelief.

  Lura, swiftest of her squad, darted past one flank. A spider-limbed Rhupenshron caught her mid-leap, skewering her through the chest. Her scream was short, cut off as it ripped her in two.

  Keenya’s cry broke the air. “Lura!” She lunged forward, but Vekar dragged her back. “Focus!” he roared. “Or you’ll join her!”

  Across the gorge, Quen Arlo fought with both blades spinning like wind, but three Rhupenshron closed in. One impaled him, another bit through his shoulder, and the third tore the rest away. Ilyen Varda’s answering scream shook the ridge as she hurled herself into the fray.

  Zaric’s jaw tightened. Too many were already dead. He forced his horse through the crush, found Raithe, and shouted above the madness. “We need to get out, now! They’re evolving. We’re not prepared for this!”

  “If we run blind, we lose more,” Raithe growled, parrying a claw that could have gutted him.

  “We’ll lose everyone if we don’t.”

  Raithe’s eyes swept the carnage. Nessa—dead. Duran—gone. Lura—ripped apart. Quen—shredded. Keenya bleeding, Marl staggering, Vel unconscious.

  He had no choice.

  “Retreat!” he roared, voice cracking like thunder. “Fall back to the ridge—GO!”

  The order broke through the noise like salvation. Survivors surged toward the carts. Juniors scrambled to shield them, taking blows, firing smoke to cover their retreat. Another flare split the sky, red again, brighter, screaming for aid.

  And still the Rhupenshron kept coming. Larger ones loomed on the horizon. Faster ones. The world itself seemed to shake as they roared.

  But for now, the Ashguard and Juniors ran.

  The gates at the Breach opened to the sound of hooves and rattling wheels.

  Cadets gathered in the square, waiting in fearful silence. They had seen the red flares but had been told nothing. Now they saw what it meant.

  The first cart rolled in. Horses staggered, wounded. Inside, Ashguard lay pale and broken. Vel, unconscious. Keenya, soaked in blood. Marl, silent, his face like stone.

  The second cart carried the dead.

  Nessa Halrow, her twin daggers placed across her chest. Duran, shrouded in cloth. Lura, torn beyond recognition. Quen Arlo, who had once trained cadets with a laugh, now nothing but a body under canvas. Juniors too, faceless and silent, their promise cut short.

  Alyssa stood frozen as the carts passed.

  Beside her, Noah’s lips were pressed thin, his eyes fixed forward. Sophie whispered, horrified, “That’s what we’re training for?”

  Instructor Halveth’s voice was harder than iron, but even he could not hide the tension in his face. “This is not glory. This is reality. And it is here sooner than we wanted.”

  Alyssa’s fists clenched. Her jaw set. Her voice was quiet, but steady. “I want to help. I need to.”

  That night, the war hall filled with Ashguard, Juniors, and cadets.

  Commander Raithe Dorn stood at the head, arms folded. To his right was Vekar Thorne, grim and hollow-eyed. To his left, Ilyen Varda, silent and burning with rage.

  “We now face Rhupenshron with no weakness,” Raithe said at last. “They did not fall to steel. They did not bleed. Some reformed after being cut apart.”

  A murmur spread through the hall.

  “And this was only a fragment,” Ilyen added coldly. “We lost too many for too little.”

  The doors opened.

  Instructor Halveth entered with five cadets behind him. Their armor was clean, their faces pale but steady.

  “These five have shown talent, discipline, and survival instinct far beyond expectation,” Halveth said. “Given the losses we have suffered, I am promoting them to Junior rank, effective immediately.”

  Harlen Voss. Ketta Maren. Bran Ishell. Alyssa. Sira Vance.

  Raithe studied them in silence. Commander Thorne shook his head. “Five kids. Hope you’re right, Halveth.”

  “They’re not kids anymore,” Vaeyna said softly from the Ashguard line.

  Raithe’s gaze lingered on Alyssa, then finally he gave a single nod.

  “Then they ride with the Juniors on the next sortie. Let us see what answers they can carve from this madness.”