Brenn ran toward the battlefield at the gates, leading the last of the reinforcements. The situation was dire.

  The trenches, once spiked barriers meant to stop boarmen charges, had become a graveyard. Mangled bodies filled them, forming grotesque bridges for their brethren.

  The layers of barricades were all shattered and broken. The defenders, outnumbered and exhausted, held the last line of fortifications.

  The moment Brenn and his forces got closer, the archers broke away, scrambling up the makeshift firing platforms.

  The remaining spearmen, rattled but alive, rushed to reinforce the front lines.

  Darryl’s eyes flicked to Brenn's bandaged stump and his expression faltered, if only for a moment.

  “Took you long enough! Push the bastards back!” Darryl shouted, as Brenn propped himself up against the palisade. His fight was, hopefully, over.

  Arrows rained down, and the boarlets shrieked as sharp tips tore through their small frames. The monsters hesitated, but not for long.

  A brute was pummeling the barricades. Trying to get through. Six spears stabbed deep into its chest, almost lifting it off the ground.

  Brenn's gaze swept the battlefield, catching sight of Bert as the blacksmith snatched up a spear. More villagers were joining the fray.

  "Hold steady!" a guard roared as a group of brutes charged.

  Spears found their mark, but they didn’t stop the monsters in time. Powerful arms reached under the barricade and heaved. The massive construct of wood tumbled over.

  Brenn’s breath caught. But he could only watch.

  Bert jumped away at the last second, barely avoiding death.

  An opening in the barricades, if a small one. Boarlets poured through.

  Nearest guards abandoned their spears, drawing hatchets and swords.

  A boarlet lunged, a sharpened bone dagger gleaming in the firelight.

  Bert impaled it through the chest, its tiny fingers clawing at the shaft. He was stuck trying to wrench his weapon free.

  The second vermin nearly reached him but a shield-bearer bashed it aside, sending it sprawling before a blade silenced it for good.

  “Archers! Focus on the breach!” Darryl turned his attention to the upturned barricade.

  With a constant stream of arrows covering them, the guards repositioned. A few blocked the entrypoint with large shields, while others heaved the barricade back into place.

  Brenn exhaled slowly, the rhythm of battle grounding him. Whew. No more losses. But something didn't feel right. Something was pulling at the surrounding mana.

  His gut twisted as he spotted them. Goblin spellcasters.—two of them.

  They lingered at the edge of the horde, dressed in mismatched robes, their clawed hands moving in jagged, unnatural patterns. Symbols of power flickered in the air, crude imitations of something far greater.

  Brenn’s cursed under his nose. No rest for me, eh?

  "Spellcasters!" Bert shouted, pointing. Good man. He saw it too.

  Darryl picked up on it immediately, sending a barrage of arrows their way. One went down, an arrow stuck in its throat.

  The other raised its hands higher, a crackling sphere of mana flickering wildly between its claws. It let out a guttural, cackling laugh as the sphere grew brighter, casting sharp, jagged shadows across the battlefield.

  The power arced over itself as it streaked toward the archers, but the caster’s control was weak. The backlash rippled through the monster’s limbs, turning the laugh into a shriek of agony as flames erupted from its body.

  The hobgoblin burned to ash before its lifeless body reached the ground.

  But the spell was still coming, and it would destroy both the fortification and the archers.

  Brenn stepped forward. Counter-magic was, after all, his specialty.

  He raised the shield up and focused deeply. He poured mana into one of the enchantments within. A barrier appeared in front of him, glowing in the dark.

  The overloaded release of lightning curved, as if tethered to the shield. It struck him with a deafening crack, the energy breaking through the magical barrier and splintering across the metal surface.

  Sparks danced along the edges, but never further, as the shield contained them.

  Brenn was taming the wild force assaulting him, straining his broken body. But the shield held.

  The lightning condensed and with a ring, reversed its course, snapping back toward the horde in a chaotic surge.

  The bolt ripped through the ranks of monsters with violent efficiency before it exploded, shaking the world.

  The massive brutes roared in agony before collapsing, their smoking bodies twitching in the dirt.

  Brenn staggered under the impact, his body swaying as he barely managed to keep the shield upright.

  His face was pale, his breathing labored, and the blood from his severed arm had soaked through the makeshift bandages.

  He was getting dizzy. He watched through the haze as monsters scattered like vermin.

  Even the brutes, once fearless, we're broken by losing so many of their numbers in a flash. They trampled over their kin in their desperate retreat.

  Humans had won this round.

  Darryl let out a shaky breath, lowering his bow as the last of the horde broke. Around them, guards sagged against the barricades, exhaustion setting in.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “I’d kill for a thing like that,” a nearby man muttered, his tone a mixture of awe and jealousy as he stared at Brenn’s shield.

  The old commander didn’t respond. His artifact; his namesake, Lineholder's sacrifice – was not something any amount could buy. The right to wield it had to be earned in blood spilt.

  “Good job, folks.” Darryl shouted. “Now get your asses out there and wake me some people. We need those trenches cleared and barricades replaced!”

  Brenn watched as non-combatants emerged from their houses and moved to the battlefield, their faces pale but determined.

  Some had spears to finish off any straggles, others carried in mobile spikes to place just behind the trench lines.

  He rolled his shoulder, the ache settling deeper. No time to rest— but for once, he didn't need to give orders. Darryl had everything handled.

  Brenn sat down on a crate to think. He looked at the well organised defenders with a sense of pride. Those were the fruits of his ‘retirement’.

  When he had first arrived in Grainwick, the village had barely a dozen guards and no defences to speak off.

  His face quickly fell. There had been a rude awakening when the tribe of boarmen first settled the nearby ruins.

  Back then, Grainwick had not been ready to face the brute charges or the boarlet flanks. Day by day, they painstakingly dug trenches, sharpened spikes and built a palisade.

  Without Brenn’s allies, the village would have fallen before it had a chance to adapt.

  And tonight? Six, perhaps more, dead. Unacceptable losses in the long term. And that wasn’t even all.

  His thoughts drifted, against his will, toward the darkness beyond the palisade. Somewhere out there, the predator still lived. Watching. Learning. Growing.

  It wasn’t done with them. They could only hope it wouldn’t come back tonight.

  Brenn’s grip tightened on his shield, his eyes flickering toward the distant square, where the totem pulsed faintly in the dark.

  A sixth of the way there. Red streams of light coiled around it, like dying embers. Fifteen hours left in this hell.

  How long has it been? The suffocating darkness pressed against David from all sides, staved off only by the fickle flame of the lantern.

  Aura’s breath was growing more rhythmic, breaking the silence. At least he wasn’t alone. Or maybe that made it harder?

  He moved the lantern closer, taking solace in its light, then grabbed the oversized dagger and sat under the torn ceiling. Waiting.

  His head throbbed, and his attention drifted. Where’s Bert? What’s taking him so long? He sat there, trying to stay awake, flinching at every distant rumble.

  But his body could not keep up – Only adrenaline has kept him up so long.

  Despite his best efforts, he was caught somewhere between wakefulness and dreams.

  Suddenly, he was jolted awake by an explosion, much larger than anything that has happened so far.

  Small stones began falling from the crushed ceiling.

  He jumped onto Aura’s cot and covered her head with his chest – sheltering her from debris.

  But the explosion was a singular event, not a prelude to something greater.

  The shaking walls sobered him. He waited and waited for stone to bury them, but death never came.

  He collapsed in relief. The dreams came back.

  A scythe flashed through his mind. Insectile eyes glared in the dark.

  He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, struggling – until the terrible beast cut him off. Like a deer caught in the headlights. David froze again and watched the giant claw flying towards his neck… His mind screamed at him to run, to dodge…

  He woke up with a loud gasp. It was just a nightmare – once the initial confusion passed, he realized he was hugging into Aura.

  His body must have moved on instinct again, but he didn’t mind it so much. Her warmth has returned already and calmed him just a bit.

  Perhaps stirred by the sudden movement by her side, she groaned - David jumped away as if burnt, his cheeks red.

  But she didn’t wake up.

  David slowly exhaled, relieved and disappointed.

  Suddenly, he noticed a change in the atmosphere. The prickling – mana – started to return.

  He hopefully looked outside through the broken ceiling and there it was – a sparkling outline started peeking out from behind the celestial giant.

  His heartbeat quickened and his soul lit up with hope.

  The cracks in the walls began to glow, faint streaks of crimson seeping through to push back the oppressive darkness. The alien sight of the world bathed in red– once unsettling and so comforting now – was gradually returning.

  “Is it over?” he whispered a hopeful question, his voice breaking.

  The door to the hut above him burst open and loud stomping moved across the ceiling.

  David spun, panic flaring as he heard the rug being pulled with force. The seconds stretched. David glanced towards the dagger, but stopped when he heard the voice.

  “It’s me Marco, you can open the hatch.”

  David climbed up the ladder and did just that.

  As the trapdoor opened, He saw Bert’s silhouette framed against the ruby glow outside.

  Bert came back. It was truly over.

  His brigandine was slashed open in many places, revealing glint of metal underneath, his face streaked with dirt and blood, but his exhausted eyes burned with relief as they locked on David.

  “You’re alive,” Bert said, his voice cracking, silent tears streaking his face.

  David stood, unsteady, his chest tightening with conflicting emotions. Seeing his ravaged state, he couldn’t bring himself to curse the man for leaving them alone. He simply nodded.

  Bert crossed the ladder in a single stride and pulled David into a rough embrace. Pressed by the strong arms, the man’s armor scratched painfully against David’s ribs, but he didn’t care. Blacksmith’s tight grip confirmed his suspicions – it was over. Whether it was from all the noise or from the shift in atmosphere, Aura groaned yet again and slowly started to opened her eyes.

  She was terribly confused, her eyes jumping around the room, between David and Bert. The man pulled her into a desperate embrace.

  David stood a few steps away, watching the heartwarming reunion unfold—and his chest tightened painfully. He felt useless, hopeless, and most of all, like an intruder in their world. His eyes stung, and shame pressed down on him like a physical weight. He shouldn’t be here.

  Bert and Aura turned toward him, their expressions softening the moment they saw him. Bert opened his arms and beckoned gently. “Come here, Marco,” he said, his voice warm and inviting.

  David froze. His thoughts swirled in a storm. I’m not who you think I am.

  “Marco?” Bert’s brows furrowed with worry. “What’s wrong?”

  He still had a part to play. Tentatively, hesitantly, David took a small step forward, his legs heavy as if wading through mud. His gaze flickered between their concerned faces. Every fiber of his being screamed to turn away, to spare himself the shame. But then Bert’s hand reached out, pulling him closer in one fluid motion.

  “You did well, my boy,” Bert said firmly, his words carrying the weight of genuine pride. Before David could even process the praise, Aura leaned down, her hand gently stroking his hair in that familiar, comforting way.

  The warmth of their embrace enveloped him, and it felt… wrong. Like an illusion of something he had been deprived of. It’s not real. I shouldn’t need this… I don’t need this.

  He clenched his fists, trying desperately to hold back the surge of emotion rising in his chest. But he was weak. The terrors of the night, the scythes and the crumbling ceiling —they’d almost broken him. The dam burst before he could stop it.

  Without restraint, David buried his face in their clothes and cried. Sobs wracked his small frame, unrelenting, as all the pain, fear, and inadequacy spilled out in waves. Bert’s arms tightened around him, steady and unyielding, while Aura murmured soft reassurances, her touch reassuring.

  For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the weight eased. In their familial embrace—however fleeting or undeserved it felt—David felt safe. Cared for. Wanted.

  Just a little bit won’t hurt. The thought whispered in his mind as he pressed himself closer to Aura, the shame and resistance fading into the background.

  For now, in this moment, he let himself sink into the warmth, clutching onto it like a lifeline in a storm.

  If it were their choice, they would have remained that way for a long time, but life waited for no one.

  Soon, they had to part with the safety and warmth of their embrace – The dawn was here, but the damage had been done, and the rebuiling efforts had to start.

  David had to grow up. Fast.