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A flux of energy swirled at the gate as his brother struck the barrier. Deynfif's fingers twitched, tracing invisible lines in the air as he analyzed the pulsating shield. "Eight energies," he murmured, his eyes darting between the shifting colors. "Pulsating... alternating... Energy Negation." The shifting colors weren't random. Like angles in a chaotic dance, they pulsed with a hidden order.

"Einntyr!" he barked, turning towards his brother. "Alternate strikes! Use fire! One spot! Break the rhythm!”

The earth trembled. An insistent drumbeat - footsteps, too many footsteps - vibrated up his staff. They’re near. "I'll hold them off!" His staff lashed as he traced precise angles in the air. "Three units of length and height, then a third for width. Geometric Earth: Cuboid!"

With a final slash of his staff, the space distorted in front of him. A slab of rock, a rectangular prism, materialized. He'd buy them time. Metal sparked against rock, each impact a jarring tremor through his staff. Ice projectiles shattered, sending icy splinters skittering across the dirt.

One wasn't enough. Another cuboid, identical, slammed into place beside the first. He couldn't let anything through - not while… He clenched his jaw, a surge of pain lancing through his temples. He swept his staff left, one slab followed. Upper right! The other one shifted, a synchronized dance of earth and will. Center, then below. His staff dipped, tracing the geometric ballet of defense. Each movement sent a fresh wave of pain through his head.

Energy projectiles slammed against the cuboid slab, a spiderweb of cracks spreading across its surface. He winced, his head throbbing as if struck by a hammer. The world swam at the edges, his concentration fracturing with each twitch of the staff. He gritted his teeth, forcing his will onto the earthen objects, twisting them against the relentless assault. The relentless thud of approaching boots echoed in his ears, pushing him onward. No time for weakness. He tightened his grip on the staff, each breath a shallow gasp. Their lives depended on it.

A pained hiss escaped his lips as another projectile splintered the cuboid, sending shards of rock flying. Not enough. He glimpsed a sea of Imperial armor beyond his shields, their numbers unending. He needed something to cut them down, to break their advance. Something with an edge. A pyramid.

Base first. With a flourish of his staff, he traced a square in the air. Staff aloft, he aimed for a single vertex three units above the base, the apex, the pyramid's crown. He whipped the staff down, connecting all the vertices, picturing the edges forming. A pyramid, rough-hewn but solid, appeared. The staff thrummed, an uncomfortable heat radiating through his grip. But then, a sickening crackle. It crumbled, dust raining down as it vanished. He stared, his stomach twisting at the empty space where it had been.

No! The staff burned against his palm, the heat almost unbearable. He gripped the staff tighter. The angles, the energy flow... where was the flaw?

There had to be a way. He traced the shape again, the square base forming with a flick of his wrist. But before the final stroke, he hesitated, his fingers twitching over the staff. With a deep breath, he sliced through the air, omitting one vertex from the base. Four vertices, six edges... The count flashed through his mind, a lifeline in the chaos. And four triangular faces. “Geometric Earth: Tetrahedron!”

The staff vibrated, the heat this time a low thrum against his palms, not the searing burn from before. With a sharp flick, a rock triangular pyramid materialized. It quivered, a low hum vibrating through the air as it spun.

This time, the object held. Solid. Stable. He launched it with a jerk of his staff. The tetrahedron tore through the air, leaving a trail of displaced dust. The pyramid slammed into the first Imperial. The crunch of bone and elemenium jarred in his ears, a tremor that went straight to his teeth. He whipped his staff, guiding the tetrahedron. Another impact. Then another. A spray of dirt and blood splattered against a nearby tent. Each impact stole the air from his lungs.

The Imperial he'd just struck down... he'd glimpsed a glint of something around the man's neck. A carved wooden toy, maybe, dangling from a leather cord. Family… He blinked it away. Survival. That was what mattered now. Focus.

The soldiers swarmed forward, two more taking the place of every fallen comrade. No end in sight. He clung to that thought – a jagged edge in his mind – the only thing keeping him upright.

But… The once-rigid cuboids protecting his brothers sagged, their edges blurring like melting wax. The staff in his grip trembled, the rock tetrahedron he'd conjured fracturing along its fault lines. His shoulders slumped. Knees trembled, threatening to spill him onto the unstable ground. “Hurry, Hirua!" His shout ripped from his throat, dry and cracked. His lungs burned with every breath. How much longer could he hold on?

A desperate glance toward the gate revealed Einntyr, already sprinting towards him, a blur against the dust. For a split second, something glinted near his brother's wrist before disappearing into the dirt. Heat slammed into him from behind, a wall of it. Hirua's snarl – unmistakable, primal – ripped through the air a moment later.

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Hirua blinked, trying to clear the stinging sweat from his eyes. The world swam before him, a distorted reflection of the chaos. Each clang of elemenium, each blast of energy, each distant shout from his brothers – it all tightened like a fist around his heart. Another volley of enemy battle cries ignited, a wall of sound that roared like a wildfire, threatening to incinerate them. Freedom… Just beyond this darn gate!

He roared, a sound ripped raw from his lungs. He ignored the way his muscles screamed, the way his chest burned. Every ounce of strength, every fiery impulse, went into the bolo. You darn gate! Heat flared in his grip. Come on, amplification, do your job! Heat blazed along the blade, turning the elemenium a searing cherry red. One last, desperate heave, and the blade tore through with a sound like fire itself screaming.

The gate shuddered, groaning open - finally giving way like a tough cut of meat yielding to a hot blade. A wave of dizziness almost took him as his muscles finally unspooled. He sucked in a breath, the air stinging his lungs but sweeter than any honey. Yes! Out!

But as he spun around, the air in his lungs turned to ice. It wasn't just the sweat chilling him, but a sight that twisted his gut like bad fish. Deynfif and Einntyr - swallowed up by those Imperial snakes! He saw the glint of spears, tasted bile at the back of his throat. One of his fists clenched so tight, he swore he heard bone crack. His brothers, mere shadows against a storm of weapons and that crackling energies. He opened his mouth to roar, but it came out a choked gasp. His own heart was a drum in his ears, drowning out everything but the sight of his brothers going down.

His legs pumped, each stride a burning promise to reach his brothers. Fear? That could wait. Right now, only their safety mattered. Every muscle burned like fire. Einntyr, a wall of muscle and grit, had Deynfif half-hidden behind him. Even from his position, he could see the strain on Deynfif’s face, the way he held his staff like it was the only thing between them and oblivion. This was it, the moment that tasted of burnt sugar and desperation. Reach them. He had to, even if…

But someone was there, right between him and his brothers. Kyura! Her left arm snapped up, fingers spread like she meant to shove back the whole darn Imperial army. A sound ripped from her throat, like every breath was a mouthful of hot coals. She dropped to her knees, left hand slapped the ground.

The ground exploded in a shower of dirt and emerald tendrils. A sweet, almost intoxicating scent of honilla flowers cut through the dust cloud. Chunks of dirt pelted down like hailstones. Thick, emerald vines tore through the earth, vicious barbs like blades. The sound of fracturing metal combined with the splatter of blood. Some writhed and constricted, soldiers yelling as they were bound, their struggles just making the thorns dig deeper. Others impaled, their tips stained crimson. The vines, taller than the encampment walls, were a wall of their own. The enemies were repelled at the other side, saving Deynfif and Einntyr from their clutches. Though the honilla flower smell was almost too strong now, like someone dumped a whole barrel of spice.

One heartbeat. Two. The clash of energies just...stopped. An eerie quiet settled over everything. His own blood roared in his ears, each thump like a gong. We… can escape. Then he saw her… Kyura, her face was screwed up tight, like she'd bitten into something sour and rotten. She folded in on herself, her back bowing. Her whole body shook violently as small vines snaked back into her sleeve, leaving behind bloody strips of torn skin on her arm.

"Kyuraaa!" His voice ripped out of him, a sound he didn't even recognize as his own. He grabbed her, ignoring how his muscles screamed, how each step was like walking through hot coals. She was cold. So cold. Colder than she should be, even with the sweat slicking her skin. Her eyes... they were usually bright, like flames dancing. Now...they were dull, like ashes. He knew that look. He felt it too.

Deynfif was already moving, Einntyr right behind him, their faces grim. No words needed to be said. They had to go.

They burst through the camp's perimeter. Behind, Kyura's emerald wall – maybe it'd hold, maybe it wouldn't, but right now, it was buying them time. He sucked in a breath, the air cool against his face. Not the cookfires of the camp. Not the stink of sweat and fear. Free air. For a second, things almost felt... possible. Like maybe, just maybe... He didn't dare finish the thought, not with Kyura a dead weight in his arms.

The forest swallowed them up. Each step took them deeper, but the silence... it was worse than the camp's noise. That silence pressed down, suffocating. That good feeling, that little bit of hope, shriveled up faster than a fish out of water.

Shadows, darker than they should be, stretched out from the trees. Every one of them looked ready to reach out, grab them. He kept expecting a rustle to turn into a soldier, a fallen branch to become a sword. The leaves, even, sounded like whispers. Every footfall felt too loud, every ragged breath a betrayal. His grip on Kyura tightened. Muscles screamed, but this wasn't the good ache, not the one from pushing his limits. This was fear twisting his gut. Every instinct raged at him. Hunted. They were prey, and this whole forest felt like it was waiting for them to trip, to make a mistake.

A figure peeled away from the shadows. The glint of a single tooth, sharp and mean, flashed in the renewed light. The rest of the face was lost in the dark, but that grin… that was enough. The air itself felt different now—thicker somehow, like honey before it boils over. This wasn't going to be like the fight they faced through the gate. This… this was different. The figure moved into a patch of Light, and his stomach clenched with the force of a vice. White hair. Eyes that tilted up at the edges, like they were savoring some private joke.

Silence. Heavier than any battle cry, heavier than any Imperial hammer. It was in Deynfif's jaw, clenched so tight the muscles stood out like rope burns. It was in Einntyr's eyes, blank and staring like a slab of uncooked dough. All that running… Kyura… for what? Kyura let out a sigh, a tiny puff of air that tasted like pain and exhaustion. She sagged against him, her weight suddenly heavier than a sack of wheat. The forest pressed in, the trees nothing but blurry shapes in his vision. Trapped. Like rats in a cookfire. The Empire… this was the Empire, and they were about to get a taste.

Was peace always going to taste this bitter? This much like rust?