The swamp stretched on, endless and silent, every shadow twisting in the fading light. Agan and Garik moved through the dense undergrowth, their footsteps muffled by the wet earth. They’d lost track of how far they’d gone from Murkrest, but each step felt like one taken over the edge of a cliff, plunging them deeper into the unknown.

The smoke from the battle still clung to Agan’s clothes, filling his lungs with every breath, a bitter reminder of everything they’d left behind. He pressed forward, his muscles aching, his mind numb, as if the world had narrowed to this single path, one foot in front of the other.

Garik’s face was set in grim concentration, his gaze fixed on the ground as they pushed through the swamp’s dense foliage. For a long time, they didn’t speak. The silence was thick, filled with the unspoken weight of everything they’d seen, everything they’d lost. It wasn’t until they reached a narrow stream that Garik finally broke the silence, his voice a low murmur.

“We’ll need supplies. Food, maybe a place to rest for a while.”

Agan nodded, his voice rough. “There’s a free tribe settlement not far from here. We might be able to find shelter there.”

Garik glanced at him, a hint of skepticism in his eyes. “Think they’ll take us in?”

“They owe Murkrest enough that they’ll at least let us eat and rest,” Agan replied, though he wasn’t entirely sure himself. Relations between the tribes had always been uneasy, and with the empire’s encroachment, trust was in short supply.

They moved on, keeping to the shadows, wary of every sound. Agan felt like an intruder in his own swamp; every familiar root, every twist in the path seemed foreign, as though the land itself had changed in the wake of Murkrest’s fall. It wasn’t until they finally spotted the faint glow of firelight ahead that Agan allowed himself a flicker of hope.

The settlement was little more than a cluster of huts, huddled beneath the gnarled branches of ancient trees. As they approached, a figure emerged from the shadows, a young man with cautious eyes and a bow slung across his shoulder. He took one look at their dirt-streaked faces, the exhaustion in their stances, and raised his hand in greeting.

“Strangers?” the man asked, his gaze shifting between them.

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Agan took a breath, steadying himself. “Not strangers. We’re from Murkrest.”

The man’s expression faltered, his gaze softening. He nodded slowly, gesturing for them to follow him. “Come. My name’s Relon. We heard rumors about what happened. It’s… a terrible thing.”

Agan’s throat tightened, but he forced himself to nod, swallowing back the memories that rose, sharp and painful. They followed Relon through the settlement, passing small clusters of people who looked on with expressions of quiet sympathy. The huts were simple, the air filled with the scent of burning wood and damp earth, a humble echo of the home they’d lost.

Relon led them to a low firepit at the center of the settlement, where a few older villagers were seated. He introduced them quickly, giving only their names and “from Murkrest” as if that explained everything. The elders nodded, their faces lined with grief and understanding.

One of the elders, a woman with hair like silver wire and a steady gaze, handed them each a bowl of thick stew. “You’ll stay here tonight. Rest while you can.”

Agan murmured his thanks, though the words felt hollow. He took a bite of the stew, barely tasting it, the warmth a strange contrast to the cold ache in his chest. Garik ate in silence beside him, his face unreadable, his gaze distant.

The fire crackled, the night settling around them in a heavy stillness. Agan felt the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him, but his mind wouldn’t rest. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the flames licking at Murkrest’s heart, the flash of light as Tarek fell, the mage’s cruel gaze as he struck down Elder Saka.

“We’ll make them pay.” The words slipped out, barely a whisper, but Garik turned to him, his gaze sharp.

“We will,” Garik replied, his voice rough. “But we can’t do it alone.”

Agan looked at him, something shifting in his chest. Garik was right—they were just two survivors, barely more than boys, and the empire was a force that crushed everything in its path. They couldn’t hope to take it down on their own. But the thought of staying silent, of letting the empire walk away unchallenged, was unbearable.

“We need allies,” Agan said slowly, the idea taking shape in his mind. “The free tribes, the Kingdom of Faerdaine… anyone who’d want to stand against the empire.”

Garik nodded, his gaze thoughtful. “It won’t be easy. A lot of them would rather keep to themselves, stay out of the empire’s way.”

“Then we show them what happened to Murkrest,” Agan replied, his voice hardening. “We make them see what’s coming if they don’t fight back.”

The silence stretched between them, a new sense of purpose settling over the exhaustion and grief. Agan clenched his fists, feeling the cold steel of resolve settle in his bones. The empire had taken everything from them—but they hadn’t broken him. Not yet.

Garik glanced up, his gaze meeting Agan’s. “So… where do we start?”

Agan looked into the darkness beyond the firelight, the path ahead filled with uncertainty. But for the first time since they’d left Murkrest, he felt a flicker of direction, a purpose that steadied him.

“We’ll find the ones who’d fight back,” he said, his voice low but steady. “We’ll build something the empire can’t ignore.”