Maku and Pippy had caught up to Barrett by then, falling into step on either side of him as the smoke and distant screams blurred into a constant roar behind them.

  Barrett glanced down at Pippy as they walked. “Remember what I taught you about overloading?”

  She nodded immediately, jaw set. “Yes, Mister Donovan.”

  Maku snorted. “I mean, yeah. It was obvious,” he said, rolling a shoulder. “You drown him in noise with feints and pressure from every angle until his brain can’t tell what’s what. Then you slip in the real deal while he’s guessing.”

  Barrett smiled faintly and came to a stop.

  “Damn…you do listen,” he said. “You ready?”

  High above, Grimm circled once, twice.

  KRAA—KRAA.

  Barrett felt the familiar hum of awareness settle into place as he began drawing power inward, steady and controlled. The exhaustion he had felt a moment ago faded into something sharp and clean. This was it. Not a lone charge. Not a last stand.

  This was what it was supposed to feel like.

  Fighting with his people.

  The people he’d spent months training and bleeding beside. He knew them as instinctively as his own hands. He had built this team. Trusted them. Leaned on them.

  And for a moment, he’d almost tried to stand alone anyway.

  Idiot.

  “You ready to pay him back, Pip?” Barrett asked quietly.

  Pippy didn’t look at him. Her eyes were locked forward, glowing faintly now. “You have no idea.”

  Her domain unfurled.

  Normally it was gentle—barely a pressure, just enough to let Barrett feel the tug of slowed time brushing the edges of his senses. This time it snapped outward like a blade being drawn.

  Maku whistled under his breath and lifted off the ground, a mana disk forming beneath his feet as he rose into position. “Oh, she’s serious. Hope you are too, ya big oaf.”

  Across the churned battlefield, Gabul straightened and rolled his shoulders, the massive orc let out a contemptuous snort.

  “Cowardly humans,” he rumbled. “You know you cannot face me alone.”

  Barrett grinned and hefted his sword onto his shoulder. “After I bury you,” he called back, “I’ll make sure everyone hears I did it one-handed without breaking a sweat.”

  Gabul roared and charged.

  The ground cracked beneath his feet.

  Pippy reacted instantly. Time thickened around the warlord just before impact—only a fraction of a second, barely perceptible—but enough. Barrett slid forward into the opening and brought his blade around in a brutal slash.

  Black armor flared into existence and caught it.

  But the strike wasn’t the point.

  A storm of slender mana javelins shrieked through the air behind Gabul, unleashed in one ruthless volley. Even Barrett froze for a heartbeat; he hadn’t known Maku could conjure that many at once.

  Then it clicked.

  Most of them were hollow threats, woven with only a thread of mana, but still convincing. Hidden among them were the real deal, swollen with triple the power.

  Unfortunately for Gabul, he didn’t have the luxury of sorting illusion from danger.

  Most splintered uselessly against his armor.

  Enough punched through.

  Blood sprayed.

  Gabul howled and swung wildly at Barrett, who barely got his blade up in time to catch the blow. The impact rattled through his arms and spine.

  “We’ve got him now!” Barrett barked. “Pip—little help!”

  The pressure shifted.

  Barrett felt his body grow lighter as Pippy fed him just enough acceleration to matter. He surged in, slashing left, then right, mixing kicks and feints, never committing fully. Maku rained javelins from above, adjusting angles, changing rhythms, never letting Gabul settle.

  Attack after attack crashed into the orc’s armor. Most were stopped.

  But more and more slipped through.

  Around them, villagers began to arrive—fighters freed from the quieter flanks, weapons raised, spells flaring as they joined the shattered defenders of the once strong flank. The wall behind them held. The camp still stood.

  Barrett’s heart pounded so hard it drowned out the rest of the battlefield for a moment.

  He caught another crushing swing on his blade, steel shrieking as it slid down the jagged edge of Gabul’s weapon. Sparks burst between them. His arms trembled under the impact.

  And then—

  The armor didn’t rise.

  For a fraction of a second, Gabul’s black hide failed to materialize.

  Barrett didn’t hesitate.

  He drove his sword through the opening with everything he had. Steel parted muscle and tendon in a savage arc, biting deep into the warlord’s side until it met bone.

  Gabul roared, the sound shaking the air itself, staggering as the wound tore open along his ribs.

  Victory flashed briefly.

  Then the impossible happened.

  Instead of recoiling, the orc lunged in. His massive forearm smashed into Barrett’s sword arm, clamping down with brutal force and trapping the blade inside his own flesh.

  Barrett pulled.

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  It didn’t move.

  Gabul’s red eyes locked onto Barrett, burning with a hatred so dense it felt physical.

  The warlord’s other arm rose.

  His great sword lifted overhead.

  Barrett saw it clearly. There was no angle. No opening. No raven’s reversal. Not even with Maku and Pippy behind him. Nothing they had could stop the blow that was coming down.

  Shit.

  Then Gabul howled.

  Barrett blinked—and saw Rei.

  She had forced herself upright, blood-soaked and shaking, and somehow crossed the distance. Her blades burned white-hot in her hands as she carved deep across Gabul’s flank, the strikes savage and desperate. The smell of scorched flesh filled the air.

  The warlord snarled and wheeled on her.

  His sword came down in a furious horizontal arc.

  Barrett ripped his trapped arm free and dove. He slammed into Rei, driving them both out of the blade’s direct path. The strike still caught her. Too fast. Too heavy.

  They hit the ground hard.

  Barrett rolled, dragging her with him, heart in his throat.

  Then he looked down.

  Where her hands should have been—

  There was only blood.

  For a second he couldn’t breathe.

  Rei’s face was pale, teeth clenched so hard her jaw trembled, but she didn’t scream.

  Barrett’s vision went red.

  He snapped his head up, ready to charge again, but Gabul had taken a step back. The wound in his side bled heavily now, dark and steady. He limped, fury etched into every line of his massive frame. Rei’s strike had cost him more than he wanted to admit.

  Then the warlord reached to his belt and drew a horn carved from some massive beast’s tusk.

  He blew.

  The sound ripped across the battlefield.

  Every orc still fighting responded instantly. They broke from their engagements in disciplined waves, disengaging even as blades chased them. They pulled back toward their warlord, forming a tightening ring around him as they retreated.

  “Oh no, you don’t!” Barrett shouted. “Team Donovan—move!”

  He looked down and saw the blood coming out of Rei’s arms.

  “Granny!” Barrett yelled!

  The old woman was already there bending down to help.

  He surged forward without thinking, rage and power pulsing through his body after seeing Rei.

  “Mister Donovan!” Pippy cried. “Wait!”

  Barrett froze.

  And then he saw it.

  Beyond Gabul’s retreating force, a massive portion of the orc host was already peeling away and angling back toward the camp. Toward the tents. Toward the children.

  The truth hit him like a punch.

  Gabul was asking him to choose.

  “Get back here, you coward!” Barrett roared with all his might.

  Gabul glanced over his shoulder.

  Those red eyes met Barrett’s, filled with promise and spite.

  Then the warlord turned and vanished into the smoke.

  Barrett stood there shaking with fury.

  Maku landed beside him. “Pippy and I can hold here,” he said grimly. “You can take him alone, right?”

  Barrett clenched his jaw. Then, slowly, he exhaled.

  “Thanks. Don’t need the reminder,” he growled.

  He turned back toward the camp without another word.

  In the end, the choice was obvious.

  —

  The tent flaps stirred as Barrett stepped inside, ducking beneath the low canvas.

  Granny brushed past him on her way out.

  “How is she?” he asked quietly.

  The old woman looked as though the night had taken a decade from her. Sweat dampened the wisps of gray at her temples, and her hands trembled faintly at her sides, but her back was still straight.

  “She’ll recover,” Granny said simply.

  That was all. Then she moved on, already turning toward the next wounded body waiting for her hands.

  Barrett stood there a moment, watching her go.

  “Hey—Ida!” he called after her.

  She paused mid-step and turned, her silhouette framed against the flicker of firelight.

  “Thank you,” he said, more quietly now.

  For a moment she simply regarded him, exhaustion etched into every line of her face. Then she gave a small, tired smile and inclined her head before turning back to her work.

  His battle had ended. The last of the orcs had been driven off, and somewhere in the chaos he’d clawed his way to [Level 21]. The notification had flickered across his vision almost mockingly. But Granny’s war was only beginning. Nearly everyone in the camp bore some cut, some burn, some break. She would move from mat to mat until she collapsed—or until there was no one left she could save.

  Barrett stepped deeper into the tent.

  Grimm shifted on his shoulder and fixed his dark eyes toward the corner.

  Rei lay there on a small pallet of blankets.

  Without the flames and fury, without the sharp tilt of her chin and biting remarks, she looked smaller. Softer. The edges she had worn like armor seemed to have fallen away. Her dark hair was loose against the pillow, and her arms were swaddled in careful bandages beneath the blanket.

  The shape beneath it ended too soon.

  Barrett’s jaw tightened with concern.

  “What’s that look, Donovan?” Rei asked, her voice thin but trying for familiar sharpness.

  “Look?” Barrett gave a faint smile. “I see what you did there.”

  She exhaled through her nose. “You’ve got your eyes covered, but I can still read the lower half of your face.”

  She didn’t laugh. Neither did he.

  He knelt beside her.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “I’ll live.”

  “Good,” he muttered. Then, after a while. “Sorry. I’m not really built for this.”

  A ghost of a smirk flickered across her lips. “Neither am I.”

  He huffed softly. “You know, you used to be a lot less awkward.”

  “Easy to be confident when you’re hiding your true self,” she said.

  Barrett nodded. He understood that more than he wanted to admit.

  “We kicked Gabul’s ass,” he said after a moment. “You got some payback.”

  Rei’s gaze drifted toward the tent ceiling. She gave a small nod.

  Barrett shifted and sat fully beside her.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly.

  Barrett shook his head. “You did most of the damage.”

  She looked at him, steady despite everything. “No,” she replied. “Thank you—for all of it.”

  “You don’t have to thank me.”

  “I do.” Her voice cracked despite her effort to steady it. “You took care of me. Even after I…after everything.”

  “You’ve more than earned your place,” Barrett said. These kinds of conversations always made him feel awkward.

  Silence settled between them.

  Then she pulled her bandaged arms free from beneath the blanket.

  “I just…” Her breath hitched. “I feel so helpless. Like I’m going to be a burden. You’re basically taking care of a baby now.”

  Tears spilled down her cheeks.

  Barrett didn’t hesitate this time. He leaned forward and rested a steady hand against her shoulder.

  “Don’t think like that,” he said firmly. “You’re Team Donovan. That means we’re never gonna let you down.”

  A shaky laugh escaped her. “You’re never gonna give me up either?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Don’t start.”

  “KRAA,” Grimm added helpfully.

  “Not you too,” Barrett muttered.

  Rei blinked. “What did he say?”

  “He said, ‘never gonna turn around and desert you.’”

  Her mouth fell open. “Seriously?”

  Barrett grinned.

  For the first time that night, she laughed. It was weak and unsteady, but real.

  The moment lingered.

  “What was it like for you?” she asked finally.

  “When?”

  “When you lost your sight. When you thought you couldn’t fight anymore.”

  Barrett leaned back slightly.

  “I was a mess,” he admitted. “Thought my life was over. Kept replaying every choice I’d made. Wondering if one different decision would’ve changed everything.”

  Rei nodded slowly. “You felt useless too?”

  He gave a humorless chuckle. “Damn right. Didn’t know who I was without the fight.”

  Her voice dropped to almost nothing. “Does it get better?”

  “It does,” Barrett said without hesitation. “Life’s weird like that. It finds ways to surprise you.”

  He felt pressure at his chest and glanced down.

  Rei had leaned forward, pressing herself against him awkwardly.

  He froze for half a second, then wrapped his arms around her carefully and held her while she cried. He patted her back in stiff, uneven motions, feeling his own throat tighten.

  He blinked hard.

  “We’ve got your back,” he murmured. “I promise.”

  Soft footsteps rustled at the tent entrance.

  Grimm tilted his head.

  Pippy.

  “Hey, Pip,” Barrett said quietly.

  Pippy stepped inside and stopped when she saw Rei. Her small face crumpled, and without a word she crossed the tent and wrapped herself around Rei too.

  Rei stiffened in surprise—then melted.

  “I’m sorry,” Pippy whispered, tears falling freely.

  “I’m sorry,” Rei answered back.

  They clung to each other for a long moment.

  Eventually Pippy wiped her cheeks and sniffed.

  “I came to tell you,” she said, looking at Barrett now, “Miss Eidel wants to see you. She said it’s important.”

  Barrett’s expression shifted.

  Outside, the camp was still smoldering.

  The night wasn’t finished with him yet.