Heartstone

In the heart of Gursh City, once a proud jewel of Gresia, the heavy clank of steel boots echoed off crumbling walls and shattered stone. Towering figures in gleaming steel and iron armor patrolled the war-ravaged streets—Paladins, the military fist of the Nasyonalista, enforcing martial rule with unyielding brutality. The once-bustling markets were now empty, homes reduced to ash and dust. Gursh had become a city of whispers and fear.

Inside a massive war tent erected in the city's central plaza, high-ranking paladins gathered around a wooden table marked with stained maps and ink-stamped orders. At the head of the war table sat Junior Officer Runy Figets, a sharp-featured man with slicked-back obsidian hair, his eyes sharp as dagger points and glinting with perpetual calculation.

He wears a white military cape, written with Figets, draped over his broad shoulders, pristine despite the dust of war. His gauntleted fingers tapped a steady, rhythmic beat on the cracked oak surface of the map-strewn table. Before him, three paladin captains stood at rigid attention, their armor polished but worn, their expressions stoic under the weight of Runy's piercing gaze.

"I expected that the three of you would have already dealt with the ashkin infestation in Gursh," Runy said, his voice cold and unwavering.

One captain stepped forward, his head slightly bowed. "JO Figets, I've bribed an ashkin leader in the southern sector. According to our sources, the Lunas made a surprise attack last night on the Helos."

Runy leaned in, brow furrowing. "And the result?"

"John Blackheart is dead. The Helos knights have been eradicated."

Another captain smirked. "That just leaves the Lunas now."

The third slammed his armored fist into his chest in salute. "Just give the word, sir. My paladins are ready to wipe them out."

Runy stared silently for a moment, eyes locking onto the third captain like a wolf eyeing prey.

Then he spoke. "Do it. Move out and crush the Lunas. Free Gursh City of these filthy ashkin remnants."

The third captain saluted sharply and stormed out.

Runy turned to the other two. "Patrol every inch of this city. Root out the enemies. Leave none breathing."

"Sir!" they barked in unison, then exited.

Alone in the war tent, Runy stood silently for a moment, the flickering light from the oil lamp casting shadows over his stern face. He walked slowly around the war table, eyes drifting across the scattered maps and blood-stained orders. His fingers traced the outline of a crimson stain on a scroll, the residue of some long-forgotten skirmish. The scent of parchment, steel, and burning oil clung to the air.

He paused before a tall mirror resting in the corner of the tent. His reflection stared back—armored, poised, but weary. A man orchestrating a war from behind lines, untouched by the bloodshed he commanded.

"If all this fails..." he murmured, his voice low, almost a growl, as he removed the velvet glove from his right hand. The skin beneath was marred with old scars, faint but present—a reminder of battles fought long ago. He clenched his hand into a fist.

"...I suppose I'll have to get my hands dirty again."

He turned away from the mirror and reached beneath the war table, retrieving a long case. Unlatching it revealed a pair of gleaming twin sabers—his old weapons, lovingly maintained. He ran a finger along the edge of one.

"They've forgotten what I'm capable of," Runy whispered. "Time to remind them."

Meanwhile, the trio—Toby, Reu, and Brea—stood amidst the charred remains of the Helos camp, the sun glaring over the devastation.

"So," Brea said, her voice dry and bitter, "how exactly do we plan on liberating Gresia now?"

Reu looked down at the dust-covered earth. "With what we've got... which is basically nothing."

Toby cracked his knuckles. "We barge in, kick down their gates, and whoop their asses."

Brea smacked him on the back of the head. "Simpleton! This isn't a playground fight. Look around! There's just three of us!"

So, they decided to head into city center to scout the situation. As they ventured deeper, the true state of the city became clear—Paladins patrolled every street corner, and the ruins were heavy with silence and death.

A paladin stopped them. "Hold there! What business do you have here, kids? The city's in lockdown. Ashkins are everywhere."

Toby opened his mouth, but Brea quickly clamped a hand over it.

"Good day, sir! We're just humble travelers passing through. We thought Gursh might offer a brief stop—perhaps restock on supplies or seek shelter for the night," Brea said with an overly cheerful smile that masked her tension.

The paladin narrowed his eyes, scanning them from head to toe. "Travelers, huh? And just how did you slip past the watch without being skewered?"

"We entered from the eastern route," Brea replied quickly, tightening her grip on Toby's arm to keep him quiet. "We barely made it through. Ashkins were chasing us, and we got separated from our caravan. We thought it would be safer in the city."

The paladin gave a low grunt, clearly unconvinced but unwilling to waste more time. "There's nothing left here for scavengers like you. No supplies. No safety. You'd do better to turn back before someone mistakes you for sympathizers."

"Of course, sir. We understand," Brea said, bowing slightly. "We'll be on our way."

He grunted. "There's nothing here for you. Get out and leave Gursh City."

As they moved along, they stumbled upon a horrific scene. Several ashkin captives knelt on the street, bound and bloodied. Paladins circled them, punching, kicking, jeering. One man, sobbing, insisted he wasn't an ashkin.

A small child ran to him, crying, hugging him tightly. A paladin grabbed the child and slammed him onto the cobbled street. The man wailed, pleading for mercy.

Toby's fists clenched, veins bulging in his arms.

Reu noticed. "Not now," he hissed. "Toby, don't."

Brea whispered, "Keep walking. Please."

They kept going, but as they passed, one paladin kicked the man in the ribs. The child, crying, crawled to his father—only to be kicked as well.

Toby's eyes widened. He vanished - shadow flickered.

Toby flickered to the paladin and punches him hard. A bone-crunching sound echoed. The paladin that kicked the boy flew through the air, slamming into the wall.

The street erupted into a flurry of screams, clashing metal, and the thunder of armored boots.

"That idiot!" Brea hissed, her eyes widening in disbelief as chaos unfolded around them.

Reu didn't wait—he reached out and seized her wrist. "Move, Brea! Run, now!"

Toby darted forward, scooping up the stunned boy with practiced speed. "I'm not leaving him behind!"

The boy, barely more than skin and bones, flailed in Toby's arms, pounding his fists weakly against his chest. "Put me down! I want my father!"

"Not a chance, kid!" Toby growled, tightening his grip. "Your father's counting on us to get you out!"

Paladins roared orders in the background. Arrows whistled through the air, embedding into crumbled stone walls. Blades flashed in the afternoon sun as more troops poured into the narrow alleyways.

The boy's cries were swallowed by the chaos as the trio bolted for cover, ducking between broken columns and splintered beams, with death chasing their every step.

Paladins shouted. "After them! Don't let them escape!"

The boy's father screamed, "Enci! Bastards! Bring back my son!"

The trio ran through ruined streets. Arrows whizzed past, and spears shattered against walls. They dove through alleys and leapt through a shattered window.

Inside a burned-out home, they caught their breath. Enci beat at Toby's chest, crying.

"Why did you take me? I want my father!"

Brea knelt beside him. "Hey! Crying won't help. You want to help your father? Then survive."

Enci looked at her through tear-blurred eyes. He nodded slowly.

Reu peered out. "Clear. Let's move."

They walked cautiously. On the road ahead stood a man—huge, with a bloated gut, short limbs, wild beard, and a tattered green bandana. His shirt was open, revealing a scarred, barrel-like torso.

He took one look at Reu's glare and stopped.

"You got a problem with me, boy?" he growled.

"Nothing, old man," Reu replied.

The man laughed. "Zehahaha! I have some ale here, wanna share it, will ya?"

Reu paused, then nodded. They sat on the roadside. Toby joined.

"I'm Ted Brundy," the man said, offering them a bottle.

"Toby."

"Reu."

Ted handed out apple pie. Toby devoured his. "This is amazing!"

"You're ashkins, aren't you?" Ted said casually.

"That's right," Toby answered, "We are heading to Gastonmere".

Ted smiled. "Lucky you. I can take you there."

Reu paused. "We'll manage. Thanks."

Ted stood. "Suit yourselves. Good luck chasing dreams."

As Ted walked away, Reu muttered, "Feel that?"

"Yeah," Toby said. "He's dangerous."

"Maybe not him. Them."

Brea and Enci returned.

"Look what we found,". Enci showed.

Brea said,"Reu, help me with this bracelet. It's stuck."

Before Reu could try, a shout rang out.

"There they are! After them!"

Paladins charged.

"Run!" Reu yelled.

They bolted, darting into alleys, zigzagging through the maze of ruined buildings. Paladins chased after them, shouting, weapons drawn.

Through the dying city of Gursh, the hunted became the sparks of rebellion.