Chapter 25: The Fractured Path

The path out of the valley was a jagged scar carved through ancient stone, narrowing into treacherous cliffs where one wrong step could send a soldier plummeting into the abyss. Marcus Domitus led his men carefully, the wind slicing through their cloaks, carrying with it the scent of damp rock and rusted iron.

Seneca walked beside Marcus, his expression tense as he checked his battered device. "The readings have stabilized, but there’s something off... like the energy’s shifted."

Marcus kept his eyes on the path ahead. "We bought ourselves some time. That’s all we can ask for."

Drusus cursed under his breath from the rear of the group. "If this is what time feels like, I’m starting to miss the fight."

As they pressed forward, the path began to show signs of damage—deep gouges cut into the rock, as if massive claws had raked through the stone. Pieces of broken machinery lay scattered along the edges of the trail, half-buried in snow.

Seneca knelt beside one of the fragments, brushing away frost. "These are parts from Iron Wolves... but they didn’t fall in battle. They were torn apart."

"By what?" Marcus asked, scanning the cliffs above.

Seneca shook his head. "Nothing good."

Drusus nudged a twisted hunk of metal with the toe of his boot. "Whatever did this wasn’t looking for a fight—it was leaving a message."

Marcus grimaced. "Message received."

The wind shifted again, howling through the narrow pass like a warning. The soldiers moved cautiously, their weapons drawn, each step heavier than the last. Gaius trailed at the rear, his face pale and strained, but he kept moving.

"You all right back there?" Marcus called over his shoulder.

Gaius gave a faint nod. "Just... tired. But I’ll manage."

Seneca gave Marcus a sidelong glance. "He’s holding on, but barely. Whatever he’s carrying... it’s not going away."

Marcus clenched his jaw. "We’ll get through this. Together."

But even as he spoke, doubt gnawed at him. The weight of every choice, every step forward, pressed down on him like an unseen hand.

Just as the group neared the narrowest part of the trail, a loud crack echoed through the air. The ground trembled beneath their feet, and with a sudden, violent lurch, the cliffside gave way.

"Move!" Marcus shouted, shoving Seneca forward as the ground crumbled behind them.

The soldiers scrambled to safety, leaping across widening gaps in the trail as boulders tumbled into the abyss. Drusus barely made it across, landing hard on his knees just as the path behind him shattered into dust.

Marcus hauled him to his feet. "Everyone accounted for?"

"More or less," Drusus muttered, brushing snow off his armor. "That was too close."

The collapse had severed their path, leaving them stranded on a narrow ledge with no way forward—and no way back.

Seneca leaned over the edge, peering into the ravine below. "There’s a bridge down there... or what’s left of one."

Marcus followed his gaze. Far below, a weathered stone bridge stretched across the gorge, half-collapsed but still clinging to the rock walls.

"That’s our way across," Marcus said. "We climb down, cross the bridge, and find another way up."

Drusus groaned. "You’ve got to be joking."

"Unless you’d rather stay here," Marcus replied, tightening the straps on his gear. "We move now."

The soldiers began their descent, lowering themselves carefully down the cliffside using ropes tied to jagged rocks. The wind whipped around them, tugging at their cloaks and making every step treacherous.

Gaius descended slowly, his grip faltering. Marcus glanced up, seeing the strain in his friend’s eyes. "Take it slow, Gaius. One step at a time."

Gaius gave a tight nod, though his breath came in short, ragged bursts. "I’m fine... just need a minute."

They reached the bottom of the ravine without incident, though the tension among the group was palpable. The half-collapsed bridge stretched before them, its ancient stones worn smooth by time and cracked in places where the earth had shifted.

As they crossed the bridge, strange sounds echoed from the walls of the ravine—faint whispers carried by the wind, like voices calling from distant memories.

"Don’t listen to them," Marcus warned. "They’re not real."

The soldiers moved cautiously, their footsteps reverberating across the stones. The whispers grew louder, circling around them like unseen phantoms.

Gaius faltered in the middle of the bridge, gripping the railing for support. "I hear them again," he whispered. "They’re saying... things I shouldn’t know."

Marcus grabbed his arm, steadying him. "They’re lies. Ignore them."

Gaius clenched his jaw, nodding. But the fear in his eyes told Marcus that the voices were getting stronger.

Without warning, part of the bridge crumbled beneath Drusus’s feet. He stumbled, arms flailing as the ground gave way. Marcus lunged forward, catching him by the arm just in time.

"Got you," Marcus grunted, pulling Drusus back onto solid ground.

Drusus let out a shaky breath. "You really need to stop saving me. It’s getting embarrassing."

Marcus allowed himself a brief smile. "Just don’t make a habit of it."

They reached the other side of the bridge just as the wind began to pick up again, howling through the ravine like a wild animal. Marcus led his men up a narrow path that wound along the cliffside, climbing higher and higher toward the distant light above.

"Almost there," Marcus muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Seneca glanced over his shoulder. "What do you think is waiting for us at the top?"

Marcus didn’t answer. He didn’t know. But whatever it was, they would face it together.

The climb was brutal, each step a test of endurance. The wind clawed at them, and loose rocks shifted beneath their feet. But they kept moving, driven by a grim determination to survive.

Gaius lagged behind, his breathing shallow. Marcus slowed his pace, falling into step beside him. "Almost there, Gaius. Just a little further."

Gaius gave a weak smile. "You always say that."

"And I’m always right," Marcus replied. "Now move."

After what felt like hours, the soldiers reached the top of the cliff. The wind died, and the clouds above parted, revealing a pale, cold sun that bathed the landscape in a muted glow.

Marcus stood at the edge, breathing hard. The path ahead was still long and uncertain, but they had made it this far—and that was something.

Seneca slumped against a rock, catching his breath. "We made it."

"For now," Marcus murmured. "But it’s not over."

Gaius sat beside him, his face pale but determined. "We keep going. No matter what."

Marcus gave a nod. "No matter what."

As the soldiers gathered their gear and prepared to move on, Marcus looked toward the distant horizon. The path ahead was fractured and dangerous, but it was the only path they had left.

"Let’s move," Marcus ordered, leading his men forward. "We still have a fight to finish."

And with Gaius at his side and the others following close behind, Marcus set off into the unknown—ready for whatever lay ahead.