Smoke and burnt flesh filled his nostrils as he trudged away from the battlefield. Each step was heavier than the last, his muscles tired from the fighting.

  His eyes blurred from exhaustion as he stumbled through the remnants of the landscape, the aftermath of destruction surrounding him.

  He had escaped, but barely. His hand gripped the handle of his scythe tighter, as if holding onto something stable in a world that had turned to chaos. His breath came in rough gasps, the heat of the battlefield still clinging to him like a suffocating blanket.

  A sharp, high-pitched scream cut through the air, pulling him from his spiraling thoughts. Instinctively, Cole’s hand tightened on the scythe. He froze, scanning the horizon, his eyes narrowing.

  Far in the distance, past the charred remnants of a fallen fortification, a group of figures moved. His heart raced, a mixture of instinct and wariness. They were moving fast, but their presence felt different—more deliberate, more calculated. These weren’t just wandering survivors or remnants of the army. No, these figures had purpose.

  As they neared, Cole’s gaze sharpened, and his hand slowly reached for his scythe. They were dressed in black and gold armour, slightly different from the black and crimson soldiers he had fought. The men and women were focused, their expressions set in determination as they moved through the devastation.

  One of them, a tall woman with dark, braided hair, was leading the group. Her armour was ornate, decorated with intricate designs that gleamed in the dim light. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, swept over the battlefield with a practiced gaze. She was no stranger to war.

  As the group drew closer, Cole made his decision. There was no room for hesitation. His fingers tightened around the scythe, and he bent his knees slightly, ready to spring into action if needed.

  But then, the woman looked directly at him.

  Cole froze, his muscles locking up as their eyes met. The woman’s gaze was sharp, not with the intensity of an enemy, but with the weight of someone who had seen much and judged everything in an instant. He instantly knew he would not be able to defeat this woman in a fight by himself.

  "You’re not one of them," she said, her voice calm but not without a hint of curiosity.

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  Cole didn’t speak immediately. His throat felt tight, constricted by the weight of her gaze. She had read him without saying a word, and at that moment, Cole wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse.

  She tilted her head, studying him for a moment longer before speaking again. “You fought. But you didn’t belong there. You should have left when you had the chance.”

  “I didn’t have a choice,” Cole replied hoarsely, his voice barely audible over the wind that swept through the ruins. “I was just trying to survive.”

  The woman’s lips curled into a thin, almost knowing smile. “Survival,” she repeated softly. “Isn’t that what we all want?”

  She stepped closer, her boots tapping on the ground with every deliberate step. Cole remained still, his eyes flicking between her and the rest of her group, who were just behind the approaching woman. They didn’t threaten to attack him, but their presence was suffocating.

  “I’m Rhea,” the woman said, her tone suddenly softer, as though she had decided to offer him a peace of sorts. “We fight for something bigger than ourselves. Something that matters.”

  Cole didn’t trust her. Trust was a rare commodity in a world like this, and he had learned not to believe the promises of strangers. But there was something about Rhea that made him pause. It wasn’t just the way she spoke or the calm confidence in her movements. It was the look in her eyes—an understanding that went beyond words.

  “What’s bigger than survival?” he asked, the question slipping out before he could stop himself.

  Rhea’s gaze hardened slightly, but her voice remained steady. “A better world,” she said simply. “One where we don’t have to live in the shadow of what came before.”

  Cole swallowed hard, the words sinking into him deeper than he cared to admit. A better world. It sounded so simple, yet so unattainable. ‘What if I could make that world real?’ The thought flashed across his mind. It was a fleeting hope, one that terrified him as much as it intrigued him.

  He didn’t have an answer, but Rhea didn’t expect one. She had already turned, signaling to her people. “Come with us,” she said, more a command than an invitation. “We need every hand we can get.”

  Cole hesitated. He wanted to say no, to keep walking, to distance himself from the war, from the destruction, from anything that might pull him deeper into this madness. But something stopped him. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he knew that this moment—this choice—was pivotal. If he was going to join a side, why not be on the winning one for now? Besides—if he declined his trial might end here.

  With a sigh, Cole took a step forward. “I’ll come,” he said, his voice steady but with a trace of uncertainty.

  Rhea’s eyes sharpened, Then let’s move.”

  As Cole followed Rhea and her group through the wreckage and smoke, which subtly veiled the land as if it was mist, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had stepped into something much larger than himself. A new war, one with its own rules, its own players, and its own consequences.

  And this time, he wasn’t sure whether he was meant to be the hero or the villain.