The soft warmth of fire lit the makeshift camp, revealing the figures of two brothers rimmed with orange from the shadows of the night. The younger brother lay asleep in his bedroll while the elder kept a silent vigil, solemnly tending to the flames as the shadows danced beyond their glow. The night was filled with the quiet chirps of insects, the rustling of wind through autumn leaves, and the subtle crackling of the campfire.

Peace like this was truly rare; Bayle allowed a faint smile to crack his hardened expression as he stared warmly at the gentle rising and falling of his brother’s side. The warrior couldn’t help but reminisce about their time on the run over these past five years. They had spent much of it traveling from the outskirts of one town to the next, only daring to spend a few weeks in any one place, lest they be discovered. The thought left a rotten pit in Bayle’s stomach, but he wouldn’t let it ruin the serenity he felt humming through his core.

Crunch.

Reality shattered his idle daydreams. Bayle’s head snapped toward the noise, eyes narrowed as he scanned the shifting shadows between the trees. The warrior’s hand instinctively dropped to his belt, grasping for the hilt of his longsword. He slowly unsheathed the blade, dropping into a crouch as he scoured the darkness. He had sworn to always protect his brother, and he took that oath with incredible vigilance.

In the distance, he spotted two gleaming orbs peering at him from within the greenery. Bayle held his breath, but quickly recognized them as the fearful eyes of a young doe. He grumbled in equal measures of relief and annoyance as he shoved the tip of his sword in the dirt at his feet.

Whoosh!

Before his mind could grasp the nature of the incoming sound, Bayle’s honed instincts drove him to move.

Thwik!

A fletched arrow landed firmly in the tree mere inches to the left of his head.

“Wyll!” Bayle barked, pivoting toward their unseen assailant as he wrenched his blade free. “Up! Move!”

Within a heartbeat, Bayle was in motion, rushing to his brother’s side and maintaining a defensive stance. As the younger boy was rousing himself from his deep slumber, Bayle quickly kicked dirt over the cinders of the fire, ousting it. Darkness swallowed the camp.

Only the pounding of his heart filled the dead air, until he sensed the subtle crunches of footsteps in the distance. He closed his eyes, attempting to count the pairs and isolate their locations, but he quickly realized there were far too many of them for that. A twang of panic struck, the pit in his stomach growing deeper by the moment.

A sudden tug on Bayle’s cloak tore him from those destructive thoughts. Wyll stood ready, offering a knowing, encouraging smile. Somehow, the younger boy always knew how to calm Bayle, even here, surrounded by unseen foes. The warrior took a deep breath and steadied himself, nodding to his brother as he began to lead the way.

The brothers sank low into the brush, slipping carefully and soundlessly through the shadowed undergrowth toward the edge of the camp. Another arrow hissed through the air above their heads, this time far off target. Their pursuers had lost sight of them, for now. Bayle would gladly take any advantage they could get.

Soon, the two met their first roadblock, a pair of sentries holding down the northern exit of the hollow. Bayle held his arm out in front of Wyll, taking a moment to carefully observe the soldiers.

Something was not right.

The soldiers were hunched over, their necks twisted at odd, unnatural angles. They held their swords loosely, letting the blades drag through the grass behind them. They moved in slow, heavy paces, and Bayle could hear soft groans coming from them, almost as if they were in pain. Bayle prayed Wyll had not noticed the sigil of House Ashlar on their armor.

Bayle glanced back to his brother, then toward the soldiers again. Wyll’s eyes gleamed in the moonlight as the boy nodded briskly, tightening his grip on the dagger.

In a single, silent burst, the brothers struck. They leapt from the undergrowth and covered the mouths of their would-be assailants, delivering swift, lethal slices to their necks. When the soldier in Bayle’s grip went limp, his gaze turned back to Wyll, softening in relief as the other soldier was motionless as well. Wyll beamed with pride for a moment before quickly resuming his focused demeanor, gently laying the deceased man on the ground. The boy had grown so much from the nervous worrywart Bayle had once known him as. Hardship and necessity will forge anyone to be sharp as steel, he supposed.

Wordlessly, the brothers pressed onward. Behind them, they heard the distant shuffling of plate and assumed the soldiers had discovered their abandoned camp. A pity to lose their meager supplies, but silver could be replaced: lives could not.

For several long minutes, the two moved slowly silently, the humble sounds of the forest covering their movements. Bayle had taken time to meticulously memorize the layout of the woodlands, planning for their inevitable need for an escape route. Bayle’s goal was always to minimize their risk of fighting, but in doing so, he made them take an awfully long and cautious route. He could only hope the other soldiers had not yet discovered the two they had slain earlier, as any reinforcements would be their downfall.

Eventually, the undergrowth thinned out, leaving the brothers with little cover to hide in. Bayle slowed his pace and cast a wary glance behind them, listening carefully for any trace of their pursuers. He couldn’t sense any of the numerous presences he had before, but he also couldn’t shake the unease from the pit of his stomach. Cautiously, he rose, his eyes still pinned on the woods behind them.

He was met with silence. No clanking of armor. No rustling of brush. Even the fauna had seemed to disappear. Just utter, unnerving silence.

Wyll rose to stand at his brother’s side, following the warrior’s hard gaze into the darkness. “Did we… lose them?” He mumbled, color flowing back to his knuckles as he eased his grip on his knife.

Bayle wanted to offer reassurance. All the telltale signs of pursuit had vanished, so… couldn’t he? With a deep exhale, he lowered his sword and nodded, offering the younger boy a warm expression.

That warmth immediately faded as he met his brother’s ever-cheerful gaze. Wyll frozen mid-step, as if time itself had stopped.

“Wyll!” Bayle rushed to Wyll’s side, gripping the younger boy’s shoulder and attempting to shake him free of whatever had caused his stupor.

“Poor boy.”

The voice came from everywhere and nowhere all at once. Bayle whipped around, gritting his teeth as he desperately searched for its origin.

“So, you resisted my spell.” It chimed, melodic and amused. “That makes you quite special, you know.”

Each word hammered inside of Bayle’s skull: a sharp, piercing pain cutting through his temples. The warrior opened his mouth in retort, but no words emerged.

“Shh. Don’t speak. I’ll make this quick.”

Red sparks erupted around him, dancing across the ground with speed and precision. They traced three circles of runes, each pulsing with a sickly, eerie glow. When they finished forming, the ground cracked open within them. Mangled hands reached out from each hole, clawing their way out from the earth.

Bayle’s sword trembled in his grip as the risen soldiers stared back at him with empty, crimson stares. They were just as twisted and rotten as the men they had “killed” before. His body screamed to move, but he was frozen in place, staring in utter horror as the undead drew their weapons.

The first soldier lunged, swinging its rusted shortsword in a savage, yet sloppy forward slash. The sword barely stopped short, nicking Bayle across the bridge of his nose. The pain finally broke Bayle out of his trance. With gritted teeth, he weakly slashed back at the armored man with gritted teeth. The blow landed squarely on the monster’s side, not cutting it, but sending it tumbling backward.

Before Bayle could catch his breath, the next soldier was on him, charging him with a spear. Bayle met the spear’s pointed edge with the flat of his blade, expertly deflecting the strike. The soldier was sent off balance, and Bayle followed up by driving a slice at its knees. The monster toppled to the ground and was promptly finished off with a stab through the chest.

Or rather, the wound would have finished off any mortal man, but the soldier groaned in unholy agony, gripping the sword tightly, even as it impaled him. Bayle grunted as he tugged at the sword, but the monster held firm with inhuman strength.

All the while, the third soldier, wielding a massive bow, took aim at the warrior from afar. Bayle’s eyes widened, growing desperate to free his sword and get out of the way. It was no use; the injured soldier would not relent, and Bayle cried out in pain as an arrow pierced his left shoulder. Bayle’s grip weakened, and the monster seized the opportunity, using one arm to claw at one of Bayle’s legs.

Despite the pain shooting up his body, Bayle reacted quickly, pressing on the soldier’s head with his free leg. He roared, using all his might and body weight to stomp down and crush the man’s skull. With a horrid crack, the monster’s grip loosened, and finally went limp.

There was no time for Bayle to rest, as the archer yet again took aim. The warrior grunted as he yanked the blade free from the corpse beneath him, charging toward his adversary. The archer loosed a volley of shots, but Bayle ducked, dodged, and deflected as he closed the distance between them.

As Bayle was nearly upon him, the soldier dropped the bow and unsheathed a knife, lunging at the mass barreling toward him without a shred of fear. Bayle yelled as he swung at the man, aiming straight for his neck. The blade met its mark, lopping the monster’s head clean off. However, the soldier’s body tumbled forward with the momentum it had made and slashed down Bayle’s face as it fell.

Bayle cried out as blood dripped into his left eye, pressing a shaking hand to the wound to stem the bleeding. He stood still for a moment, lowering his sword as he panted in a desperate effort to regain his composure. He dropped his hand to his shoulder, tearing out the shaft of the arrow that was stuck within him, grunting in pain.

“Well done, little soldier boy.” The voice returned, humming in satisfaction. “But aren’t you forgetting something?”

Bayle’s feet moved before he could fully register what the voice was implying. “No!” He shouted, charging toward his brother. The soldier with the sword stood in front of Wyll, who was still petrified by the curse. The voice chuckled in Bayle’s head as blood pounded in his ears, the world moving in slow motion around him as the soldier slowly raised its weapon.

He was too late. By the time Bayle made it to Wyll’s side, the monster had pierced his beloved brother with its blade. Bayle bellowed in anger, kicking the soldier aside and quickly decapitating it.

Bayle dropped his sword without a second thought, collapsing beside Wyll. His hands were slick with blood, but it didn’t stop him from holding the boy dearly. Tears streamed from his eyes, mixing with the grime on his face.

“Bro…ther…” Wyll weakly murmured, having been cruelly freed from his curse just to find himself with a sword through his ribs.

“Wyll… I’m…” Bayle choked on his response, clutching the younger boy tighter. “I’m here…”

“Now, now. Isn’t this a familiar sight?” Cooed the voice. This time, it didn’t come from inside Bayle’s head. It was right behind him, and close.

Bayle should have looked over his shoulder. Bayle should have prepared himself to fight. But he couldn’t take his eyes from his brother.

“Let me help you, Wyll.” He sobbed, desperation cutting through his tone despite his best efforts to keep it stable. “It’s going to hurt, but you’ll be-”

“Don’t be a fool.” The voice cut in, snickering as Bayle reached for the sword buried in his brother’s chest. “You couldn’t save your father, your friendships, or your house. You certainly won’t be able to save your brother now. Best now to think of saving yourself.”

“That’s… not true…” Wyll gasped, his breathing ragged. “My brother… has always saved me…”

Amused laughter rang through the heavy air. “Oh my. What a fighter you are.” The silver glow of the moonlight was quickly overshadowed by crimson light as tens - no, hundreds of circles flared into being around the brothers. “It’ll be my pleasure to break that spirit of yours.”

Bayle silently stood, placing a gentle hand on his brother’s head. Despite everything, Wyll smiled up at him, as he always did. As his father had when he passed.

Suddenly, a burst of energy emanated from Bayle, almost like heat being released. An intense, fiery rage burned beneath his skin. His body grew tense as he reached for his sword, gripping it with focused determination.

“I’ll tear you apart!”

In a heartbeat, Bayle had vanished.

The voice hummed with intrigue as the monsters began to emerge from their summoning circles. At least, they would have, had something not cut them to pieces before they could crawl to the surface.

Each time a hand shot up from the dirt, it was severed. If a head dared to peek above ground, it was cleaved in twain. Seldom did a soldier find their way fully out of the earth, but when it did, its skull was separated from its shoulders before it could raise its weapon in response.

Though Wyll grew weaker by the second, his smile only grew wider. “My brother… won’t lose…”

Bayle reappeared, pressing his blade directly to the neck of the voice’s origin: a masked sorceress.

“My… you really are special.” She smirked, blood trickling down her neck.

“This is your last breath.” Bayle rasped in a warning, his words ice cold.

“Is it?” She taunted. “How else will you save your brother without me, hm?”

Bayle lessened the pressure on her neck ever-so-slightly, doubt forming like a stone in his gut. “How do I know you’re not lying?” He demanded.

“Face it. Even if he doesn’t die from blood loss, he’d certainly die from an infected wound. You’re no doctor.” She spat.

Bayle sighed deeply, looking back worriedly at his brother. She was right, especially since their stash of herbs had been abandoned in their rush to flee. He was running out of time.

“Bayle…” Wyll began, voice weak, but steady. “It’s okay.” How that boy could be smiling at a time like this was beyond Bayle. “I’m happy you were my brother.”

“Don’t speak like that!” Bayle barked in return, before pausing to soften his tone. “I’ll save you… I always do, right..?” He tried not to let his tone falter, but his hand began to shake.

“Time’s ticking, boy.” The sorceress muttered, raising her hands to press Bayle’s blade further toward her neck. “Make your choice, or I’ll do it for you.”

“Father and I… will watch over you…” Wyll fell limp, the smile never leaving his face.

“No…” Bayle hesitated for a moment, gritting his teeth as his brother’s final words sunk in. He held fast for only a moment before he broke, crying out in a sob. Bayle slowly lowered his sword and looked away in shame and grief.

“Do it!”

Words by Echo Seeker Lermy