The ground didn't shake. It broke. A body hit first. Armor folded inward with a sound that didn’t belong in a fight. Then another.

The squad didn’t advance. They hesitated. “Spread—spread out!” one of them shouted, voice cracking. Too late.

Diego moved through them. Not fast. Not rushed. Unstoppable. A blade struck his side. It landed. It meant to land. He didn’t stop.

His hand closed around the attacker’s wrist. Tight. A moment. Then—the arm bent the wrong way. The scream didn’t last long. Diego released him without looking. Already turning. Already moving.

Another came in from behind. He didn’t turn fully. Didn’t need to. His elbow drove back. Once. The impact lifted the man off his feet. Sent him skidding across the broken stone. Too light. Too easy. The thought slipped in before he could stop it.

For a heartbeat—the battlefield shifted. Not here. Not now. Blood on stone. Not dust—stone. A man begging. Hands up. Diego’s grip tightening. Snap. The memory vanished.

He exhaled once. Slow. Measured. “Stay down,” he muttered—not to them. To himself.

They didn’t stay down. Three came at once. Better. Coordinated. One high. Two low. Diego stepped into them. Not back. Into. The first strike glanced off his shoulder. The second he caught. The third—he took. Steel bit into his side. Not deep. Not enough.

His hand closed around the attacker’s chest plate. Fingers digging into metal. For a moment—everything stopped. Heat. Pressure. Don’t—

The memory hit harder this time. White hair. Not Swan. Snow white. Blood across her face. Not hers. Behind her—a child. Silver and white. Too still. Too quiet. Something inside him broke.

His grip tightened. The metal gave first. Then bone. The man didn’t scream. Didn’t have time. Diego drove his hand forward. Through armor. Through flesh. Through. The body dropped.

Silence followed. Not real silence—but the kind that lives inside the moment after something goes too far. The others saw it. And they broke. “Fall back—!” “Get away from him—!” Too late.

Diego stood there for half a breath. Chest rising. Falling. His hand—Red. The world rushed back in. “No.” It wasn’t loud. But it stopped him. His fingers curled. Pulled back.

The next attacker came in desperate. Wild. Diego moved again. Controlled. Deliberate. This time—he struck to disable. Not destroy. A shoulder shattered. A knee gave out. A body dropped—but lived. He forced it. Every movement tighter. Smaller. Contained.

Another impact rolled across the ridge. Closer. Familiar. A heavy weight landed beside him. Sebastian. The white tiger didn’t roar. Didn’t posture. He stood. Massive. Silent.

The enemy saw him—and whatever resolve they had left—fractured. Sebastian moved once. A single swipe. Not wild. Not savage. Precise. An attacker flew sideways, armor torn open, weapon spinning away. Alive. But done.

Diego exhaled again. Longer this time. “Good timing,” he muttered. Sebastian’s golden eyes flicked toward him. Not approval. Not concern. Awareness. He had seen. Of course he had.

Diego turned back to the remaining enemies. Fewer now. Shaken. He stepped forward. They stepped back. Not because they were told to. Because they understood. This wasn’t a man they were fighting. It was something choosing—very carefully—not to become something worse.

Diego’s jaw tightened. Not here. Not in front of them. The thought anchored him. Held him. Barely. “Run,” he said. Some did. Some didn’t move fast enough. The fight ended. But the weight didn’t lift.

Diego looked down at his hand again. Clean now. Wiped on the dust. But he could still feel it. The moment. The slip. And how easy it had been. Sebastian shifted beside him. Close. Steady. Diego didn’t look at him. “Not again,” he said quietly. Whether it was a promise—or a lie—he didn’t know.

Sebastian made a low sound in his throat. Not a growl. A rumble. It vibrated through the ground under Diego’s boots. Diego finally looked at him. The tiger’s gaze was steady, unblinking. It held no judgment. Only the weight of shared history. Of knowing what the other had done. What they both were.

Diego’s shoulders dropped a fraction. A breath he hadn’t realized he was holding escaped. From the lower town, the sounds of the larger battle continued—shouts, the crackle of elemental magic, the heavy beat of dragon wings. But here, on this broken ridge, there was only the two of them and the aftermath. “I know,” Diego said, his voice rough. “I’m here.”

Sebastian nudged his massive head against Diego’s side. A solid, grounding pressure. Diego’s hand came up, fingers sinking into the thick white fur at Sebastian’s neck. He leaned into the contact. Just for a moment. Just to remember what steady felt like.

Then he straightened. His silver eyes scanned the ridge, the retreating backs of the enemy, the bodies left behind. One in particular. The one he had made. “We need to move,” Diego said, the merchant’s crisp efficiency returning to his tone like a well-worn coat. “Swan will be looking.”

Sebastian fell into step beside him as Diego began walking, not back toward the main fight, but along the ridge’s edge. He needed a moment. A few breaths of distance from the blood, from the memory, from the part of him that had answered so readily.

The wind picked up, carrying the scent of ozone and burnt stone. Diego paused, looking out over the shattered valley below. Fallow’s Gate was a ruin. He had seen ruins before. Made them, even. But this was different. This was now. This was Swan’s charge, Arianda’s fear, a future he was supposed to be helping to build, not tear down. Sebastian sat on his haunches, a silent sentinel.

“It’s getting harder to tell the difference,” Diego said, more to the wind than to his companion. “Between then and now.” “Between what I end and what I save.” The tiger made no sound. He simply waited. He had heard this before. He would hear it again.

Diego’s hand went to his side, where the blade had struck. The white fabric of his tunic was torn, stained dark. The skin beneath showed shallow cuts where he was struck, as if they couldn’t break past the initial flesh. Another thing that set him apart. Another reminder. He let his hand fall. “Alright,” he breathed. “Enough.”