Chapter 77: Chapter 76 - The Survivors of Kolma

Kolma was gone.

Burned to ash in a single night. The town Teclos had known—the place of lantern-lit streets, noisy guild halls, familiar voices, and childish dreams of becoming hunters—had been destroyed.

Toby carried Teclos through the tunnel.

He did not know how long he had been running anymore. Time had lost meaning somewhere behind them, buried beneath collapsing stone, screams, and the muffled sounds of battle still clawing through the wall at their backs.

The tunnel stretched ahead, dim and trembling, its reinforced walls scarred by cracks and loose dust. Every few breaths, the ceiling groaned as if the earth itself was deciding whether to spare them or swallow them whole.

Around him, the remaining hunters moved in ragged silence.

Zarik limped on one side, blood running down his temple and drying across half his face. Tom supported him with one arm while still gripping his weapon in the other. Darnel staggered ahead, soaked, burned, and breathing heavily, his eyes hollow but alert. Brahm walked near the front, one arm gone and his clothes dark with blood, yet somehow still moving like a man who had no right to fall.

Behind them, two hunters carried Pella.

The priest’s body hung limp between them, unconscious, his robes torn to ribbons and soaked through with blood that should have belonged to several men. Green mana flickered faintly around him now and then, weak and unstable, as if his body was still trying to repair itself even while his mind was gone.

Toby looked down at Teclos.

The boy’s eyes were open.

His head rested weakly against Toby’s arm, his body limp and frighteningly light. The black veins beneath his skin had faded somewhat after the potion, but they were still there, thin and dark, crawling across his face and neck like cracks in porcelain.

"Teclos," Toby said, his voice low and breathless. "Stay with me, lad."

There was no answer.

"You hear me? We’re almost through. It’s going to be allright."

But Teclos just stared past Toby’s shoulder, back the way they had come, toward the darkness now hidden behind layers of stone and death.

Toby tightened his grip.

"Teclos..."

Still nothing.

For a second, Toby thought the boy might have slipped away after all, until he noticed the faint rise and fall of his chest. His breathing was shallow and weak, but he was still alive.

Only then did Toby look into his eyes properly.

And that was when he stopped trying.

There was nothing there.

No panic. No tears. No anger.

Just a dead, empty stare that made Toby’s chest tighten.

He had seen that look before. On battlefields. In survivors dragged from monster dens. In men who had watched too much happen too quickly and left a piece of themselves behind in the place they escaped from.

Toby looked away.

"Alright," he whispered, more to himself than to Teclos. "Alright."

Then he kept moving.

Everyone who could still walk focused only on placing one foot in front of the other.

The tunnel eventually began to slope upward.

Fresh air drifted faintly from ahead.

A few hunters lifted their heads at the scent of it. Then the tunnel widened and they reached the end.

The refugees were waiting there.

Kolma’s children, women, elderly, and wounded filled the final stretch of the underground passage in a sea of frightened faces. Some sat against the walls clutching bundles of clothes, tools, food, or whatever they had managed to grab before fleeing. Others stood packed together, whispering prayers, holding children close, staring toward the returning hunters with desperate hope.

That hope broke almost immediately.

Manny eyes searched the group for their loved ones.

A woman near the front let out a sound that was not quite a word. Another covered her mouth with both hands. A child ran forward, looking past Brahm, past Darnel, past Toby, searching for someone who was not there.

Questions began to rise.

"Where is my husband?"

"Where is Sera?"

"Where are the others?"

"Did they make it?"

"Where is Talmir?"

At that name, Toby felt Teclos shift slightly in his arms.

Saldia pushed through the crowd.

Her face was pale, her hair half-loose from its tie, eyes wild with terror.

And when she finnaly saw Teclos.

The sound that left her throat was small and broken.

She rushed forward, nearly stumbling over a bundle left on the ground.

"Toby—"

"He’s alive," Toby said quickly, because it was the only mercy he could offer. "He’s alive."

Saldia reached them and placed both hands on Teclos’ face.

"What happened to him?" she whispered.

Toby could not answer.

Saldia’s eyes flicked behind him, searching the returning hunters, she had a bad premonition about this silence.

Her hands froze against Teclos’ cheeks.

"Where is Talmir?"

No one answered.

The silence did it for them.

Saldia’s face changed slowly, as if the meaning had to carve itself into her piece by piece. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

Brahm stepped forward then.

He looked at the refugees, at the hunters, at the wounded, at the grieving faces already beginning to understand. For a moment, his own grief seemed to press down on him until even his remaining shoulder sagged.

Then he forced himself upright.

There would be time to break later.

If they lived.

"We cannot stay here," Brahm said, his voice rough but carrying through the tunnel. "The orcs may still find another way through. Everyone who can walk will walk. Those who cannot will be carried."

A few people stared at him blankly.

Brahm’s eyes hardened.

"Now." He commanded.

Hunters began organizing the refugees into groups. Children were placed in the center. The elderly and injured were supported by those still strong enough to help. Families clung together, some crying quietly, others too shocked to do even that.

Brahm turned toward Eazekiels prepared exit point near the tunnel’s end.

"Break it."

Two earth-affinity hunters stepped forward. Stone groaned as they forced mana into the ceiling. Cracks spread upward in a rough circle and dust rained down.

Then the ceiling burst open.

Cold daylight spilled into the tunnel.

For a heartbeat, everyone went still.

Above them was open ground.

A grey sky.

The outside world.

The hunters climbed out first, weapons drawn, scanning the area. When no orcs appeared, they began lifting people up one by one.

The refugees emerged from the earth like the dead crawling out of a grave.

Some collapsed to their knees as soon as they reached the surface. Others turned back toward the direction of Kolma, but trees and distance hid the town from view.

Smoke still rose beyond the forest.

Their homes were gone.

Their lives were gone.

And for many of them, the people they loved were gone too.

Brahm did not let them look for long.

"To Lupos," he ordered. "We move in formation. Hunters at the front, rear, and sides. Children and wounded in the middle."

His voice cracked slightly on the last words, but he continued.

The march began.

The survivors of Kolma moved away from the broken tunnel, away from the smoke, away from the grave their home had become.

There were so few hunters left.

Brahm walked at the front like a wounded stone statue, refusing to bend. Darnel guarded the side with hollow eyes. Tom and Zarik stayed near the wounded despite barely being able to stand themselves. Toby carried Teclos beside Saldia, who walked with one hand resting against her son as if afraid he would vanish if she let go.

Around them, families wept as they walked.

Some cried openly.

Some silently.

Some children kept asking when their fathers would catch up, and no one had the courage to answer them.

Behind them, Kolma burned somewhere beyond the trees.

The survivors moved beneath the trees in a long line, following the hunters through narrow paths and patches of half-melted snow. Branches scratched against cloaks. Mud clung to boots. Children whimpered when roots caught their feet, and the elderly were supported on both sides by anyone with enough strength left to lend an arm.

No one complained out loud as no one had the energy left for it.

Only the quiet sound of weeping, labored breathing, and the occasional command from Brahm as he kept the line moving.

Toby meanwhile still carried Teclos.

At some point, his arms had started trembling, but he did not put him down. Zarik and Tom had offered more than once, yet each time Toby only shook his head and continued forward.

Saldia walked close beside them, one hand never far from Teclos’s arm, as if she feared the forest itself might steal him away.

Teclos barely reacted.

His eyes remained open, but empty. The trees passed above him. Faces moved around him. Voices drifted in and out of reach.

The wall of stone remained behind his eyes.

His father’s smile.

Live.

The word repeated in his mind time and time again.

After what felt like hours, the trees began to thin.

A clearing opened ahead.

And beyond it stood Lupos.

The city rose behind stone walls, larger than anything Kolma had ever been, its towers cutting into the pale sky. Banners snapped in the wind from the battlements. Smoke rose from chimneys beyond the walls, and the main road outside the gate was filled with movement.

The city was already on alert.

Soldiers ran along the walls, shouting orders. Guards at the gate were letting people inside in a controlled line, checking carts, waving families forward, preparing for lockdown. Wagons stood abandoned or half-searched near the road. Civilians hurried through the entrance with fear in their eyes, clutching children, bags, and whatever they could carry.

Then one of the soldiers on the wall saw the shapes emerging from the forest.

A horn screamed.

"Movement from the eastern treeline!"

Another horn answered.

Then another.

The gate guards snapped into formation. Archers rushed to the battlements and drew their bows. Spears lowered. Men shouted over one another as panic sharpened into readiness.

For a heartbeat, the refugees stopped.

Brahm lifted his remaining hand.

"Do not panic," he ordered. "Keep walking."

On the wall, three figures stood among the soldiers.

One of them was Axel.

He stared down at the approaching survivors with an expression Teclos would have laughed at if he had been capable of it.

Surprise.

Beside him stood a tall man in radiant armor marked with the symbols of the Dawn Church. Even from a distance, his presence was impossible to miss. Golden mana seemed to cling faintly around him, restrained but powerful.

Regulus.

The paladin captain.

The third man wore fine clothes beneath a cloak trimmed with fur, his posture straight, his expression grave but controlled. Count Aweq Van Denos, ruler of Lupos and its surrounding lands.

A soldier rushed up beside him and bowed quickly.

"My lord, it seems some of the people from Kolma managed to escape."

The Count’s eyes moved over the line of survivors.

Women.

Children.

Elderly.

Wounded hunters.

"Stand down," he ordered.

An older advisor beside him stiffened. "My lord, we cannot simply open the gates to all of them. If the city goes into lockdown, our stores are already strained. Hundreds more mouths will only—"

"They are my people," Count Aweq said, cutting him off with calm authority. "Open the gates. Bring them inside."

"But—"

"Now."

The advisor lowered his head.

The order rippled down the wall.

"Stand down!"

"Lower bows!"

"Open the gates!"

The soldiers hesitated only briefly before obeying. Spears lifted. Bowstrings loosened. The great gates groaned wider, and the surviving people of Kolma were guided forward.

Regulus did not wait on the wall.

By the time the first refugees reached the gate, he was already there.

His gaze swept over them quickly, professionally, taking in injuries, numbers, faces, conditions. Then he saw the hunters carrying Father Pella.

For the first time, his expression changed.

"Pella?"

The unconscious priest hung limp between two men, his robes ruined, blood dried across his face and chest. Whatever healing remained around him was faint, unstable, barely flickering.

Regulus stepped closer, concern tightening his features.

"He was beaten this badly?"

No one answered immediately.

Brahm’s jaw clenched. "He bought us time."

Regulus looked from Pella to Brahm, then to the rest of the survivors.

Something in his gaze sharpened.

Father Pella was not a weak man. Regulus knew that. If someone like him had returned unconscious and broken, then the orc force was far worse than the first reports had suggested.

His eyes lifted toward the wall.

Toward Axel.

Something did not add up.

The report had been incomplete.

Or someone had not told the whole truth.

Inside the gate, the refugees were herded into a wide open courtyard near the inner wall. Soldiers guided them into groups, separating wounded from those still able to stand. Healers rushed forward. Water was brought. Blankets were thrown over shaking shoulders.

Toby finally lowered Teclos beside a stone wall.

He did it carefully, easing him down until his back rested against the cold surface.

"There," Toby muttered, breathing hard. "Easy, lad."

Teclos stared ahead.

Toby looked at him for a long moment, then lowered his eyes.

"I’m sorry."

No response came.

After a while, footsteps rushed toward them.

Saldia.

She pushed past two soldiers and dropped to her knees in front of Teclos, hands immediately going to his face.

"Teclos."

This time, his eyes moved.

For the first time since the tunnel, something inside them lit up.

Small.

Weak.

But there.

His lips trembled.

Saldia let out a broken breath and pulled him into her arms.

He did not move at first.

Then, slowly, painfully, his head lowered against her shoulder.

Her arms tightened around him.

"It’s alright," she whispered, though nothing was alright. "I’m here. I’m here."

Tears gathered in Teclos’s eyes again.

At first, only one fell.

Then another.

Then his face twisted, and the emptiness finally cracked.

"I’m sorry," he rasped.

Saldia froze.

Her hand stilled against his hair.

"What?"

Teclos swallowed, but the words scraped out anyway.

"I’m sorry..."

His fingers weakly curled into her sleeve.

"He’s not coming back."

Saldia’s face drained of color.

For a moment, she did not understand.

Or refused to.

Her eyes moved past him, searching the courtyard, the wounded, the hunters, the soldiers, the gate. 𝘧𝓇ℯ𝑒𝓌𝑒𝑏𝓃𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭.𝒸ℴ𝓂

But Teclos only cried harder against her shoulder.

And Saldia understood.

Her arms tightened around her son until they trembled, as if holding him tightly enough might keep the rest of her world from falling apart.

At first, no sound left her.

She tried to hold back the tears with everything she had.

But then she bowed over him, clutching the only piece of Talmir that had returned.