Ashvale burned.
Marcus stood atop the ridge overlooking the valley, the wind dragging the scent of ash and death across the charred earth. The once-lush region of golden fields and birchwood groves was now a scorched scar. Villages lay in ruin—roofs caved, wells poisoned, livestock slaughtered. Crows circled, feasting on silence.
"Gods," Erin whispered beside him, pulling her scarf over her face. "They moved faster than we imagined."
"They wanted us distracted in Silverholde," Marcus said, jaw tight. "While we fought over thrones, they made war on our people."
Behind them, a company of riders from Silverholde gathered, the banner of the lion snapping in the wind. Sir Calder, one of Marcus's most trusted soldiers, approached.
"No survivors in the outer three hamlets," Calder said grimly. "Only ashes and… symbols."
He handed Marcus a strip of blackened cloth. A crimson eye, stitched crudely in the center.
Marcus didn't flinch. "The Crowborn are marking their path."
Erin's eyes narrowed. "They're baiting us."
"Let them," Marcus replied. "But we won't bite the way they expect."
He turned to Calder. "Have scouts sweep the ridges. Check for ambushes. We move cautiously from here. No heroics."
Calder saluted and rode off, barking orders.
Marcus walked toward the remains of a barn, its frame collapsed into smoldering beams. Inside, the charred bones of a family still sat huddled in a corner—parents shielding children with their final breath. He stared for a long time.
"This isn't just conquest," Erin said, voice low. "It's annihilation. They're trying to erase everything."
He nodded. "And fear is their weapon."
A sudden shout from the east made them whirl. A scout galloped toward them, face pale, hair wind-whipped.
"My lord!" he called. "We've found something—about a mile out. Survivors. Barely."
Without hesitation, Marcus and Erin mounted their horses and followed the scout through the blackened trail. It wasn't long before they came upon a cluster of half-burned trees where a makeshift camp had been set up. There, hidden beneath tarps and blankets, were a handful of survivors—mostly children, a few elders, and one badly wounded man.
Erin dropped to her knees beside him, fingers already searching for a pulse.
"He's alive," she murmured. "Barely."
Marcus knelt beside her. "Who are you?"
The man's lips cracked open. His voice rasped like dry leaves. "I… was a guard… at the temple… the Crowborn… they came in the night… not soldiers… creatures…"
His eyes darted upward, haunted. "They walked on two legs, but they weren't human. Their eyes burned red… and they whispered things—horrible things."
Erin exchanged a sharp look with Marcus.
"Their magic is mutating," she said. "They're making abominations."
Marcus stood slowly. "Take him to the healers. We protect these people, all of them. No one else dies."
That night, they made camp beneath the blackened sky. The stars were distant, pale, as though afraid to look too closely. Fires burned low, and the survivors slept under heavy blankets. Marcus stood alone at the edge of camp, staring into the darkness.
Erin joined him, arms crossed.
"You don't have to stay up all night," she said softly.
"I do," he replied. "Because they're watching. Somewhere out there, the Crowborn are watching. And I want them to see I'm not afraid."
She was quiet for a moment.
Then: "You carry so much weight."
He looked at her. "Don't you?"
"Of course. But I've learned something."
"What's that?"
She smiled faintly. "Sharing it makes it lighter."
He hesitated. "I don't know how to do that. I was raised to lead, not… lean."
"Well, get used to it," she said, nudging his shoulder. "You're not alone anymore."
A beat passed. Then another.
And for the first time in what felt like days, Marcus exhaled.
"You ever think," he murmured, "that if things were different… if we weren't surrounded by fire and war… you and I might've met somewhere quiet?"
Erin tilted her head. "I don't know. Quiet doesn't suit us."
He chuckled, and the sound felt foreign—but good.
Then, just beyond the ridge, a red light flashed in the forest.
Erin's hand flew to her dagger. "Signal?"
"Or trap," Marcus said. "Either way, it's time we meet them head-on."
And with that, the prince and the spy stepped once more into the dark—toward the next battle.