One Hour Earlier

  Barrett sat near the fire, boots stretched toward the heat, posture loose but alert. First watch had always been his preference. He slept better knowing no one would shake him awake halfway through the night, and recovery—real masculine recovery—mattered more than most people understood.

  Above him, Grimm traced slow, methodical circles through the dark, a silent sentinel against the stars.

  Through his [Deadeye Domain], the camp unfolded in layered clarity. Maku’s design impressed him every time he looked at it: a ring of raised earth forming a shallow hill, wooden palisades planted along the crest, and a ditch carved neatly around the perimeter. Inside it—stakes, traps, unpleasant surprises waiting for careless feet. It wasn’t pretty, but it was smart. And smart kept people alive.

  Barrett let his awareness drift outward through Grimm’s eyes, scanning the tree line and the shadows between trunks.

  A sound broke the rhythm.

  “Who’s there?” Barrett called, voice calm but firm.

  A pause. Then, hesitant footsteps.

  “My apologies, Imperator Donovan,” a young male voice said. “I—uh—I didn’t see you there.”

  “Let’s go,” someone whispered urgently.

  “No, stay,” Barrett replied easily, leaning back a little farther. “I promise I won’t bite.”

  Silence stretched. Then three sets of feet shuffled closer, hesitant but curious, until figures emerged from the gloom and settled around the fire.

  Barrett didn’t bother bringing Grimm in for a closer look. He could tell they weren’t a threat.

  “Well,” he said, “who do I have the pleasure of meeting?”

  “I’m Rik,” the first voice said. “This is Kessa…and Tor.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Barrett replied. “You kids?”

  A scoff. “No,” a girl said quickly. “I’m thirteen.”

  “Kessa,” someone hissed.

  Barrett laughed softly. “Alright. How old are the rest of you?”

  “Fourteen,” Rik said.

  “Thirteen,” Tor added.

  Barrett nodded, absorbing it.

  The fire popped, a log cracking and settling. For a moment, none of them spoke.

  Then Tor cleared his throat.

  “Imperator Donovan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “How did you become such a monster?”

  A collective gasp followed immediately.

  “I mean—” Tor rushed on, “in a powerful way!”

  Barrett chuckled, shaking his head.

  “You want the truth,” he asked, “or a cool story?”

  “The truth!” all three said at once.

  Barrett exhaled slowly, eyes drifting to the fire. “I was afraid,” he said simply. “Most of my life. When you live like that—in fear—you only get one option. You work your ass off to be a little less scared tomorrow than you were today.”

  “That’s not real,” Rik said flatly.

  “Yeah,” Tor added. “No way.”

  Kessa sighed dramatically. “Thanks for trying to be relatable, though.”

  Barrett laughed, the sound low and warm.

  “Just remember, kids,” he said, leaning back a little, “if you’re not living in fear, you’re not really living.”

  Silence followed.

  “…Wait,” Kessa said slowly. “What?”

  “That doesn’t sound right,” Tor added. “Does that actually make sense?”

  He was about to answer when heavier footsteps approached from behind.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” a woman’s voice snapped. “Don’t disturb the Imperator.”

  “They’re fine,” Barrett said before she could finish. “I don’t mind.”

  “Yeah, Lyra,” Rik added. “We’re good.”

  “Sit with us,” Kessa said brightly. “Hang out with your crush.”

  “Kessa!” Lyra hissed, embarrassment bleeding through her tone.

  Barrett coughed, suddenly very interested in his scouting.

  “Well,” Lyra said, regaining composure, “since we’re telling stories…what were you like before all this? Before the warping?”

  “Yeah!” Tor said. “Were you a king or something?”

  “And people keep saying you’re from a fifth world,” Rik added. “That’s nonsense, right?”

  Barrett went quiet.

  He leaned back, eyes lifting toward the dark sky. For a long moment, he didn’t speak at all.

  “Sorry,” Lyra said gently. “We didn’t mean to pry.”

  “No,” Barrett replied. He thought about his life before this. “It’s fine. Just…not many stories worth telling.” He paused, then shifted the conversation. “What about you guys? Planning on taking the ships?”

  Lyra shook her head. “Probably just find work in EverGreen.”

  “No interest in going further?” Barrett asked.

  The mood shifted. The fire suddenly felt louder.

  “We’re stuck,” Rik said at last.

  “Stuck?” Barrett echoed.

  Kessa nodded. “We can’t level anymore. Once you stagnate long enough, that’s it. You hit a wall.”

  Barrett inhaled sharply. “I…didn’t know.”

  “Some people use gems to keep leveling when they aren’t fighting,” Lyra added. “But that’s not really an option for us.”

  Barrett opened his mouth to respond—

  KRAA—KRAA!

  Grimm’s warning cry split the night.

  Barrett’s posture snapped upright as he reactivated his [Deadeye Domain], attention flaring outward in an instant.

  Whatever Grimm had seen, the night had just changed.

  —

  Movement rippled at the edges of the clearing.

  At first it was just shadows, but then the forest seemed to empty itself. Hundreds of figures stepped out from between the trees, their blackened armor catching the moonlight in dull, predatory gleams. The silence they carried was worse than a roar.

  Barrett’s breath hitched.

  “Shiiiit,” he muttered.

  Training snapped into place a heartbeat later.

  “Formation Delta!” he barked, already on his feet. He glanced down at the wide-eyed kids by the fire. “Lyra, get the non-combatants to the rear tent. Now.”

  The camp wasn’t large, but it was precise. Every path, every line of sight, every fallback route existed exactly where Maku had drilled it into everyone’s heads. Barrett didn’t hesitate, he knew where to go.

  As he sprinted, he saw the camp coming alive around him. Figures peeled away from fires and tents, moving silently to assigned posts. No shouting. No panic. Just motion. Maku’s other quiet brilliance: everyone had a place, and everyone knew it.

  He reached Rei’s tent in seconds.

  The flare had already gone up.

  A bright streak split the sky and burst overhead in a wash of light. Anyone who hadn’t been awake before was now.

  “Formation Delta?” Rei asked as he skidded to a stop.

  “Damn right,” Barrett said grimly. “We’re in deep.”

  She nodded once and went to work, sending controlled fireballs arcing toward designated points along the wall.

  Torches flared to life one after another, racing along the wall in a deliberate pattern. There were far more flames than bodies to hold them, a careful exaggeration. From the treeline, it would look like a fortress awake and bristling—crowded ramparts, disciplined defenders, a garrison ready for war.

  Everywhere, that was true.

  Except for one stretch.

  There, the light thinned. Torches were fewer, spaced too far apart, shadows pooling between them. A section that looked tired. Undermanned. Vulnerable.

  It was no accident.

  Maku’s handiwork again. An intentional flaw, obvious, almost insulting in how crude it appeared. A weakness meant to invite confidence. Meant to lure.

  And behind it waited the real danger.

  Team Donovan.

  Barrett felt a grin tug at his mouth as he pictured it. The moment the orcs would surge through what they thought was the softest point, only to find themselves crashing headlong into something far worse than a wall.

  A low laugh slipped out of him before he could stop it, a shiver of anticipation running through his spine.

  “Oh yeah,” he muttered.

  Then he broke into a sprint, boots pounding the earth as he raced for his position, where he, Maku, and Pippy would be waiting to teach their uninvited guests exactly what kind of mistake they’d made.

  —Pippy—

  The word reached her at the same instant Rei’s flare tore open the sky.

  Light blossomed overhead, washing the camp in stark brilliance, and training took over before fear could catch up. Pippy was already moving, feet carrying her toward the section of wall Mister Donovan had bluntly named the kill zone. The path was dark, but it didn’t matter. The camp never changed. Every tent, every turn lived in her memory.

  Mister Zhao really was a genius, she thought.

  All around her, figures sprinted through the gloom, slipping into place with practiced urgency. No shouting or confusion, just motion.

  Formation Delta.

  The realization landed with a cold weight in her chest. That was the worst code. The one they only spoke about in voices low and serious. If Formation Delta had been called, then this wasn’t a raid. This was a real battle.

  Her heart pounded, but she wasn’t panicking.

  Mister Donovan would be there. And Mister Zhao. Granny would already be guiding the non-combatants to safety, where Miss Eidel and her team would guard them.

  They’d planned for this.

  As she ran, she passed the cluster of tents belonging to Lady Eidel and her escort. For a heartbeat, something felt wrong.

  The guards posted there hadn’t moved.

  They stood rigid, weapons in hand, eyes forward. No motion. No urgency.

  Pippy slowed, then stopped.

  “Um—excuse me,” she said to one of them, a tall woman with long dark hair pulled back tight. “It’s Formation Delta. Shouldn’t you be heading to your position?”

  The woman didn’t look at her.

  Her jaw was clenched, fingers white around her staff.

  “We move only on Lady Eidel’s command,” she said flatly.

  “But—” Pippy’s voice wavered despite herself. “We need everyone. If we don’t hold all sides, the defenses could fail.”

  “I have my orders,” the guard replied.

  Pippy looked around quickly.

  None of them were moving.

  A knot formed in her stomach. This wasn’t part of the plan. This wasn’t how it was supposed to work.

  There was no time to argue. The attack was already happening, and people were counting on her. Mister Donovan was counting on her.

  She turned to run—

  —and slammed into something solid.

  She staggered back, breath knocked from her lungs, and looked up.

  Zahir stood before her, broad as a wall, his expression unreadable.

  “Pippy?” he asked, surprised to see her.

  Before she could answer, another presence slid into her awareness.

  Lady Eidel stepped around him, her movements unhurried, almost graceful.

  “I need to go!” Pippy blurted out, panic edging her voice now.

  “Stay a moment,” Eidel said calmly.

  As she spoke, darkness crept into her eyes—inky, fluid, swallowing the light.

  And Pippy felt the world tilt beneath her feet.