By the time they reached the checkpoint, the sun was already cresting the treeline. The faint golden hue across the sky painted a false sense of safety. Swift didn’t believe it for a second.

  They’d ridden hard through the night with no rest, no conversation, and barely any time to process what had happened. Sleep was sacrificed in favor of distance—distance from the wreckage, from the ambush, and from whatever might have heard the battle in the woods.

  Watchpoint Vale looked like a half-forgotten bulwark shoved into the edge of nowhere. Wooden palisades encircled a small perimeter of towers, storage huts, and a central fire pit that hadn’t gone out in days.

  The gates creaked open at the sound of their approach. No fanfare. No welcome. Just tired soldiers behind barricades, weapons drawn but not raised.

  Swift’s legs ached as he climbed down from the wagon. His eyes stung from dust and sleeplessness. Around him, others moved in silence, leading horses to water and stretching stiff limbs.

  Voss said a few words as he spoke with the gate guards. Carlos didn’t speak at all. Neither did Swift.

  By the time they settled the wagons and unshouldered their weapons, a few outpost soldiers came forward with water and ration bread. Nothing warm. Just enough to keep the blood flowing.

  “Get what rest you can,” Voss told the team. “We meet with the outpost commander before nightfall.”

  Swift nodded once, then found a quiet spot near one of the interior walls. He dropped into the dirt, leaned against his pack, and let the tension melt from his muscles—but not his thoughts.

  Sleep only came in fragments.

  Part of the convoy they were supposed to meet was here.

  But they were fewer in number than expected—and visibly worn. One wagon was missing entirely. Several guards nursed wounds, some superficial, others not. The stench of burn salve and iron clung to the air like smoke that refused to fade.

  Voss disappeared into the command shack near the central fire. He returned a few minutes later with Carlos in tow, waving Swift over.

  Inside the crude office, the checkpoint commander stood hunched over a rough map. His armor was battered, his beard speckled gray. He looked up as they entered, eyes like cold steel.

  “You look green,” the commander said, eyeing Swift briefly before returning his gaze to the map. “But you survived an ambush. That buys you respect here.”

  Swift kept quiet, standing behind Voss and Carlos.

  “We were told this road was clear,” Voss said calmly.

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  “It was,” the commander replied. “Two weeks ago. But something’s changed. Corrosion’s shifting faster than expected. Our frontline’s been breached.”

  “The front to the north?” Swift asked.

  The commander nodded. “We got a courier message three days ago. Line’s collapsing in three different sectors. We’ve asked the capital for reinforcements, but they haven’t arrived. That gap at the front—if it doesn’t get sealed, more things like the ones you saw out there are going to be crawling across this whole stretch of land.”

  Carlos folded his arms. “That means they’re coming here.”

  “Sooner than I’d like. We’re reinforcing the perimeter and expecting an attack tonight or tomorrow.” The commander looked at Voss. “If your crew’s fit, I want every able hand on the wall.”

  “We’re fit,” Voss answered.

  The commander gave a short nod. “Then man your posts. Tower assignments are up to you.”

  Swift and Carlos were assigned to Tower West, the most exposed position facing the forested ridge beyond the checkpoint.

  “You good?” Carlos asked as they climbed the stairs to their perch.

  Swift nodded. “I’m not the one with the busted leg.”

  Carlos grunted. “My leg works fine if the fight comes to me.”

  The tower creaked under their weight. At the top, they had a full view of the road and tree line stretching into shadow. The sun was gone. The air was still. No birds, no insects—just silence.

  Swift leaned his musket against the wall and reached into his pack. Without ceremony, he pulled out the helmet.

  I trust Carlos won’t mind.

  Carlos raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

  Swift glanced around to make sure no one else was watching. He slid the helmet down over his head, the mask pulled into place. Inside, his world was still dim. He focused. Reached for that imagined switch. Twisted.

  The world lit up in shades of green and white.

  He could see every detail—twigs on the ground, movement between trees. He scanned slowly, adjusting to the brightness.

  Carlos gave him a sideways look. “Looks… advanced.”

  Swift kept his eyes forward. “Just something I’ve been working on.”

  “Mm.” Carlos turned back to his scope. “Hope it works.”

  The attack came just before midnight.

  It started with a low groaning howl, like a dying animal calling out across the trees. Then came the rustle—leaves parting, brush snapping.

  And then they came.

  Corrosion. Dozens. Maybe more.

  They sprinted from the treeline—some crawling on all fours, others twisted, bloated, malformed. Their skin pulsed with blackened veins and crusted sores. Limbs moved wrong. Jaws hung slack, snapping at the air.

  Carlos fired the first shot. Clean. Controlled.

  Swift followed.

  Boom. Excalibur’s roar cracked the night.

  He struck one in the chest. The shot came from clarity—he could see everything.

  They moved as a pair. Swift called targets between reloads, Carlos followed with precision. One after another, Corroded monsters dropped before they reached the fence.

  Some reached the outer palisade—claws scraping wood, bodies slamming into the defenses.

  Screams rose—inhuman, guttural, and angry.

  The defenders held.

  Swift waited for Excalibur to reload, sweat dripping beneath the helmet. One more target. One more shot. He fired again, and the creature’s head snapped back.

  At his side, Carlos spoke between shots. “So, you can shoot.”

  “I had help.”

  When the last of the creatures fell, silence returned—not peace.

  The ground below was littered with ruined bodies. Some still twitched, stuck to the palisade. The defenders cheered, but it was quiet, subdued. A kind of reverent relief.

  As the fires were set and corpses cleared, Swift pulled off his helmet, wiping his brow.

  “Keep that thing close. I’ve got a feeling that was just the start.” Carlos said while checking his ammo reserves.

  Swift nodded. He froze and turned to face Carlos.

  He looked Carlos in the eye. “Don’t mention the helmet. Please.”

  Carlos gave a slow shrug. “Wasn’t planning to.”

  A pause.

  “Your secret’s safe. You’ve earned it.”

  Another howl, deep in the treeline.