The Sovereign Codex.

Right of Ruin

The first arrow struck a man through the shoulder, a gruesome sight that marked the beginning of chaos.

After that, the sky filled with arrows.

They came in sheets, arcing through the night like dark phantoms against the flickering torchlight. The noise when they hit wood and flesh was wet and final, a grim sound underscoring the horrors of war. Recruits dropped where they were, eyes wide with terror, disbelief visible on their faces. Some screamed, their voices cutting through the night, while most simply fell, abruptly silenced, their lives ended in the turmoil.

Edrin saw the man who had been in the tent with him three nights before go down with an arrow through his face. He remembered their brief jest about home, the warmth of shared laughter over rations, now replaced by the cold certainty of death. The body fell backward, life gone in an instant, and did not move again. There was no time to look back; no time to feel anything clear, no moments of reflection or grief in the midst of the chaos. This was not the training yard. This was not a tale.

Orders screamed through the dark from all around, disorganized yet urgent, each voice a frantic attempt to create some sort of order in the pandemonium.

“Advance!” one shouted, while another yelled, “Pull back!” A jumble of commands surged through the air: “Shields up front!” “Hold the wagons!” The lack of order caused men to spin in circles, trapped in a whirlwind of confusion. Some ran toward the shouting, driven by instinct, while others just froze, paralyzed by the unfolding horror. A wagon lurched sideways as a horse reared and broke free from its harness, the wheels cracking against the unyielding rock of the valley floor. Grain sacks tumbled across the road, the remnants of cautious preparations now turned into chaos.

Another horse collapsed, arrows sticking out of its neck, thrashing about until someone mercifully cut its throat to end the noise. The valley was too narrow for effective navigation. There was no space to form the lines they had practiced carefully in the safety of the training yard. Bodies and broken wood cluttered every available space, the remnants of their previous organization lost in the sprawling destruction. The sheer rock faces loomed menacingly close on both sides, as if mocking their desperate situation.

Edrin’s squad commander was a large man with a scar on one cheek, a sign of battles fought and survived. He was shouting and pointing, moving forward with an intensity that sparked something within Edrin; a flicker of determination among the despair. Edrin followed him instinctively, having no better idea for survival. The cracked handle of his sword rubbed painfully against his palm, reminding him of his duty and the seriousness of his surroundings. His breath came short and quick, a ragged rhythm echoing the war drums of battle that pulsed in his chest.

Taren stumbled next to him, eyes wide with fear, like a deer caught in the headlights of approaching doom. An arrow skipped off the road near their feet, a sliver of death that barely missed them. Taren, confused and panicked, turned the wrong way for a moment; the press of bodies almost consumed him. Edrin quickly grabbed the back of his collar and pulled him sideways. They crashed against the side of an overturned wagon, the wood slick with pitch and tainted by the metallic scent of blood. The air was heavy with confusion, panic, and the unmistakable smell of fear.

Dark figures were already coming down the cliffs, swirling like shadows that had lost the light.

Ropes. Hands. Boots finding purchase in the jagged rock. Dravaran soldiers descended onto the road in groups, blades drawn, moving confidently as men who had planned this ambush in great detail. They slid down the cliffs as if they owned the ground beneath them, while at the same time, the road ahead filled with more of them—spears glinting threateningly, shields firmly locked together. A solid phalanx of bodies blocked any chance of pushing through; their presence hung over Edrin, a wall of darkness and intent.

This was not mere chance. Someone had known exactly when the convoy would enter the pass, a betrayal that felt almost personal due to its precision.

Cassian’s mounted group tried to carve a path toward the front, their advance a desperate bid for survival. Horses screamed as they were propelled into the cluttered mass. The terrain, harsh and treacherous, betrayed their efforts. There was no space to charge; the narrow path stifled their momentum. Lances tangled, men were pulled from their saddles, disappearing beneath the sea of boots and blades. The cavalry that seemed polished and organized in camp became just another heap of bodies and flailing animals, all traces of order lost in the tide of violence.

Finally, Edrin’s squad commander managed to pull them into something that resembled a line.

Shields overlapping, spears poised, they formed a hasty defense. The veterans in the group held the center, their experience keeping them steady while the less experienced filled the gaps as best as they could under the mounting pressure. For a brief time, it almost worked; the first wave of Dravarans slammed against their shields and were pushed back a step. Someone let out a thin cheer, desperate yet hopeful, an echo that was almost instantly swallowed by the storm around them.

Then the spear came.

It was not thrown from a distance; it just appeared out of the fight, driven hard, and went clean through the squad commander’s chest. The tip punched out between his shoulders like an unwelcome invitation to death. He looked down at it with a look that was nearly surprise, as if the reality of what was happening had not yet sunk in. His mouth opened, but no sound emerged, shock leaving him mute. He collapsed forward, falling at Edrin’s feet, the warm flow of blood spreading across the stones in a dark, growing pool. It felt as if the very ground was drinking in their fear.

A sudden burst of golden light flared in front of Edrin’s eyes, an unexpected disruption amid the grim scene.

[Recognized Authority has fallen within your command structure.]

Another line flared into existence below it, stark and cold against the chaos.

[Right of Ruin activated.]

In that moment, a surge of energy flowed through him, an awakening that was both frightening and exhilarating. It was as if the very fabric of fate had changed, giving him a share of the authority lost with the commander's fall. Edrin clenched his fists around his sword, a decision forming in his mind: he would not let the tide of battle claim him without a fight.