The Parthians were gone.

  The battlefield, once a storm of blood and chaos, had settled into an eerie stillness. The moans of the wounded, the crackling of torches, and the distant howls of scavengers in the hills were all that remained.

  Lucius sat near the remnants of a broken palisade, his back against the rough wood. His armor was stained red, the grime of battle thick on his skin. Across from him, Marcus cleaned his sword with slow, deliberate strokes.

  Neither of them spoke.

  There was too much to process.

  The way the Parthians had pulled back, unnatural in its coordination. The warlord’s gaze—that sense of something reaching for Lucius, but never quite grasping him.

  And the system.

  It had hidden something from him.

  His fingers twitched. He wanted to call it back, to force it to show him what had been erased. But a part of him—the part that still remembered how foreign this power was—hesitated.

  Did he really want to know?

  A notification flickered at the edge of his vision.

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  Lucius exhaled.

  The system had never needed to “diagnose” itself before.

  Something had changed.

  Something was wrong.

  ?

  Shadows in the Firelight

  That night, the legion made camp in the ruins of their own battlefield. Fires burned low, the usual banter and laughter of soldiers reduced to murmurs and the occasional clatter of equipment.

  Lucius found himself staring into the flames, his mind uneasy.

  Marcus nudged him. “You’ve been quiet.”

  Lucius blinked. “Just thinking.”

  Marcus snorted. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

  Lucius gave a tired smirk, but the weight in his chest didn’t lift.

  Then—

  The fire in front of him flickered.

  Not from the wind. Not from movement.

  It shifted.

  For a brief second, the flames twisted into a shape—a figure on horseback, its form indistinct but unmistakable.

  Lucius’ breath hitched.

  Then it was gone.

  Marcus didn’t react. He just kept sharpening his blade, oblivious.

  Lucius swallowed hard.

  He hadn’t imagined that.

  Something was still watching.

  ?

  Lucius dreamed of shifting sands.

  Of ruins half-buried in time, whispers in a language he could not understand.

  Of eyes.

  Not one. Not two. Many.

  Watching from the darkness, waiting, pressing against the edges of his mind.

  Then—a voice.

  Not the system.

  Something else.

  “You do not belong to them.”

  Lucius snapped awake.

  Sweat slicked his skin, his heart hammering. Around him, the camp was quiet, save for the occasional crackle of dying fires.

  He swallowed, pushing himself upright. The dream had felt too real.

  And worse—his system had remained silent.

  For the first time since he’d found it… it had offered him no explanation.

  He clenched his fists.

  The warlord was gone. The battle was over. But whatever had touched his system hadn’t left with him.

  And deep down, Lucius knew—

  This was only the beginning.