The fires had begun to die.
Iskaroth, once a proud city of towering spires and ancient stone, had been reduced to rubble. Buildings lay gutted, their skeletal remains reaching toward the sky like the hands of the desperate. Ash rained softly, carried by the wind, mixing with the blood that stained the streets.
Alpha moved through the ruins like a ghost, silent, deliberate. His breath was steady, his body light, but it was not because of his own strength. The exhaustion he should have felt was absent. The pain of his wounds had dulled to a distant memory. Vanitas had seen to that.
And yet, he did not feel whole.
He passed the remains of what had once been a marketplace. Stalls lay overturned, their wares long since looted or burned. A broken sign swung from a single rusted chain, creaking in the wind.
The war had not just taken lives. It had taken everything.
Somewhere in the distance, a scream cut through the silence. Short. Abrupt. Then nothing.
Alpha didn't flinch.
The war had not yet finished its feast.
His fingers twitched at his side, hovering near Vanitas. The sword was quiet now, but its presence was still there, coiled around his thoughts like a shadow. Since the duel with the Hand of Veyr, it had not whispered to him, had not spoken.
But he could feel it watching.
"It doesn't kill. It consumes."
Varyn's words had echoed in his mind ever since the battle.
What had Vanitas taken from him? His pain? His exhaustion? Or something deeper?
He clenched his jaw, shaking the thought away. Now was not the time for questions.
Then—a sound.
Small. Sharp. A scrape of metal against stone.
Alpha stopped. His breath stilled.
He wasn't alone.
His eyes scanned the alleyway ahead, his senses stretching outward. The darkness shifted. A figure crouched among the rubble, half-hidden behind a fallen pillar.
Not a soldier.
Not armored.
A survivor.
A child.
She was no older than ten, clutching a rusted dagger with both hands. Her grip was tight, her knuckles white, her body tense and ready to flee.
She was covered in dust and soot, her tattered clothing stained with something darker. Her face was thin, her eyes hollow.
Alpha exhaled slowly and raised his hands, palms open. "I'm not here to hurt you."
The girl didn't move.
Her gaze flicked between his face and the sword at his hip. She had seen what men with weapons could do.
Alpha took a cautious step forward. "What's your name?"
No answer.
She was watching him carefully, waiting for the trick, the moment he lunged, the moment he proved himself to be just another monster in the ruins of her world.
He sighed. She was right to be wary.
Slowly, he reached into his belt and pulled free a small piece of dried rations. It wasn't much, but he held it out, setting it down on the ground between them.
"You don't have to trust me," he said quietly. "But you need to eat."
Still, she did not move.
The silence stretched between them, thick as the smoke in the air.
Then, after a long pause, she reached forward, snatching up the food and retreating back into the shadows. She ate quickly, like someone who had learned that food could be taken away at any moment.
Alpha remained where he was.
He could feel the weight of Vanitas at his hip, and for the first time, he wondered if the girl could sense it. If she, too, could feel the wrongness of it.
Finally, she spoke. Her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
"Are you going to kill me?"
The question was so blunt, so weary, that it took him a second to process it.
Alpha shook his head. "No."
The girl studied him carefully. "Why not?"
He didn't have an answer.
Because he could? Because he had the strength to? Because that was the way of war?
Or because, deep down, he feared that if he did, Vanitas would take more than just her life?
He met her gaze. "Because I don't want to."
Another long silence.
Then, the girl lowered her dagger. Just a fraction.
Not trust. But something close.
"Good," she said simply. "I don't want to die yet."
Neither do I, Alpha almost said.
But the words caught in his throat.
Because a part of him wasn't sure if they were true.
Alpha didn't stay long.
The girl didn't tell him her name. Didn't ask for his. And when she finally slipped away into the ruins, dagger still clutched tightly in her hands, he didn't follow.
She would survive. Or she wouldn't.
And he wasn't sure which was the kinder fate.
As he walked away, Vanitas pulsed at his side, a slow, steady rhythm. Watching. Waiting.
Alpha exhaled, his breath curling in the cold night air.
He had always thought power was something he could wield. That it was something he could use.
But now, as he looked down at his own hands, he wondered if power was just something that waited.
And if, in the end, it always took more than it gave.
As Alpha left the city, the road stretched before him, winding through the charred remnants of once-prosperous farmlands. The sky was still tinged with the sickly orange of distant fires, but above it, the first hints of dawn threatened to break.
He should have felt relieved to leave the ruins behind.
But he didn't.
Because the war was not behind him.
It was ahead.
The Hand of Veyr was still out there, somewhere beyond the horizon. They had retreated in the last battle, but that did not mean they had lost.
And Alpha had felt it.
They had recognized something in him.
Something that was changing.
He gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the steady pulse of Vanitas. The whisper of power still lingered, curling around his thoughts like an unfinished sentence.
The sword had changed him.
And he had no idea what the final cost would be.
But he knew one thing.
This was only the beginning.