Leader.
He was their leader.
And whatever history he had with these men… it was thick enough to cut with a blade.
Then a holler split the air from somewhere down the line—another leader's voice, sharp and commanding.
"Everyone! March formation! We leave in twenty!"
The camp erupted into motion. Soldiers broke off into a chaotic rush, grabbing gear, tightening straps, yanking weapons from racks. Armor clinked, boots hammered the dirt, and orders were barked in every direction.
I didn't know where to stand, but instinct told me—stick with my knight.
I wove through the swarm, scanning for Qahir. Then I spotted him—standing apart from the chaos, framed like some warrior from an old painting. His halberd rested against his shoulder, and the rising sun burned behind him, throwing his figure into a dark silhouette.
The gates of the manor swung wide, and for the first time since arriving in this world, I saw beyond them.
"Cassian!" His voice cut through the din. "Follow me, my squire! We're moving out!"
A smile tugged at my mouth before I could stop it.
"Moving, sir!"
I rushed forward, weaving between soldiers and horses like a dog sprinting to greet its master—one eager step closer to whatever lay beyond those walls.
As Sir Qahir hauled himself onto his massive black stallion, the poor beast groaned under his weight, muscles straining. He extended a gauntleted hand toward me without a word.
I took it, and in one swift pull, he yanked me onto the back of the saddle. I landed hard, wedged against the cold steel of his armor, my own body swallowed in his shadow.
"Black Sun Vanguard—march!" Qahir's roar cracked through the morning air. His halberd shot upward, catching the sunlight in a flash of steel.
The stallion reared high, front hooves slicing the air. My grip tightened on Qahir's armor as the ground dropped away for a heartbeat, my stomach lurching. We came crashing back down, the thud of hooves shaking through my bones.
Around us, the vanguard moved as one—shields shifting, boots pounding, the black sun emblems glinting like eclipses in motion.
We were finally leaving. My heart had stopped racing—not from calm, but from a strange steadiness. For once, I didn't feel dread. In this moment, I was part of something. Something I didn't understand, maybe never would, but it was more than I'd ever had before. My life, at last, was moving toward something… even if I didn't know where it led.
I glanced back at the manor one last time.
Yasmin stood in the doorway, framed by the rising light. She raised a hand, her wave small but steady.
I lifted mine in return.
The smile faded from my face before it could even settle. I turned away, knowing deep down I wouldn't see her again.
Maybe that was for the best.
As the Black Sun Vanguard filed out through the gates, I felt that flicker of excitement—finally, I'd see the world beyond the manor walls.
It didn't last.
We hadn't even made a hundred yards before the change hit me. The land outside was dead. Trees stood like blackened bones, their branches bare. Flowers drooped, colorless and brittle. Even the grass seemed to shrink away from the hooves of Qahir's stallion.
A few miles on, the scenery only worsened. We passed the shells of buildings—charred frames sagging inward, windows like empty eye sockets. Beside the road, small wooden crosses jutted from the soil in crooked lines.
As the stallion plodded past, I caught the faint carving on one of them. Punished for Treason. No name. No date. Just the reason for their death.
"Cassian."
"Yes, sir?"
Qahir tightened his grip on the reins. "Ever been outside those manor walls before?"
"No… no, I haven't, sir." My voice faltered as I looked around again. Honestly, this wasn't at all what I'd imagined. I guess Metania was right.
Qahir glanced back over his shoulder, speaking low enough that only I could hear. "This land has been at war for centuries." He paused, letting the silence hang before breathing out a heavy sigh. "And in all that time, the Purgy have done more than fight. For years now, they've been hunting down anyone who dares speak against it—a war so old that no one even remembers how it began."
I tried to respond, but nothing came. The words stuck somewhere between my chest and throat. Did Qahir want this war to end too? I could hear it in his voice—the way desperation tangled with the sadness that always seemed to shadow him when he spoke of it. He sounded like a man who'd already fought enough battles, yet was trapped in a war he couldn't escape.
"Sir… have you always been the leader of this group?" I asked, forcing my gaze away from the graves and ruins.
"Not always," he said, the reins creaking in his grip. "Only for the last few years. My master was the one who created the Vanguard. He was strong—stronger than me."
A short silence passed before a crooked smile touched his face. "Which is hard for me to admit." He finally laughed, the sound breaking through the heaviness like a spark of his usual self.
"So what's with that girl back there?" Qahir's voice had that smug edge again, the kind he used when he thought he'd cornered me. He jabbed me in the chest with his elbow. "You in love with her?"
My face warmed instantly. "No… I mean… I like her, but I don't know about love."
He smirked like he'd just caught me lying. "That's what they all say. Give it time, boy. Wars have a way of making you realize who you can't stop thinking about."
I looked away, watching the road stretch on ahead of us. I wanted to say something back—deny it, change the subject—but part of me knew he was right.
He glanced ahead, watching the horizon as if he could see something there I couldn't. "Thing is, you don't always get the chance to tell them. Battle moves faster than words. One moment you think you've got time, the next…" He trailed off, his grip tightening on the reins. "All you've got left is regret."