The ragged remnants of the army stumbled through the undergrowth, their movements a blend of exhaustion and desperate urgency. Captain Baldred, his face streaked with grime and blood, checked his sword, its edge dulled but still functional.
Lieutenant Kael, a younger man whose youthful eagerness had been replaced by grim determination, adjusted the straps of his pack. Lieutenant Gerber, his arm bandaged crudely, limped slightly behind.
The original thousands had dwindled to thirteen: Baldred, Kael, Gerber, and ten others – a mixture of soldiers and laborers, their clothes torn, their bodies bruised and bleeding.
The air hung heavy with the coppery tang of blood and the acrid stench of sweat. The sounds of battle, once a deafening cacophony, had faded to a distant murmur. Only the panting of the survivors punctuated the silence. One soldier, his tunic ripped open revealing a deep gash across his ribs, coughed up blood, then managed a weak cheer, "We survive!"
