warriors heart

The Dark Squad trudged along the forested path, their boots crunching against dried leaves and twigs. Their cloaks, torn and bloodstained, billowed slightly in the evening breeze, and their faces bore the haunting look of men who had carried out unspeakable deeds. The leader, Dren led the group in silence, his gloved hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. His steps were measured, deliberate, but there was an unease about him, like a predator who sensed another lurking in the shadows.

The squad moved with a practiced precision , their heads swiveling now and then to scan their surroundings. One of them, a younger soldier with a nervous energy that betrayed his inexperience, suddenly stopped. His eyes caught the faint outline of a ranch in the distance, just beyond the kingdom's borders.

"Commander," he said, his voice breaking the silence like a dagger piercing flesh. He pointed toward the ranch. "Should we investigate? It's not far."

The leader's head snapped toward the direction the soldier indicated. His dark, brooding eyes narrowed as he studied the ranch. The flicker of a lantern glowed faintly in the gathering dusk. A strange sensation gripped him—a faint hum in the air, as if power itself lingered in that place. His jaw tightened, and a subtle furrow appeared between his brows.

"No," he said, his voice cold and clipped. His tone left no room for debate. "It's outside the kingdom. Kane's orders were clear—only within Eclipsara."

The others shifted uneasily. They had all learned never to defy Kane's orders, not if they valued their lives. Still, the leader lingered, his eyes fixed on the distant ranch. He felt it—a pull, like a whisper at the edge of his mind. A part of him itched to disobey, to step over that invisible boundary. His fingers flexed instinctively on the hilt of his weapon, and his lips pressed into a thin line.

"What's wrong, Commander?" asked another squad member, his voice low and cautious.

The leader didn't reply. His expression betrayed the storm within him—a struggle between duty and an inexplicable curiosity. His broad shoulders seemed to slump slightly, a rare moment of vulnerability for a man so feared and revered. His breath came slower, his chest rising and falling as he fought the urge to take a single step toward the ranch.

"Let's move!" barked another soldier impatiently, already turning his back to the ranch.

"Yeah, let's go," someone else muttered.

The leader didn't move. His eyes stayed locked on the ranch, his brow creasing further. He could almost feel the power radiating from it now, faint but undeniable. A bead of sweat slid down his temple despite the cool air, and he clenched his teeth. His men were already walking away, their forms vanishing into the shadows of the trees.

"Commander!" one of them called out, snapping him back to reality.

He blinked, his expression hardening once more. The strange pull loosened its grip, and he turned on his heel, his cloak swirling around him. "Let's go," he said firmly, his voice colder now, as though to mask the turmoil inside.

As they made their way back to the palace, the leader's movements were stiff, his usually fluid grace replaced by a tension that refused to dissipate. His men didn't question him further, sensing that something about the ranch had disturbed him. They moved silently, each consumed by their own thoughts of the day's bloody task.

But the leader couldn't shake the image of the ranch.

Tom stood in the shadows of the small ranch house, his broad shoulders tense as he peered through a crack in the wooden shutters. His weathered hands gripped the edge of the window frame, knuckles white from the pressure. His heart thudded against his chest as he watched the figures in the distance. The Dark Squad. He had heard whispers of them—ghostly tales of their mercilessness, their deeds drenched in blood. Yet here they were, close enough that he could feel the cold, unrelenting aura they carried with them.

His sharp eyes scanned their movements, noting the deliberate way they prowled, their heads turning like wolves on a hunt. He stiffened when the leader stopped, his piercing gaze lingering in the direction of the ranch. Tom's breath hitched. Instinct took over.

Without turning his head, he raised a hand and signaled to Sarah behind him. His fingers moved quickly in a silent command. Quiet him. Sarah, cradling the infant in her arms, nodded with urgency. Her auburn hair, slightly damp with sweat, clung to her forehead as she pressed David closer to her chest, her trembling fingers gently covering the baby's mouth.

"Shhh, my love," she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her eyes, wide with fear, darted between the baby and her husband, her lips trembling as she tried to soothe David's soft whimpers. She rocked him gently, her movements fluid but strained, as though the weight of the moment had seeped into her bones.

Tom stayed frozen at the window, his jaw clenched tightly. His soldier's instincts screamed at him to act, to prepare for the worst. His left hand hovered near the hilt of the short blade strapped to his side, though he knew it would do little against the likes of them. Still, the need to protect his family burned in his chest like a forge. His blue eyes, usually calm and steady, were alight with a mixture of dread and determination.

He watched the leader of the squad closely. There was something unsettling about the man's stillness, the way his dark eyes seemed to probe the very air, as though sensing something invisible. Tom's brow furrowed as confusion crept in. The Dark Squad did not wear the armor of Eclipsara's soldiers, nor did they carry themselves like those bound by the kingdom's laws. Yet here they were, operating freely, unchallenged.

His grip on the window frame tightened as the leader lingered, staring in their direction for what felt like an eternity. Tom could see the indecision flickering across the man's face, a subtle tension in his jawline, a slight narrowing of his eyes. The man's fingers flexed at his side, as though battling an unseen force. Tom felt a chill run down his spine.

And then, finally, the leader turned back. Relief flooded Tom's body like a breaking dam. His shoulders sagged slightly, and he let out a slow, controlled breath, careful not to make a sound. He watched the squad retreat, their forms disappearing into the shadows of the trees, until they were no more than ghosts in the distance.

Tom stepped away from the window, his face still pale but resolute. His chest rose and fell as he worked to steady his breathing. He turned to Sarah, who was still clutching David to her chest, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

"They're gone," Tom whispered, his voice low but firm. "For now."

Sarah looked up at him, her expression a mix of relief and lingering fear. "Why didn't they cross the border? If they were here for David…" Her voice faltered, and she held the baby even closer, as though her arms alone could shield him from the world.

Tom shook his head, his lips pressing into a thin line. "I don't know. They didn't seem like soldiers, but…" He trailed off, his gaze distant, as though trying to piece together a puzzle that didn't fit. "It doesn't matter who they are. They're dangerous. And we can't afford to let our guard down."

His movements were deliberate as he walked over to Sarah, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. She leaned into his touch, drawing strength from it. For a moment, their eyes met, and in that silent exchange, their shared resolve solidified. Whatever came, they would face it together.

Tom looked down at David, his small face now calm and peaceful in sleep. A faint smile touched Tom's lips, though it didn't reach his eyes. "We'll keep him safe," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. "No matter what it takes."