Chapter 16: For One Man

The cold night dragged on, wrapping the fortress in an oppressive stillness. The signal fire sputtered in the wind, its light casting long, flickering shadows over the stone walls. Marcus Domitus stood alone at the edge of the battlements, staring into the distant wilderness. No reinforcements had answered their call.

In the infirmary below, Gaius rested—or pretended to. And Marcus knew that whatever was wrapped in his friend’s skin, it wasn’t the man he once knew.

"I can’t wait any longer," Marcus muttered to himself. His breath curled in the freezing air. "Something’s coming. I can feel it."

As the first glimmer of dawn crept over the jagged peaks, Marcus gathered his officers in the fortress courtyard. The morning light did little to warm the air, and the tension among the soldiers was palpable.

Seneca stood at Marcus’s side, shifting uneasily. "What’s the plan, captain?"

Marcus rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze fixed on the walls. "We move before night falls again. We can’t stay here. The echoes will find a way in eventually, and when they do, we won’t be able to hold them back."

A veteran soldier named Drusus folded his arms, his eyes narrowing. "We’re moving deeper into enemy territory? That’s suicide."

"It’s survival," Marcus shot back. "If we stay here, we die. Out there, we have a chance."

Drusus opened his mouth to argue, but Seneca raised a hand. "He’s right. The walls won’t hold forever. And if there’s any chance the enemy has a weakness, it’s out there, not here."

Drusus grumbled but nodded reluctantly. "What’s the next step, then?"

Marcus glanced toward the shadowed mountains beyond the fortress walls. "We find the source of whatever’s controlling the echoes—and destroy it."

The soldiers gathered their gear, preparing for the march ahead. Marcus kept a close eye on Gaius, who moved with a sluggishness that set his nerves on edge. Every gesture seemed a little too deliberate, as if he were trying to remember how to act human.

Seneca approached Marcus quietly. "Are you sure we should bring him? If he’s compromised—"

"I need to know what’s inside him," Marcus interrupted, his voice low. "And the only way to find out is to keep him close."

Seneca’s expression darkened. "You’re risking everyone’s lives for one man."

"I know," Marcus muttered, tightening the straps on his armor. "But it’s a risk I have to take."

They left the fortress as the morning mist settled over the snow-covered ground, their boots crunching softly in the frozen silence. The path ahead wound through narrow gorges and icy streams, deeper into the wilds where few dared to tread.

Gaius marched beside Marcus, his movements stiff but measured. It was as though the familiar camaraderie had evaporated, replaced by an uneasy distance. Marcus studied him out of the corner of his eye, searching for signs of the friend he had lost—and finding none.

"How much farther?" Seneca asked, glancing warily at the jagged cliffs above them.

"Not far," Marcus replied. "There’s an abandoned watchtower just beyond this ridge. If the enemy is using it as a base, we’ll know soon enough."

They reached the watchtower by midday. It was little more than a crumbling ruin, half-buried in snow and weathered by centuries of neglect. A narrow staircase spiraled up the side, leading to a shattered observation platform.

Marcus motioned for his men to fan out, securing the area. He and Seneca climbed the narrow stairs to the top, where the wind howled through broken stone arches. From the vantage point, the vast expanse of the frozen wilderness stretched before them, cold and unforgiving.

"Nothing," Seneca muttered, scanning the horizon. "If they’re out there, they’re hiding well."

"They’re not hiding," Marcus whispered, narrowing his eyes. "They’re waiting."

Down below, Gaius leaned against the tower wall, his breath shallow and labored. Drusus stood nearby, watching him with a wary expression. "Something’s not right with you," Drusus muttered.

Gaius gave a weak smile. "You have no idea."

Before Drusus could respond, the snow shifted beneath Gaius’s feet—revealing a hidden trapdoor, half-buried beneath the ice. The wood creaked as it gave way, and Gaius staggered back, his face pale.

"What the hell?" Drusus muttered, crouching beside the trapdoor. "Captain! We’ve found something!"

Marcus descended quickly, Seneca following close behind. They pried open the trapdoor, revealing a narrow shaft that plunged into darkness. The air that drifted from below was thick with the scent of decay and old iron.

Marcus knelt at the edge of the shaft, peering into the gloom. "This is it," he muttered. "Whatever we’re looking for... it’s down there."

Seneca sighed. "Of course it is."

They lowered ropes into the shaft and descended carefully, the walls slick with frost. The deeper they went, the more the temperature dropped, as though the darkness itself exhaled cold air.

At the bottom of the shaft, they found a cavern—vast and filled with strange machinery, half-buried in the ice. Eterium conduits snaked across the walls like veins, glowing faintly with a sickly blue light.

"This place isn’t just a ruin," Seneca whispered, his voice hushed with awe. "It’s... alive."

Marcus scanned the room, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Stay alert. This place feels wrong."

Gaius lingered near the entrance, his gaze distant, as though the cavern whispered things only he could hear. Marcus watched him closely, every muscle in his body coiled with tension.

Without warning, the ground trembled beneath their feet, and shadows erupted from the far side of the cavern. Figures materialized from the darkness—twisted shapes draped in black armor, their eyes glowing with the same eerie light as the rift.

"Echoes!" Marcus shouted, drawing his sword. "Hold the line!"

The soldiers formed a defensive circle, their blades flashing as the echoes swarmed. Marcus fought with brutal efficiency, every strike calculated, every movement precise. But the echoes fought harder, their strength seemingly drawn from the very air around them.

Gaius stood still in the chaos, his eyes locked on the swirling machinery. "It’s calling to me," he whispered, his voice hollow.

Marcus grabbed him by the shoulder, shaking him hard. "Snap out of it, Gaius! Fight!"

Gaius blinked, the spell momentarily broken. He raised his weapon, though his movements were sluggish, as though some invisible force weighed him down.

The battle raged on, the echoes relentless. But even as Marcus fought, he felt the truth settling in his bones: this wasn’t just a skirmish. It was a warning—a glimpse of the greater threat that lay hidden beneath the surface.

"We can’t stay here!" Seneca shouted, parrying a blow. "We need to fall back!"

Marcus nodded grimly. "Retreat to the ropes! Now!"

The soldiers fought their way to the shaft, cutting down the last of the echoes. They climbed quickly, their breaths ragged, until they burst into the cold air above.

The sun hung low over the horizon, casting long shadows across the ruined watchtower. Marcus and his men regrouped, their faces pale and their hands trembling from the cold—and from what they had seen.

"This isn’t over," Marcus muttered, staring back toward the dark shaft. "We’ve only scratched the surface."

Gaius stood apart from the others, his expression distant and unreadable. Marcus knew then that whatever had been inside that cavern... it hadn’t stayed behind.