Agan tightened his grip on his spear, standing at the edge of Murkrest’s defensive line as Tarek issued last-minute instructions. The morning mist clung to the swamp, thick and heavy, pressing in on the village like a living thing. Each shadow seemed deeper, every distant sound sharper, amplifying the tension simmering beneath the surface.

“We’ve set traps along the border here,” Tarek said, pointing to a stretch of tangled vines and thickets. “Use the land to your advantage. Stay close to cover, and don’t waste any movement. We’re outnumbered, but we have the swamp.”

Garik was at Agan’s side, his jaw set and his face unusually grim. Aska, Karu, and the others formed a tight circle around Tarek, listening intently as he gave each of them a specific role. They’d trained hard for this, but now that the time had come, Agan felt the weight of what lay ahead bearing down on him.

“Agan, you and Garik will take the west side. That area is dense, but it’ll be one of their first targets if they breach the edge. Your job is to hold them off and lead any that make it through toward our traps.”

Agan nodded, a shiver running down his spine despite the humid air. “Understood.”

As Tarek moved on to assign the others, Garik leaned over, his voice a quiet murmur. “You ready for this?”

Agan tried for a smirk, though he wasn’t sure how convincing it was. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

The truth was, he felt anything but ready. The chants from last night, the promises of unity and resilience, had filled him with a fire he’d never felt before. But now, with the reality staring him in the face, he felt the tremor of doubt creeping in.

Tarek finished his instructions and looked over them, his gaze lingering on each face. “This isn’t just a fight. It’s our home. Remember that. And remember, you’re not alone out there. Trust each other. Rely on each other. That’s how we survive.”

A silent nod passed through the group, and Agan felt a renewed resolve settle in his chest. The bonds he shared with these people ran deeper than he’d realized, built through shared laughter, hardship, and training. Whatever happened, he wasn’t facing it alone.

They dispersed to their posts, each pair slipping into the dense swamp in silence. Agan and Garik took position on the western edge, settling behind a wall of thick vines and knotted roots. From their vantage point, they had a clear view of the swamp’s edge, a boundary they’d never thought they’d be defending.

Garik crouched beside him, adjusting his grip on his spear. “Think they’ll come through here first?”

Agan shrugged, scanning the shadows. “I don’t know. But Tarek wouldn’t have sent us here if he didn’t think it was important.”

Garik’s mouth twisted in a grim smile. “Then let’s make sure we give them a warm welcome.”

They fell into silence, listening to the swamp around them. Every crackle of leaves, every splash in the water, set their nerves on edge, each sound a reminder of the approaching danger. Time seemed to stretch, each second dragging by as they waited, their breaths shallow and controlled.

After what felt like hours, Agan heard it—a faint rustling in the distance, followed by the steady, unmistakable rhythm of footsteps. He exchanged a tense glance with Garik, both of them pressing themselves closer to the ground, barely daring to breathe.

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A few figures emerged from the mist, moving cautiously, their uniforms barely visible through the fog. Agan’s heart hammered in his chest as he counted the empire soldiers, their faces set in expressions of grim determination. They were armed with heavy, gleaming weapons, their movements practiced and methodical. These weren’t scouts. This was the vanguard, and behind them lay the full might of the empire’s forces.

He swallowed, gripping his spear tighter. They had to be quick and quiet, drawing the soldiers deeper into the swamp and into the traps. He caught Garik’s eye, nodding silently, and they slipped back, moving through the underbrush with the practiced stealth Tarek had drilled into them.

The soldiers advanced slowly, clearly aware of the potential for ambush. They tested each step, scanning the area with sharp eyes. Agan could feel the weight of their presence pressing in, filling the swamp with an unnatural stillness.

Garik pointed to a tangle of vines hanging low over the path, where one of their traps waited. A well-placed step would release the vines, triggering a cascade of thorn-laden branches to fall across the soldiers’ path. It was a crude trap, but effective. All they had to do was guide the soldiers into it.

As the soldiers drew closer, Garik signaled for Agan to move around and draw their attention. Agan gave a quick nod and circled back, keeping low and moving as quietly as he could. When he was in position, he picked up a small stone and hurled it into the brush on the other side of the path.

The noise caught the soldiers’ attention, and they turned, weapons raised. Agan felt a surge of satisfaction as they began moving toward the trap, their focus on the spot where the stone had landed.

Then, without warning, one of the soldiers raised a hand, signaling a halt. Agan’s heart dropped as the soldier glanced down, spotting the barely concealed vines.

“They know,” he whispered to Garik, who was hidden just a few feet away. Garik tensed, readying himself for the next move.

The lead soldier stepped forward, his sword drawn, his gaze sharp as he examined the trap. “They’ve set up defenses. Keep your guard up. They’re nearby.”

Agan’s pulse raced. The element of surprise was slipping through their fingers. He looked over at Garik, his mind racing as he weighed their options. They could stay hidden, wait for the soldiers to pass, or they could try to strike first and hope to draw them into the traps with force.

Garik made the decision for him, letting out a sharp whistle that echoed through the trees. The soldiers spun, weapons raised, and Agan saw Garik bolt to the side, drawing their attention and darting just close enough to provoke a chase. The soldiers took the bait, moving after him in a burst of speed.

Agan sprang from his hiding spot, his spear aimed at the lead soldier. The man twisted at the last second, barely avoiding the blow, and swung his sword in a wide arc. Agan ducked, feeling the blade slice through the air above his head.

Garik reached the trap’s trigger and released it just as the soldiers closed in. The vine trap snapped down, sending a tangle of thorns and branches crashing onto the soldiers, who staggered back, caught off-guard.

Agan didn’t waste the opportunity. He lunged forward, driving his spear into the side of a soldier who was still struggling to free himself from the vines. The soldier crumpled, and Agan pulled back, breathless, adrenaline pulsing through his veins.

The remaining soldiers fought to free themselves from the trap, but the thorns held fast, scratching and tearing at their uniforms. Garik seized the moment, darting forward to land a blow on another soldier, his movements swift and precise.

As the last soldier broke free, he shot Agan a look filled with rage and fear. Bloodied but determined, the soldier raised his weapon, preparing to strike.

But before he could move, a final trap sprung—an avalanche of mud and rocks that had been set just above the trail, triggered by the struggle below. It buried the soldier in seconds, his scream muffled by the weight of the swamp itself.

Agan and Garik stood there, panting, watching the scene in silence. The empire’s first wave had been small, but it was a taste of the relentless force that awaited them. They exchanged a quick look, the unspoken knowledge between them heavy: this was only the beginning.

“We should get back,” Garik said, his voice steady but grim. “Tarek needs to know.”

Agan nodded, his heart still pounding, the adrenaline fading as the reality of what they’d done settled in. They had drawn blood, repelled the first threat, but he knew that the empire’s forces would only come back stronger.