The “Demonic entity” didn’t lunge. It drifted.

  Its feet made no sound on the frozen crust, a terrifying contrast to the heavy, rhythmic gait I’d followed for years. I stepped back, my shoulder blades hitting the rough bark of the oak where Lady Elara cowered. My breath came in ragged, white plumes.

  “Human, please,” the creature whispered, tilting his misshapen head . The neck cracked—a dry, wooden sound. “Why do you struggle? The Empire is a rotting carcass. We are just the maggots cleaning the bone.”

  “Shut up,” I hissed. My sword hand was trembling, not from fear, but from the sheer physical toll of the last ten minutes.

  I lunged. It was a desperate, horizontal sweep aimed at the creature’s midsection. In any other fight, it would have been a killing blow. But the thing simply… folded. Its torso bent backward at a ninety-degree angle, the spine snapping and reforming in a heartbeat.

  My blade whistled through empty air.

  Before I could recover, a second shadow blurred from the canopy above. It slammed into my back with the weight of a falling boulder. I hit the snow face-first, the iron of my breastplate groaning under the pressure. I felt a cold, wet sensation on the back of my neck—the creature’s tongue, or perhaps a finger, tracing the line where my helmet met my gorget.

  “Captain is Kael!” Elara’s scream was thin and high, the sound of a string finally snapping.

  I rolled, kicking upward with everything I had left. My boot connected with something slick and soft. I scrambled to my feet, grabbing Elara by the cloak and shoving her toward the horse she had tried to flee with.

  “Run!” I roared.

  “I can’t leave you!”

  I parried a strike from the creature , the vibration traveling up my arm and numbing my elbow. She looked toward the camp. Through the trees, the screams had stopped. In their place was a horrifying silence, broken only by the sound of wet, rhythmic tearing. The Iron Guard—my brothers, my life’s work—were being fed upon.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  The weight of the skepticism I’d held all day finally shattered, leaving only a cold, jagged hatred. She was telling the truth. We were trapped in a slaughterhouse, and the walls were made of time.

  A third demon emerged, then a fourth. They circled us, their pale skin glowing with a sickly, phosphorescent light. They weren’t in a hurry. They knew the perimeter was closed. They knew the humans in the camp were already dead.

  “I’m sorry,” Elara whispered. She wasn’t looking at the demons. She was looking at me, her eyes reflecting the silver moonlight. “I’m so sorry I have to make you see this again.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” I said, stepping in front of her one last time. I felt a claw sink into my calf, dragging me down to one knee. I didn’t look back. “Just make sure… make sure the next time, I believe you sooner.”

  The second demon lunged, its fingers lengthening into obsidian talons. I felt the first one pierce my throat, a cold, sharp intrusion that stole my breath.

  I didn’t close my eyes. I watched the creature’s face. I watched it mimic a human’s laugh as it tore my life away.

  Next to me, I heard the dull thud of a dagger hitting the snow, followed by a soft, choked gasp.

  The world didn’t fade to black. It snapped, like a bowstring breaking.

  One moment, I was drowning in my own blood in the cold dark of the woods. The next, the sun was blindingly bright, and the smell of wet copper was replaced by the scent of pine needles and horse sweat.

  I jolted in my saddle, a strangled cry escaping my throat. My hand flew to my neck, clawing at the gorget. It was dry. Smooth. Untouched.

  “Kael? You alright?”

  I snapped my head to the left. Sir Joric was riding beside me, tossing a piece of dried venison into his mouth. He looked at me with genuine concern, his face whole, his eyes human.

  “You look like you just saw your own funeral, friend,” he chuckled. “Take a breath. We’re almost to the watchtower. A fire and a hot meal will fix that gloom.”

  I couldn’t speak. My heart was a frantic bird hammering against the inside of my ribs. I looked at my hands; they were shaking so violently I had to grip the reins until my knuckles turned white.

  I slowly turned in my saddle.

  The black carriage was right behind us. The curtain was pulled back just a fraction. Lady Elara was staring at me. She didn’t look surprised. She didn’t look relieved.

  She looked at me with a hollow, ancient pity. She nodded—a slow, rhythmic movement that confirmed the nightmare.

  I looked back at Joric, then at the twenty knights riding behind us, joking about the tavern girls in the next village. They were ghosts. Every single one of them was a ghost, and only I knew the date of their execution.

  I pulled my horse closer to the carriage, my voice a low, jagged whisper that only she could hear.

  “Tonight,” I said. “We don’t camp at the tower.”