The Thorne of Destiny

The Mistshroud camp was hushed long after the thunder of hooves faded down the mountain road. Every disciple seemed to carry the weight of that single name—Empire.

Adrian sat with his arm bare to the cold air, linen strips peeled back. The black corruption spiraled further now, faint veins of smoke searing across his skin like brands. Storm pressed against him, eyes glowing with stormlight, but even the beast's warmth could not reach the frost settling in his chest.

Bella slammed her halberd's butt into the earth. "We can't bow to them. You saw her. The way she looked at us wasn't respect—it was possession. If we march south, Adrian, you'll never come back."

Laen stood apart, his talismans swirling faintly, dim embers in the night. "And if we defy the Inquisitor, they'll raze this mountain before the Dust Order has the chance. Don't mistake the Empire's patience for weakness. Their armies grind slower than shadows, but when they move, nothing stands."

The disciples shifted uneasily. The firelight painted their young faces—scared, determined, confused. Whispers carried: Empire. Enemy. Betrayal. Survival.

Adrian flexed his corrupted hand, each motion like dipping bone into molten lead. He let the pain steady him. "Then either choice is death," he said. His voice was rough, but it cut through the murmurs. "If we follow, we're shackled. If we resist, we're burned. Tell me—where's the path where Mistshroud still breathes?"

Laen's silence said enough.

Bella leaned in, her voice a hiss meant only for Adrian. "The path is the one we carve ourselves. Screw their three days. We move before dawn—east, into the ridges. We strike the Dust Order again, make the Empire chase us if they dare."

Adrian's gaze swept the disciples. They were tired, wounded, but their eyes still held fire. The Bound Star beat faintly in his chest, echoing their will. Yet beneath it all, he felt the gnawing throb of Thorne's corruption. Each hour it grew stronger. Each day it chained him tighter.

"Running makes us prey," Adrian said finally. "Obeying makes us slaves. Fighting makes us…" He paused, meeting Bella's eyes. "Ourselves."

Laen exhaled sharply, talismans shivering in the air. "Do you mean to wage war on two giants at once?"

Adrian shook his head. "No. We don't fight both. We use one to survive the other."

Bella blinked. "…You want to play the Empire?"

A faint smile touched Adrian's lips, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Varena thinks she's dragging me south. Fine. We'll let her believe it—until we've gutted enough Dust Order camps to force the board to change."

The elder's talismans froze midair, then slowly descended. Laen looked at Adrian as if weighing him on a scale forged by centuries. "That path is blood and lies. But… perhaps it is the only one."

Storm growled low, sparks jumping along his mane as if in agreement.

Adrian's gaze turned east, to where faint plumes of smoke rose from another village along the Ashen Road. The choice was made.

"Three days," Adrian murmured. "The Inquisitor gave us that much. We'll spend every breath of it cutting the Dust Order down. When we walk into the Empire's hands, it'll be with victories that even they cannot ignore."

The disciples stirred, their fear tempered by the steel in his words. Bella's grin was sharp as a blade. Laen's frown remained, but he did not argue.

The council was over. The war had only just begun.

The night mist clung thick over the ridgeline, swallowing sound and shape alike. Below, nestled in the crook of the valley, a Dust Order camp sprawled—fires glowing like embers, silhouettes of sentries drifting lazily along the perimeter.

Adrian crouched on the cliff's edge, corrupted arm bound in fresh linen, Storm's low rumble vibrating beneath him. The beast's fur sparked faintly in the dark, each crackle of lightning swallowed by mist.

Bella slid up beside him, her halberd already slick with oil to mask its shine. "Two dozen, maybe thirty," she whispered, eyes sharp. "Not a full warband. We hit fast, we break them before they know what's happening."

Adrian nodded. His gaze wasn't on the fires or the guards—it was on the cages set near the center of the camp. Figures huddled inside, villagers dragged from the Ashen Road. Some were little more than bones wrapped in skin, others still strong enough to weep quietly into their knees.

He felt the Bound Star beat in his chest, the pulse faint beneath the steady throb of corruption crawling his arm. Light and shadow fought inside him with every breath.

"We're not just burning a camp," Adrian said quietly. "We're breaking chains."

The disciples around him tightened their grips on blades, bows, and talismans. They were fewer than the enemy, but their eyes burned brighter than the campfires below.

Laen's talismans hovered at his side, glowing faintly. "Strike swift. Strike clean. Leave no shadow alive to carry word south."

Adrian rose, Storm rising with him like a thundercloud given form. He raised his corrupted arm, linen pulsing faintly as if the black fire underneath longed to break free.

"Tonight," Adrian growled, "Mistshroud takes back the road."

They fell like storm and steel.

Arrows whistled from the ridgeline, cutting down sentries before cries could rise. Bella was already in the camp, halberd cleaving through the first ring of guards, her laughter sharp and fierce.

Adrian charged down with Storm at his side. Lightning split the mist, felling tents and scattering shadows. His blade cut deep, and when a Dust zealot raised a sigil of flame against him, Adrian's corrupted arm lashed forward instinctively. Black fire erupted from his palm, swallowing the man's spell whole before burning through his chest.

The zealot's scream twisted into silence. Adrian froze for half a heartbeat. That hadn't been his intention. The corruption had… answered.

Storm's roar jolted him back. Villagers cried out from the cages as sparks and steel clashed around them. Adrian shook off the tremor and pressed forward, carving a path through the camp with fury and purpose.

It was over within minutes. Smoke coiled from shattered tents. The Dust Order corpses lay scattered among their ruined banners. Disciples rushed to the cages, breaking locks, pulling wide-eyed villagers into the mist.

Adrian stood amid the wreckage, chest heaving. The black fire still whispered under his skin, not fading, not sated. He clenched his fist until his nails bit into flesh, forcing the whispers down.

Bella strode to him, blood streaking her cheek, grin wide. "That's two camps in as many nights. At this rate, the whole Ashen Road will know Mistshroud's back."

Laen approached slower, talismans fluttering nervously around Adrian's arm. His eyes were sharp with concern. "The corruption grows each time you call it. Even if it saves lives, it is not a leash you control—it is a leash that tightens."

Adrian met his gaze. "Then I'll break it before it breaks me."

From the ridge, a disciple's shout cut the air. "Riders! West road!"

Adrian turned sharply. Through the thinning mist, the glint of bronze banners rose. Imperial.

Storm growled, lightning bristling through his fur. Bella spat into the dirt. "Well. Looks like the Empire didn't wait three days after all."

Adrian tightened his grip on his sword, the Bound Star pulsing against the corruption in his chest. Between Dust shadows and Imperial steel, there was no road left untouched by war.

"Then we meet them," Adrian said. His voice carried through the camp, steady, unyielding. "Mistshroud doesn't kneel."

The disciples drew closer, the rescued villagers clinging to them, the mist curling like a veil around the mountain. The night was not yet done.

The Dust camp still smoldered when the bronze banners crested the ridge. Torches gleamed off polished plate and spears, their disciplined ranks cutting through the mist like a knife. At their head, once again, was High Inquisitor Varena, crimson-feathered helm catching the moonlight.

Adrian stepped forward, his disciples forming around him in a loose crescent. The rescued villagers huddled behind, their fear thick in the night air. Storm prowled at Adrian's side, lightning crawling along his mane, the beast's growl low and constant.

Bella spat, leaning on her halberd. "Guess the Empire doesn't sleep."

Varena dismounted without flourish. Her soldiers fanned out in silence, blades drawn but not raised. The Imperial sigil burned bright on their shields—the sun crowned with chains.

"You disobeyed," she said, her voice even, carrying like steel. "Three days were given. Yet here you stand, meddling in shadows that do not belong to you."

Adrian's corrupted arm throbbed beneath its bindings. He met her gaze without bowing. "While the Empire counts days, villages burn. We acted."

"Acted?" Varena's gaze swept over the corpses of the Dust zealots, then to the freed villagers trembling behind the disciples. For the briefest flicker, something softened in her expression—pity, perhaps—but it vanished as quickly as it came. "You presume too much. The Bound Star is not yours to wield."

Laen shifted, his talismans glowing faintly as though sensing danger. "With respect, High Inquisitor, no edict of the Empire gives it claim over what was lost long before your banners rose."

The gauntlet snapped up—silent command—and the entire Imperial line tensed. Spears angled down. Shields locked.

Bella snarled, stepping forward. "Say the word, Adrian. We'll cut our way through."