Agan crouched behind the tangled roots of an ancient tree, his breathing shallow as he gripped his spear, the worn wood slick under his hands. He listened to the rhythmic thud of footsteps approaching from the swamp’s edge, a steady beat that quickened his pulse, filling the air with an almost metallic tension.

To his left, Garik shifted, his gaze locked on the shadows. Aska and Karu were somewhere nearby, hidden among the branches, poised with slings and stones. The quiet creaks of the swamp were gone now, drowned out by the muffled sounds of armor and whispered commands in the distance.

“They’re close,” Garik murmured, his voice barely audible.

Agan nodded, his eyes fixed on the movement beyond the fog. “Hold steady. Let them get closer.”

The empire’s soldiers materialized through the mist, their shields raised, spears glinting faintly in the fading light. They advanced in rows, methodical and unyielding, their faces hidden behind steel. Agan’s stomach clenched at the sight—this was no probing raid. They’d come for blood.

At Tarek’s signal—a quick, sharp whistle—Aska released the first volley. Stones flew from the trees, raining down on the soldiers, the dull thuds of impact lost amid the shouted orders and clanking armor. The front line faltered, shields lifting to protect against the unexpected assault.

“Now!” Agan hissed, surging forward with Garik at his side. They moved as one, sweeping in from the side to catch the soldiers off guard. Agan drove his spear forward, feeling the familiar jolt as it struck armor, the weight of the soldier sagging against him before he pushed him back.

Garik followed up with a strike to another soldier’s leg, sending him crashing to the ground. The soldiers scrambled to regroup, their ranks tightening as they adjusted to the attack.

But more soldiers pressed forward from behind, stepping over the fallen without hesitation, their ranks unbroken. Agan swallowed, retreating a few steps as he tried to gauge their numbers. There were too many—far more than he’d anticipated.

“They just keep coming,” Garik muttered, his face pale but resolute.

A sudden flash of light cut through the fog, drawing Agan’s gaze to the empire mages standing at the rear of the formation. They began to chant, their hands moving in practiced gestures, the air around them crackling with energy. A ball of flame formed between one mage’s palms, growing larger with each second, its glow casting eerie shadows over the swamp.

“Get down!” Agan shouted, diving behind the roots just as the mage released the fireball. It shot forward, illuminating the trees for a split second before it slammed into the ground with a deafening roar. The heat washed over him, scorching the air, and he felt the ground tremble beneath him as the impact left a smoking crater.

Garik rolled beside him, coughing as he shielded his face. “We can’t hold them like this. Not against magic.”

Agan looked over to see Tarek nearby, rallying the defenders with a fierce determination, his voice carrying over the chaos. “Stay low! Don’t give them a clear shot! Use the swamp—move through the trees!”

Agan’s heart pounded as he and Garik followed Tarek’s command, slipping through the dense underbrush, using the trees as cover. More fireballs flew overhead, each one slamming into the swamp with a force that shook the ground, scattering defenders and uprooting plants in a shower of mud and debris.

Aska caught up with them, her face streaked with dirt, her hands trembling as she clutched her sling. “Agan, they’re pushing us back toward the village. We have to do something, or we’ll be trapped.”

Agan scanned their surroundings, his mind racing. They needed a way to break the empire’s advance, to slow them down even if only for a moment. His gaze fell on a narrow path through the swamp’s thickest tangle of roots—a natural choke point that would force the soldiers into a bottleneck.

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“Garik, Aska,” he said, his voice urgent, “we’ll lure them to that path. If we can hold them there, we’ll make them work for every inch.”

Garik’s grin was tense but approving. “Not a bad plan, Agan.”

They moved swiftly, baiting the soldiers with quick strikes before retreating, drawing them toward the narrow passage. As expected, the empire’s formation broke as they funneled into the confined space, their numbers suddenly an obstacle instead of an advantage.

The defenders seized the opportunity, pouring out from the trees and attacking the soldiers with a new ferocity. Agan jabbed his spear forward, narrowly dodging a sword aimed at his side, the clang of metal on metal ringing through his ears. Around him, the swamp defenders struck with everything they had, using sharpened sticks, stones, anything that could inflict damage.

The empire soldiers, though slowed, pressed forward with grim resolve. One of them caught Agan’s arm with a glancing blow, and he gritted his teeth against the pain, refusing to yield. Garik was at his side, his movements fast and brutal, his face set in fierce concentration.

But despite their efforts, the empire’s mages continued their assault from behind, launching spells that tore through the swamp’s defenses. Another blast hit nearby, and Agan was thrown to the ground, his vision blurring as he struggled to regain his footing.

He looked up, heart sinking as he saw the soldiers reforming, their ranks solidifying once more. For every one they knocked down, two more seemed to take their place. It was like fighting a tide that would never ebb.

A shout echoed through the trees, and Agan turned to see Tarek standing at the center of the village, his spear raised high, his voice booming over the chaos.

“Fall back to the village!” he commanded. “We hold them at Murkrest’s heart. Protect the families!”

Agan felt a surge of renewed determination as he scrambled to his feet, grabbing Garik’s arm and pulling him toward the village center. Behind them, Aska and the other defenders followed, forming a tight line as they moved. The swamp was their home, but they knew its trails well, using every twist and turn to gain precious seconds as they retreated.

The sight of Murkrest’s heart—the central square surrounded by their homes, the places they’d grown up—gave Agan a fierce resolve. This was the last line, the place they’d defend to the end.

They took their positions around the square, forming a protective circle. The villagers who couldn’t fight huddled in the center, the elders standing beside them, their faces set in grim acceptance. Elder Saka stood tall, her staff gripped tightly, her eyes flashing with a determination that cut through Agan’s fear.

The empire soldiers advanced again, their movements relentless, but here, in Murkrest’s heart, the defenders fought with renewed fervor. Agan found himself beside Garik and Aska, their expressions mirroring his own—a mixture of desperation and defiance.

A soldier lunged at Agan, his sword swinging down in a brutal arc. Agan barely had time to raise his spear, catching the blade and twisting it aside, the impact jarring his arms. He retaliated with a swift jab to the soldier’s side, feeling the resistance give as the man stumbled back.

But another soldier was on him immediately, and Agan felt himself being pushed back, the weight of the assault pressing in on all sides. The ground was littered with fallen weapons and broken shields, and the air was thick with the sounds of battle, the cries of the wounded, the clash of steel.

And then, amid the chaos, he heard Tarek’s voice again—a roar of defiance that cut through the noise. Tarek was fighting at the front line, his spear whirling in precise, lethal arcs, each movement a testament to his skill. He was a pillar of strength, a force that held the line even as it buckled.

But in that moment, Agan saw something—a shadow moving among the soldiers, a figure cloaked in the empire’s colors. The figure raised a hand, and a flicker of magic glinted in the air, coiling like a serpent before striking out toward Tarek.

“Tarek!” Agan shouted, his voice raw, but it was too late. The blast struck Tarek in the chest, knocking him back with a force that seemed to freeze time. Agan watched, horror gripping him as Tarek staggered, his spear slipping from his grasp.

Tarek fell to his knees, his gaze locking onto Agan’s for one heart-stopping second. And then, with a final, determined breath, he slumped to the ground, his body still amid the chaos.

Agan’s mind went numb, a hollow ache spreading through him as he stared at the place where Tarek had fallen. The sounds of battle faded, his vision narrowing to that single, devastating image.

But a hand on his shoulder jolted him back, and he turned to see Garik, his face streaked with blood and dirt, his eyes filled with an urgency that cut through the grief.

“Come on, Agan,” Garik said, his voice rough. “We can’t stop now.”

Agan nodded, the weight of Tarek’s loss settling into his bones, filling him with a fierce, unyielding resolve. They would fight, every last one of them, for Tarek, for Murkrest, for everything they’d lost and everything they still had to protect.

The battle was far from over, and Agan knew, with a cold, grim certainty, that he would not leave this place without giving it everything he had.