Chapter 104: The Closing Circle

"BREACH! WESTERN GATE IS DOWN!"

"ARCHERS TO THE SECONDARY! THEY’RE OVER THE WALL!"

"FALL BACK! FALL B..."

The last shout ended in a wet, choked gurgle that made Cherion’s stomach do a slow, sick somersault. For a heartbeat, he felt the pull of the vacuum, that paralyzing, bone-deep urge to simply stop breathing and stare at the canvas walls until the nightmare went away.

Then, a hand clamped onto his wrist.

It wasn’t the Duke’s calloused, heat-radiating grip. This was Reiner. His was surprisingly strong, his fingers digging into Cherion’s skin with a grounding force that bypassed the panic. When Cherion looked at him, the bubbly, cheerful boy who usually chirped about little things was gone. In his place stood a man with eyes like flint and a mouth set in a grim, straight line.

"Stay close," Reiner commanded. He didn’t wait for a nod. He began pulling Cherion backward, away from the encroaching obsidian tide at the gates.

"Wait!" Cherion yelped, digging his heels into the churned-up snow. "Reiner, wait... the medical tent! Ezek is still in there. We can’t just leave them like sitting ducks!"

Reiner’s jaw tightened, a muscle leaping in his cheek. He didn’t argue. He didn’t even sigh. He simply pivoted, changing their trajectory with a sharp yank. They began to fight against the current of the camp’s unravelling. It was like swimming upstream in a river of iron, knights were sprinting past them, half-armored and wild-eyed, and the smell of the "sweet rot" was now so thick it felt like a physical film coating Cherion’s lungs.

By the time they reached Ezek’s bed, the man had already hauled himself upright. Cherion had closed the massive gash in his side, yes. The skin there was smooth, pink, and new. But you couldn’t magic away blood loss. Ezek was essentially a high-performance machine running on fumes and sheer, stupid willpower.

"What are you doing?" Cherion hissed, lunging forward to catch Ezek’s shoulder. "Your skin might be whole, but your heart is pumping air, you absolute moron! Lay down before your brain shuts off from the lack of oxygen."

Ezek’s head snapped up. His eyes were burned with a stubborn, unyielding pride. "I’m not dying in a pile of blankets," he wheezed. His hand trembled as he gripped the hilt of his sword, his knuckles white. "If I’m going, I’m going on my feet."

"Great. You’ll be a very heroic, upright corpse. I’ll be sure to tell the Duke you died being difficult," Cherion snapped back.

Cherion didn’t wait for a rebuttal. He moved to Ezek’s side, firmly grabbing his arm to steady him. He didn’t try to carry him, but he provided the necessary anchor as Ezek took his first, shaky steps. The knight let out a low grunt, but for once, he didn’t shove Cherion away.

"Quiet," Reiner whispered.

The command was absolute. It sliced through the noise of the camp like a guillotine. The bickering stopped instantly. Outside, the screams were still happening, but beneath them, a new sound was rising..

On the tent wall, a shadow began to grow. Distorted by the flickering orange light of the fires outside, a jagged, multi-limbed silhouette stretched across the fabric. It didn’t pass by. It lingered right at the entrance, the sound of clicking jaws vibrating through the very air they were breathing.

Reiner didn’t waste a second. He pointed toward the small ventilation flap at the rear. They moved like smoke, or as close to ghosts as a hobbling, recovering knight and a terrified healer could manage. They slipped out into the biting night air just as the front of the tent was shredded into ribbons behind them.

The camp had lost all structure. Tents were down, wood splintered, everything was a mess. Any sense of formation was gone, just scattered groups fighting to stay alive. The torches lit things unevenly, shadows shifting enough to blur the line between knight and monster.

Reiner took the lead, choosing a narrower path between supply tents and stacked crates of winter rations. He moved like his body already knew what to do. Cherion stayed pressed to Ezek’s side. Ezek was resisting more than he was accepting, his steps uneven and heavy. The magic had fixed the wound, but the "metabolic debt" was a bill that Ezek was struggling to pay on an empty stomach.

"Almost there," Reiner breathed, eyeing a gap between two transport carriages.

They almost made it.

A Velkyn dropped from the top of a supply wagon directly into their path. It just landed with a heavy, wet thump, its flint-like shell clicking as it uncoiled. It was too sudden and way too close.

Reiner moved first. He stepped in with his short blade, cutting the creature off and pulling its attention away from the others.

"GO!" Reiner ordered, and for a split second, that cheerful sparkle flickered back into his eyes, looking entirely out of place amidst the gore. "Don’t look so worried, Lord Cherion! I’ve got plenty of life left in these young bones. I’ll catch up for tea when this is all sorted!"

Cherion hesitated, just for a fraction of a second, his heart jumping into his throat. "Reiner..."

"GO, YOU FOOL!" Ezek growled. He didn’t wait for Cherion to decide, he grabbed Cherion’s tunic with a surprisingly strong grip and pulled him backward, forcing the decision.

Reiner didn’t look back. He was already a blur of movement, his blade clashing against the monster to buy them seconds. And just like that, they were separated.

Cherion and Ezek stumbled deeper into the camp’s edge, toward the secondary supply area where the larger crates and transport carriages were stored. The space was darker here, less guarded, the shadows pooling heavily between stacked goods and covered wagons. It felt safer, in the way a dark closet feels safer when a monster is in the hallway.

They slowed down, both of them listening now instead of moving blindly.

For a moment, nothing. Just the distant sound of steel on shell.

Then... movement.

Not one. More. Shapes were shifting between the crates, moving low to the ground. Circling. The jaw clicking got closer, a steady, unsettling sound that felt like it was coming from everywhere at once.

Cherion made a small, very unhelpful noise before he could stop himself.

Ezek noticed. Without a word, he reached out and pulled Cherion down with him behind a massive supply crate near a half-covered carriage. He shoved them into a tight patch of shadow and clamped a hand over Cherion’s mouth. The wood of the crate smelled faintly of frost and old grease, the ground uneven and cold beneath them.

"Don’t," Ezek breathed, the word barely a vibration against Cherion’s skin.

They were hidden. For now.

Three Velkyn moved into the open space between the crates, their pale eyes scanning the darkness. Then a fourth shape lingered further back. It wasn’t rushing. It wasn’t attacking. It was just... moving. Restless. Agitated.

Cherion shifted slightly, his boot catching on a loose piece of gravel. It made a tiny, sharp click.

Ezek’s hand tightened over his mouth, his other arm bracing against the crate. He didn’t move, but Cherion could feel the frantic, heavy beat of the soldier’s heart through his tunic.

They started spreading out, slowly cutting off the way back to the main camp.

Cherion realized it slowly, the understanding settling heavier than the panic.

They were trapped.