The snow fell like ash. Sir Kael's eyes burns as he looked at the sky.
Dawn hadn't come yet, but the sky was already burning.
Smoke drifted from the treetops. The forest crackled where war had passed through, leaving behind its trail of blood and ruin. Steel rang out in the distance—clashes lit only by flickering torches and the dim glow of old ward spells now breaking apart, one by one.
Sir Kael's heart pounded hard in his chest. His gloved hands clenched tighter around the reins, blood splattered up to his arms—some of it his, most of it not. Tucked tightly against his chest, a baby girl lay swaddled in cloth, her eyes wide open. She hadn't cried. Not once. Not even during the chaos.
That alone was terrifying.
They'd been ambushed just before sunrise. Their convoy had tried to move quickly, quietly—cutting through the lower paths on Braelith's western ridges, hoping the trees and snow might shield them from unwanted eyes.
But the world had ears. And the rumors had spread.
A glowing child. A miracle. A flame in a land of ashes.
So they came for her.
From the shadows. From the cliffs. From every damned crack in the forest.
The first blade struck clean through Paladin Joryn's neck before he even reached for his sword. There was no warning cry. Just a spray of blood—and then the screams began.
Kael's blade was in his hand before he had time to think. Reflex. Survival. He and the others moved fast, forming a protective circle around the child, shields locked, blades raised.
There had been ten of them. The last sworn protectors of the old order. Ten remaining of a holy guard that had once filled cities.
Now?
Six.
No. Five.
Kael turned just in time to see Ser Rhaelyn collapse—her back torn open by a jagged axe. The sound she made was short and sharp. Her blood steamed against the frozen ground. She hadn't even had time to whisper a prayer.
"Hold the line!" Captain Oris shouted, voice hoarse. "Protect the child!"
Kael clutched her closer.
Still no crying.
Her golden eyes stared up at him—calm. Steady. Unnatural. As if she knew exactly what was happening. As if she'd already seen it all.
A warhorn blasted.
Not theirs.
Kael's stomach dropped. "Reinforcements," he muttered.
Captain Oris slammed his blade through a raider's neck. "They're not giving up. They don't even know what she is, not really. But they want her. For gold. For power."
"For chains," Kael growled, slicing through a man's side.
Suddenly, light erupted from the child's body.
One of the attackers screamed, dropping his sword and clawing at his eyes. Blinded. The light had scorched straight through the dark.
"She's protecting us," Ser Tyne breathed. "She's... doing it herself."
"No," Oris snapped. "We protect her. Fall back—toward the ridge!"
They moved—five paladins soaked in blood and frost, boots slipping on dead leaves, forming a barrier around Kael and the child. The attackers surged again. More steel. More greed.
Sir Branon took a blade to the leg and dropped to one knee. But he didn't fall. He pulled the attacker down with him and crushed his ribs with a final, brutal swing.
"They don't fight like soldiers," Kael said through gritted teeth.
"They're not," Tyne replied. "They're starving. Mad. I saw farmers in that wave."
Kael's lip curled. "Slavers. I saw their brands."
Something primal rose in him.
Just fury.
He swept low, slicing clean through a raider's ankle. The man fell screaming, but Kael didn't stop. The baby's heartbeat pulsed steady against his chest. There wasn't time.
Captain Oris was still shouting commands, but the noise around them was deafening. The forest was collapsing into chaos. What once gave them cover now trapped them.
Another horn.
Another charge.
Too many.
Captain Oris planted his shield into the earth like a wall.
"This is it," he barked. "We hold them here!"
"No!" Kael shouted. "We have to run! She won't survive this if we all die!"
Oris met his eyes. And Kael knew.
It wasn't a plan.
It was a farewell.
"Take her," Oris said. "Go north. Take the trails—you still remember them."
Kael's throat tightened. "No—"
Tyne grabbed his arm. "He's right. You're fast. You know those paths. We'll stay. Buy you time."
"You'll die."
Tyne gave a tired smirk. "We died already. When the temple burned. This… is our second death. Might as well make it count." Kael fought the tears forming in his eyes.
Oris stepped forward, gripping Kael's shoulder. His eyes were calm. Resigned. Fierce.
"She's the last light," he said. "Don't let it go out."
Kael wanted to argue. Wanted to scream. But then he looked down—at the baby girl with glowing skin, wrapped in warmth while the world froze around her.
And he ran.
He didn't look back.
Behind him, the sound of Oris's war cry rose—loud and defiant. A last stand. A dying star burning bright one final time.
Tyne followed. Then Branon. Then the screams.
Kael ducked under a low branch, breath catching in his throat, the cold biting into his lungs. He gripped his sword hard. Blood and snow and mud soaked his boots. The Vale was ahead. Ancient trails hidden beneath layers of forest.
He knew them. They would be rough. But they were safe.
He felt it first before he saw it—a shift in the air, a heat behind him.
He turned.
The ridge was glowing.
No flames.
Just light.
Blinding. Radiant. Gold pouring from the child, spilling upward into the sky, cutting across the horizon like a sword. The trees shimmered. The air hummed.
And then—it vanished.
Everything went silent.
Kael dropped to his knees, wrapping his arms tightly around her, shielding her with his body.
Nothing came.
No pursuit. No shouts.
Only quiet.
He stood slowly, breath ragged. She looked up at him—still glowing. Still silent.
Tears streaked his cheeks. He mourns for his brethren but this is not the time nor place. He has one job right now. And his friends died making sure he'll be able to fulfill that.
He held her closer, pulling the cloak tighter around her small body. Fighting the urge to shout in pain.
Then he turned north.
He didn't pray.
He didn't ask for help.
He ran.
Because she was alive and now, she was his to protect.