Three Years Later

  The sky above the Breach hadn’t changed. Rust-colored haze still hung across it, smeared with drifting black clouds that carried no rain. But the world beneath that sky was nothing like it had been.

  Alyssa Veyr stood at the edge of the wall. Her cloak had been cut short for movement, the fabric snapping in the wind. The double-weight blade at her hip felt as much a part of her as her own arm, and the grapple-launcher fixed to her off-hand might as well have grown from her wrist. She swept her eyes across the cragged wasteland, scanning without thinking. Habit.

  Below, the courtyard stirred with a new generation of Juniors. Mostly cadets she had once trained beside—now armored, armed, and looking at the world with eager eyes. Too much hope. Too little experience.

  Beside her stood her squad. Bluehawk.

  They wore no medals, no flashy crests. Only a simple dark-gray pauldron, etched with the image of a hawk in mid-dive. The name had started as a joke—Sira had tossed it out after a hard-earned survival mission—but it stuck. Something precise, fast, and lethal.

  Alyssa was the hawk. The commander. The sharp edge.

  Harlen Voss had grown leaner and quicker, his tactical mind honed razor-sharp. He adjusted the straps of his chest plate with the same focus he brought to battlefield positioning.

  Ketta Maren wore a hunter’s wrap beneath her armor and the sigil of a tracker. She was the one who spotted traps before anyone else even thought to look.

  Bran Ishell was broader still, his weapon massive, scar faded to pale skin above his temple. Despite his size, his movements carried surprising grace.

  Sira Vance remained a ghost—quiet as the wind before a storm, deadly before an enemy even noticed her.

  Sophie Relin had been promoted only a month ago, but already she kept them grounded. Quick-witted, sharp-tongued, and devastating with a short blade, she fit as if she’d been there from the start.

  They weren’t cadets anymore. Not green. Not soft. They had faced the new mutations—the beasts immune to steel—and survived. That weight sharpened them more than training ever could.

  Commander Zaric stepped onto the platform. His voice carried clearly.

  “Bluehawk Squad. You deploy in two hours.”

  Alyssa turned slightly. “Mission?”

  “South trenchline. Varnil Crag region. Reports of tunneling. Could be a nest. You confirm, then call for a sweep if it’s active.”

  Harlen frowned. “That’s close.”

  “They’re pushing closer,” Zaric answered without blinking. “You’re the only ones fast enough to check it without dragging a legion.”

  He met Alyssa’s eyes and nodded once. “You’ve kept them alive. Keep doing it.”

  Alyssa returned the nod. “We will.”

  As Zaric left, Sophie smirked and nudged Alyssa’s shoulder. “Look at you. All respected and terrifying now.”

  Alyssa allowed a small smile. “Hardly terrifying. That’s your job.”

  “Damn right,” Sophie said.

  Ketta was already scribbling terrain notes into her battered journal. Bran stretched his shoulders, bones cracking like branches. Sira vanished for a breath, then reappeared as if she had never left. Harlen simply stood beside Alyssa, scanning the sky as though searching for omens.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Alyssa glanced back down into the yard. Cadets looked up at her squad in silence.

  Once, she had stood where they stood.

  Now she was Bluehawk’s leader.

  And if the Rhupenshron thought to break her squad like the others, they would soon learn hawks never flew alone.

  Varnil Crag — South Trenchline

  The volcanic stone cracked underfoot, sharp and jagged. The air stank of sulfur and rot, carried on every gust of wind.

  Bluehawk moved without a word—blades out, grapples ready.

  Alyssa crouched behind a ridge overlooking the tunnel system. “Ketta?”

  Ketta studied the ground. “Freshly dug,” she murmured. “But it’s deliberate, not random.”

  Harlen’s eyes scanned the cliffs. “Something could be watching us.”

  A grinding sound rumbled from the trench.

  Then a roar shook the stone.

  From the tunnel surged a malformed Rhupenshron brute. Its bulbous limbs twitched beneath armored flesh, rib-like bones jutted black in the dim light. The ground split beneath its weight.

  Bluehawk scattered instantly, each of them precise, each of them drilled.

  Bran struck first, his massive blade slamming down with force enough to crack stone. The blade bounced harmlessly from the creature’s arm.

  “Still immune!” Bran barked, stepping back. “No change!”

  Sophie shouted from the north flank. “Another tunnel’s opening!”

  Alyssa’s voice cut through the chaos. “We need it in the open! Harlen, east cliffside!”

  Harlen sprinted, leaping over jagged rock, claws raking at his heels. “With pleasure!”

  Bran and Sira harried the brute, darting close enough to provoke it, then vanishing before it struck.

  Ketta joined Alyssa. “There’s no backup coming.”

  “I know.”

  “No flares, no scouts, no horses.”

  “I know, Ketta.” Alyssa’s eyes never left the beast. “We out-think it.”

  “Or outlast it,” Harlen grunted, skidding beside them. “They’ve bought us fifteen seconds. Use them.”

  Alyssa pointed to the cliff path. “Run! The ledge will bottleneck it!”

  They sprinted across jagged terrain, the brute clawing through stone behind them. Sophie stumbled, blood running down her thigh. Bran’s sleeve tore wide.

  The squad climbed fast and gained the plateau, a windswept flat of stone. Exposed.

  “Circle it here!” Alyssa commanded. “Don’t strike to kill—strike to live!”

  The brute climbed into view, bigger than ever.

  Bluehawk braced.

  The beast lunged. Its claw swept down like a falling tree.

  Sophie turned too late.

  The impact lifted her from the ground and flung her against the cliffside with a sickening crunch. She collapsed in a bloody heap, motionless.

  “SOPHIE!”

  Alyssa’s scream broke from her chest, raw and jagged. Something shifted in her eyes. Her blade dropped low, her stance tightened.

  Focused.

  Deadly.

  Harlen was already at Sophie’s side, frantic hands pressed to her wounds. “She’s breathing, but gods—she’s torn to shreds!”

  Ketta shouted for Bran and Sira, but Alyssa didn’t hear.

  Her world had shrunk.

  Her. And the beast.

  She stepped forward, blade dragging, eyes locked.

  The brute wasn’t afraid.

  Neither was she.

  She struck like a storm. Weighted blade swinging in brutal arcs, screaming with each strike. The brute reeled—not in pain, but in confusion. It had never been pressed this hard.

  Her grapple launched, pulling her high. She landed on its back, plunging her blade into the ridged spine. Again. Again. Cracks split across the bone plates.

  The brute whipped her off, flinging her like a ragdoll. She rolled, rose, staggered, and screamed back at it.

  “Come on! You want a fight? You have it!”

  The brute charged. Alyssa met it head-on.

  Behind her, Bran, Sira, and Harlen froze. None dared interrupt. Her fury was its own rhythm, a deadly pattern. If they joined, they’d break it.

  “She’s too fast,” Ketta whispered. “We’d only slow her down.”

  So they watched.

  Watched as Alyssa drove the monster back.

  Watched her flips, her blade slamming into its skull, cracks widening.

  “She’s doing damage,” Harlen breathed.

  “No,” Sira said softly. “She’s learning how to kill it.”

  Blood streaked Alyssa’s face. Armor hung loose. Her arms shook. Still she pressed on.

  And for the first time, the brute hesitated.

  It feared her.

  It screamed.

  The sound was wrong—distorted, vibrating through the ground. Not rage. Not pain.

  A call.

  Harlen’s head snapped up. “No. No, no—”

  From the forest, more screams answered.

  Too many.

  Ketta grabbed Bran’s arm. “We have to move! Alyssa!”

  Sira steadied Harlen as he lifted Sophie’s limp form.

  But Alyssa hadn’t moved. She stared at the brute, its mission complete, limping into the woods.

  The thuds came closer. Dozens of them.

  She turned at last.

  “Fall back!”

  No one argued.

  Bluehawk ran. Bran shielded the rear, Ketta signaling with torchlight, Sira covering Harlen as he carried Sophie.

  Alyssa stayed last, firing her grapple at the last moment, vanishing into the canopy as more Rhupenshron poured into the trench.

  The forest shook with screams.

  But Bluehawk was gone.