The battlefield no longer felt like land.

  It felt like a wound.

  The ground was torn open by explosions and harmonic shockwaves, scorched black and slick with mud and blood. Smoke hung low, heavy and suffocating, turning every breath into a struggle. The sky itself seemed dimmer, as though it had recoiled from what was unfolding below.

  Selene Vael stood at the center of it, her boots half-buried in ash, her bow trembling in her grasp.

  “Left flank, fall back!” she shouted. “Don’t chase them—hold the line!”

  A Crestfall knight stumbled past her, clutching his side. “Captain… we’ve lost visual on Third Platoon.”

  Selene’s jaw tightened. “They were holding the ridge.”

  “They were,” he said hoarsely. “Before the guns.”

  Another thunderous crack split the air. A Valenreach volley tore through a cluster of Crestfall shields, punching holes clean through enchanted steel. Knights screamed as they fell, some never even realizing what had struck them.

  “They just keep firing,” one of Selene’s archers yelled. “They don’t even slow down!”

  Selene raised her bow, her mana flaring weakly around her fingers.

  “Because they don’t need skill,” she said. “Just numbers.”

  Behind the Valenreach lines, Malrec Veynholm stood atop a shattered supply crate, coat stained with soot, eyes alight with manic delight.

  “Marvelous! Absolutely marvelous!” he shouted. “Even damaged mechanisms outperform tradition! History bends to innovation!”

  A Valenreach officer barked, “Half our barrels are overheating!”

  Malrec waved him off. “Then discard them! Progress always burns the hands that grasp it!”

  Another gun misfired—metal screaming as it ruptured, shredding the wielder’s arm. The man collapsed, screaming.

  Malrec barely glanced at him.

  “Acceptable losses,” he murmured.

  Selene saw him.

  “That’s him,” she growled. “That lunatic is the reason this place is hell.”

  Her lieutenant, blood streaking his face, nodded. “Orders?”

  Selene inhaled slowly.

  “We end this camp,” she said. “Even if the war doesn’t end here.”

  She raised her bow high.

  Mana surged—not sharp, not violent, but resonant. The air around her vibrated as if anticipating a melody.

  “Arrow of Songs,” she whispered. “Final movement.”

  She loosed.

  The arrow vanished into the sky, climbing higher and higher until it became a glimmering star. For a heartbeat, the battlefield fell strangely quiet.

  Then—

  The arrow shattered.

  Fragments rained down like burning notes, each shard humming with harmonic force. When they struck, they didn’t explode all at once—they sang, vibrations rippling outward, tearing through formations, collapsing lungs, shattering weapons.

  Valenreach soldiers screamed, clutching their heads.

  “What is that sound—?!”

  “My ears—gods—my ears—!”

  Selene closed her eyes as the resonance spread.

  For a moment, she remembered the old campfire song—Dancing Ashes—the one knights used to hum after victories. Not the lyrics. Just the feeling.

  Joy and grief entwined.

  When the echoes faded, the Valenreach front line was broken.

  Alaric Thornevale staggered beside her, breathing hard, his candle burned down to a stub.

  “That… was your last large release,” he said quietly.

  Selene nodded. “I know.”

  Before they could regroup, a horn sounded—sharp and desperate.

  “Captain!” a scout shouted, sprinting through smoke. “The Valenreach command is pulling back!”

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  Selene’s eyes snapped open. “Retreat?”

  “No,” the scout said grimly. “Collapse. Their guns are failing across the camp.”

  Indeed, the Valenreach line was unraveling. Overheated barrels burst. Powder supplies ignited prematurely. Panic spread faster than discipline ever could.

  Malrec cursed, clutching his head.

  “No, no, no—this wasn’t the data I needed!”

  A Valenreach captain shouted, “We’re losing control! Fall back to secondary positions!”

  But Crestfall surged forward, fury replacing fear.

  “For Crestfall!”

  “For the fallen!”

  Steel met flesh. Arrows struck true. The last operational guns were overwhelmed by sheer proximity.

  Selene cut down a charging enemy knight, breath ragged.

  “Don’t let the scientist escape!” she shouted.

  Too late.

  Malrec was already running, slipping through the chaos toward the rear, guards forming around him.

  Alaric spotted him.

  “Tch,” he muttered. “Persistent vermin.”

  He stepped forward—

  And collapsed to one knee.

  The candle finally went out.

  Alaric exhaled sharply. “That’s it… Candlight’s done.”

  Selene grabbed his arm. “You did enough.”

  Malrec glanced back once, locking eyes with Selene through the smoke. He smiled.

  “You’ve seen the future,” he called. “And it fires faster than you can sing!”

  Then he vanished into the haze.

  Minutes later, the Valenreach camp fell silent.

  Bodies littered the ground. Broken guns smoked uselessly. The banners of Valenreach lay torn and trampled beneath Crestfall boots.

  A knight lowered his sword, disbelief in his voice. “We… we won?”

  Selene didn’t answer.

  She turned slowly, scanning the battlefield.

  Where once hundreds of her knights had stood—

  Barely half remained.

  Some knelt beside fallen comrades. Others stared blankly at nothing. A few simply sat in the ash, weapons forgotten.

  Her lieutenant approached, voice shaking. “Captain… casualty count is still coming in.”

  Selene already knew.

  “How many?” she asked softly.

  He swallowed. “More than half the camp. Some units are… completely gone.”

  Her fingers tightened around her bow.

  “So many,” she whispered.

  Alaric stood beside her, silent.

  “This wasn’t a victory,” Selene said. “It was survival.”

  “Yes,” Alaric replied. “And survival always demands payment.”

  A young knight knelt nearby, sobbing over a fallen friend. “They didn’t even scream… they just fell…”

  Selene knelt beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

  “They fought,” she said gently. “That matters.”

  He looked up at her. “Does it?”

  She hesitated.

  “…Yes,” she said, though her voice wasn’t certain.

  As medics moved among the wounded, Selene stared toward the distant ridges.

  “Alaric,” she said quietly. “You said other fronts have fallen.”

  He nodded. “The guns are everywhere now. This was just the beginning.”

  Selene closed her eyes.

  “The war has changed,” she said.

  “And it will never go back,” Alaric replied.

  The wind picked up, carrying ash across the broken field.

  The dead did not move.

  But their silence spoke louder than any song.

  Far away, unseen and unchallenged, Malrec Veynholm scribbled frantic notes by firelight, already dreaming of improvements.

  And somewhere beyond the horizon, more guns were being loaded.

  The catastrophe had ended.

  The era it birthed had not.