The acrid stench of smoke filled the air as flames licked hungrily at the remains of the settlement. Adrian strode through the chaos, his boots crunching against the scorched ground.
Around him, the King’s forces reveled in their conquest, the Shadowbound moving like wraiths among the ruins, their claws dripping with blood. The devastation was complete: burned homes, lifeless bodies strewn across the streets, and the faint, haunting cries of survivors hiding in the shadows.
Adrian’s face was a mask of cold indifference, but inside, a storm raged. He followed orders with precision, his movements deliberate, ensuring he was always in the thick of the action, where his loyalty could be seen but not questioned. Yet with every step, the weight of his choices bore down on him.
A sharp cry drew his attention. He turned toward the sound, his sharp eyes scanning the rubble. Among the debris, he spotted a small, swaddled form lying beside the lifeless bodies of two werewolves.
A baby girl, her face red with exertion, wailed into the smoke-filled air.
Adrian froze, memories flashing through his mind unbidden. He saw himself as a child, orphaned and abandoned, his innocence ripped away by the brutalities of war. His chest tightened as he knelt beside the baby. Her tiny fists flailed, her cries weak but insistent, a fragile defiance against the horrors around her.
He reached out, his hand hovering over her as the sound of boots approached behind him. He didn’t need to turn to know it was the King’s general, his presence a dark shadow looming over the scene.
“She’s just a baby,” Adrian said evenly, his voice carrying over the crackling of flames. He scooped the child into his arms and stood, turning to meet the general’s blood-red gaze. “She’s no threat to us.”
The general, a tall, gaunt figure with a permanent sneer etched into his face, tilted his head.
“Softness will be your undoing, Adrian,” he said, his tone laced with mockery. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten who you serve.”
Adrian’s expression didn’t falter. “I haven’t forgotten,” he said, his voice cool and measured. He adjusted his grip on the baby, who had quieted against his chest. “But the King doesn’t need the blood of infants to prove his dominance.”
The general’s smirk widened, his eyes narrowing as if trying to peer through Adrian’s façade.
“Be careful, Adrian. Mercy is a slippery slope.”
Adrian said nothing, his silence calculated. He turned on his heel, carrying the baby through the smoldering ruins, his mind racing. This child wasn’t just a casualty of war—she was a reminder of everything he was trying to protect. Misery’s child, still fragile and vulnerable in the fortress, was only a step away from the same fate.
As he crossed the battlefield, his thoughts shifted to escape. He needed to shield them both: Misery’s daughter and the baby girl now cradled in his arms.