2025-09-17 02:48:09
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GHOSTS IN THE DARK
He opened his eyes. The weight of a nation pressed against him. And he carried it without breaking.The windowpane was cold beneath his palm as he leaned forward, gazing out at Lin City’s broken sprawl. Smoke from half-burnt factories curled into the dawn sky, mixing with fog until the skyline looked like a graveyard of bones. To the untrained eye, the city looked finished - half-starved, leaderless, waiting to be conquered.But Ares knew better. Beneath the cracks, Lin City still breathed. And that breath was about to turn into fire.He pulled away from the window and descended the steps. The Resistance Hall was quieter now, most of the men sprawled on benches or curled in corners catching what little rest they could. Hawk had slumped against the wall with his rifle across his knees, eyes closed but hands gripping the weapon as if sleep might try to steal it. Reyes sat at the map table, scribbling notes in a battered ledger by candlelight, his jaw tight with thought.Mira stood near
THE WEIGHT OF A NATION
“Now the war would test its soul.”Ares’s voice lingered in the air long after it left his mouth, and the hall seemed to shrink into silence. Every set of eyes - scarred fighters, old men with trembling hands, women clutching rifles too heavy for their frames - was fixed on him. In that stillness, he felt the truth of his own words press against his chest.Mira stood at the far side of the room, Elijah drowsing in her arms. The boy’s small hand twitched in his sleep, reaching for something unseen. Ares caught the gesture, and for one dangerous second the mask cracked - he was just a father, not the commander everyone expected to save them.But the war did not care about fathers.He straightened, pushing that softness back into the locked room of his heart. His gaze swept across the Resistance Hall. “They believe Lin City has already surrendered,” he said, voice low but sharp. “That we are too divided, too hungry, too broken to fight. They think fear is enough to keep us crawling.”His
THE GATHERING STORM
The war had only begun.And the air already carried the weight of it. Even standing high on the walls of Lin City, Ares could smell it - iron and smoke, like an echo of the storm that had just passed. The torches guttered along the ramparts, throwing long shadows across stone scarred by fire. Somewhere far below, a hammer rang as someone repaired a shattered gate. The sound was steady, almost defiant.He leaned on the cold stone, cloak brushing his boots, watching the horizon. He wasn’t really seeing the fields. He was seeing the road beyond them, the one that would soon crawl with banners and blades.A creak of boots drew close. Reyes joined him, flask in hand, the lines around his eyes deeper in the torchlight. He didn’t say anything at first, just leaned on the wall beside him. The two men stood in silence, listening to the city breathe.Finally Reyes lifted the flask, offering it out. “You’ve got that look again.”“What look?” Ares didn’t move his eyes from the horizon.“The one t
SHADOWS ON THE HORIZON
Because that was the oath he carried.And oaths, Ares knew, were heavier than chains. They pressed into the marrow, they bent the spine, and they did not let go. A man could abandon his fortune, his name, even his blood - but not his oath. His oath was the last truth that followed him into the grave.The Resistance Hall stood quiet after the storm. Torches guttered along the walls, their smoke curling upward, filling the rafters with a faint haze. Outside, the square still bore scars of the battle: shattered carts, burned cloth, blood crusted into the cracks of the stone. Yet life stirred there again. Merchants swept their stalls. Children kicked stones across the cobbles. The city, stubborn as bone, refused to stay broken.Ares leaned against the window frame, his silhouette cast in the flicker of firelight. His eyes traced the city’s outline - its crooked streets, its battered walls, the stubborn glimmer of lanterns being lit one by one. He should have been exhausted. Instead, rest
THE GATHERING STORM
And as long as he carried its heart inside his chest, no crown would ever break them again.The square emptied slowly, like a tide retreating after a storm. People moved with heavy steps but lifted shoulders, their voices rising in half-finished plans - timber to be hauled, roofs patched, food shared. Life had cracked, but it had not bled out.Ares stood still, Elijah pressed against his side, Mira silent beside him. The rain had faded to a damp mist, leaving the city reeking of smoke and wet stone. In the distance, a church bell rang once, broken in tone but steady, as if to remind them the city was still breathing.Ares finally turned to Mira. Her eyes were searching him again, the way they always did after battles - looking for the part of him that war hadn’t stolen.“You should take Elijah inside,” he said. His voice was quiet, but the edge was there.Her brow tightened. “And you?”“I’ll walk the city,” he answered. “See what’s left.”Her lips pressed thin, but she didn’t argue. S
OATHS IN THE ASHES
The storm had raged. The city had answered. And now its heart beat with his.Ares stood still for a long moment on the steps of the Resistance Hall, rain dripping from his shoulders, listening to that unseen heartbeat. It wasn’t the pounding of drums or the clash of steel - it was the stubborn rhythm of a city that refused to kneel.The square below was littered with debris, with faces too pale and eyes too hollow, yet no one left. They lingered, as if his presence was the one stone holding a crumbling arch. He could feel it pressing in on him -the need, the hunger, the desperate search for something solid.Elijah pressed against his leg, small hand clutching at damp fabric. Mira hovered close, her eyes following every twitch of his face, as though afraid he might vanish like smoke.Ares drew a breath, steady but not gentle. The air still stank of fire and lightning. His voice came rough, unpolished, but it carried.“You bled,” he said, eyes sweeping the battered crowd. “You lost home
