The air stung with the aftermath of battle
Ruko’s gleaming bronze sword glinted in the golden light, the whispers of dawn brushing against the hardened planes of her face. The lush valley below, once a peaceful retreat in the Kingdom of Rhonia, was now a ruin of smoldering wreckage. Smoke curled like vipers toward the skies, blackening the horizon with its weight. Ruko adjusted her grip on the sword, her leather-wrapped hands steady as she paced forward through the bloodied field. She wore a tight-fitted cuirass dyed black, the leather plates catching the soft gold edges left by the retreating sun. Beneath the armor, a muted grey tunic hugged her form, its elegant drape revealing her nobility amidst war’s chaos. A blood-red sash was tied at her hip, cascading down like a quiet declaration of defiance, marking her allegiance to the hidden rebel forces of the Once-Dethroned.
“You’re late,” growled Klyr, the rogue prince of a fallen dynasty, stepping out from the shadow of a crumpled stone marker. His tattered green cloak dragged behind him like the debris of his past. His frame, once grand, was now leaner, sharper—a blade whittled by vengeance and survival. Though his tone was heavy with frustration, his eyes betrayed relief at her presence.
“The king’s men were well-equipped,” Ruko replied, her voice calm but edged with exhaustion, ignoring the damp earth sucking at her boots. It had taken hours to weave around the sentries. “If you wanted someone punctual, perhaps go beg the gods for a saint.”
Klyr sneered but couldn’t help the twitch of amusement at the edge of his lips. “And what do you think this is, Ruko? A saint’s errand?” He pointed to the glowing ridge in the distance, where the proud towers of Rhonet’s Keep loomed tall, still defiant against the ringing cries of rebellion. “If we don’t breach that stronghold within two days, this is all ash.”
Despite his intensity, Ruko only raised an eyebrow and motioned toward the trembling figure huddled behind her. A young girl, no older than fourteen, peeked out, clutching a maroon satchel tightly. Her delicate face was streaked with dirt, but her eyes burned with unshakable determination. Even after all these weeks, Ruko marveled at her resilience. This girl, their “map,” carried something far more valuable than any blade—a key to the labyrinth passages beneath the king’s fortress.
“We just need a little more time,” Ruko said, resting a protective hand on the girl’s shoulder. “She found another route. It’s not perfect, but it’s safer. Less blood spilled.”
Klyr exhaled sharply, his battle-worn boots crunching against shattered bits of armor as he strode toward the girl. He crouched, meeting her gaze. “Is it true?” he asked softly, though there was steel coiled beneath his gentleness.
The girl nodded. “It’ll take us through the aqueducts. They’re old, but they lead within the servants’ quarters. Only…” She tightened her grip on the maroon satchel. “It’s guarded by… something. Not men. Machines forged with sorcery.”
Ruko’s jaw tightened, her thoughts instantly leaping toward their dwindling supplies and fatigued forces. She glanced back at the distant hills, where their motley band of rebels still lingered beyond sight. Her stomach roiled at the thought of sending anyone else to their deaths.
“Machines?” Klyr echoed, his voice thick with disdain. He turned to Ruko. “If it’s unnatural, it can be destroyed. You’ve seen to that, haven’t you? I’ve heard stories of how you made the ‘Invincible Drakan Champion’ nothing more than bones under your heel.”
Ruko smirked. “I was lucky. He was drunk.” She adjusted the straps of her armor, ignoring the bruises lingering beneath the tunic’s grey linen. “But fine, let’s go play monster hunters.”
The small band prepared to move at once. Ruko hoisted her own maroon satchel—a muted echo of the girl’s—filled with tools, maps, and the meager comforts a soldier might afford on the brink of peril. The acrid scent of burning still clung to her, mingling with the metallic taste of adrenaline. As they descended into the hillocks, a haunting whistle filled the air—the wind combing through the shattered remains of temple ruins, once belonging to Rhonia’s patron goddess of wisdom.
The aqueducts loomed ahead, half-swallowed by the land’s shifting terrain. Moss crept like greedy fingers over the edges, and jagged shadows doubled their ominous stature under moonlight. Still clad in her black cuirass, grey tunic, and red sash, Ruko flicked her sword upward, signaling the others to follow in silence. The world narrowed to the echo of their boots against stone, the unrelenting drip of water, and the muffled grinding of something unnatural stirring farther within.
Halfway through, the machines attacked. They were grotesque amalgamations of polished brass and sinew, mechanical frames reinforced by dark enchantments. Their motion, though jerky, was lethally efficient. Ruko’s blade clashed against the whirling gears of one, the sharp impact reverberating up her arm. Klyr fought beside her, his strikes wild but unyielding, while the girl scrambled away, clutching the maroon satchel as if it could shield her from the horrors around her.
It was Ruko who, in a burst of sheer ferocity, drove her blade through the central core of the largest machine, feeling the heat seeping from its boiling gears as it shuddered violently. With a final shattering groan, it crumbled at her feet. The aqueduct went silent once more, save for the heavy breathing of the survivors.
The way forward seemed clearer now, but Ruko could feel the burden of the path ahead like iron pressing against her chest. Still, she glanced at the girl and Klyr, their weariness mirroring her own yet balanced by an unspoken resolve. Together, they would breach the Keep, or die trying.
As they ascended toward the faint glow of moonlight marking the aqueduct’s exit, Ruko adjusted the straps of her maroon satchel, its rich red fabric like a quiet ember of defiance against the dark. The struggle wasn’t over yet—but for now, they had lived to fight another dawn.
The Source…check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: Black Leather Jacket, Grey Turtleneck, Blue Jeans, and Maroon Handbag Outfit: Stylish Urban Chic for Fall and Winter
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