Moonlit truce

Ethan sat by the fire, its flickering light casting long shadows across the clearing. The fountain of healing bubbled softly nearby, its waters reflecting the bright glow of the moon. He had gathered what little food he could—some zombie meat, charred and unappetizing, and a few squirrels he'd managed to catch. The smell of roasting meat filled the air, though it did little to mask the lingering stench of decay. 

Across from him sat the girl, her pale face tilted toward the sky. The moonlight bathed her in an ethereal glow, her violet eyes shimmering like stars. She seemed almost peaceful, her hands resting lightly on her knees as she gazed at the moon. 

Ferox, the minotaur, lay nearby, his massive form sprawled on the ground. He snored loudly, his shovel resting beside him like a loyal companion. The fight had taken its toll on him, and for now, he was content to sleep. 

Ethan poked at the fire with a stick, breaking the silence. 

"So... what's your name?" 

The girl didn't look at him, her voice soft but carrying an edge of ancient wisdom. 

"Names are fleeting things. But you may call me Selene." 

Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Selene, huh? Like the moon goddess?" 

She smiled faintly, her gaze still fixed on the sky. 

"A name borrowed, not given. But it suits me, don't you think?" 

Ethan shrugged, turning the meat over the fire. "Sure. Better than 'kid,' at least." 

Selene's lips twitched, almost as if she were amused. 

"You're an odd one, Ethan Cross. Most would fear me, yet here you are, sharing a fire with a vampire." 

"I've fought worse," Ethan said, his voice low.

His mind harkening back to the battlefield, his expression haunted.

"Easy to say I'd rather be here than back there." 

Selene finally turned to look at him, her violet eyes piercing. She studied his uniform, its design unfamiliar despite her centuries of travel. 

"...Say, where are you from?" 

Ethan looked at her for a moment, then sighed. 

"You wouldn't know. It's an old town that was once between the former territories of Indica and the Southeastern Union." 

Selene's brow furrowed. Indica? Southeastern Union? These names meant nothing to her. 

"...Mind enlightening me on your predicament?" she asked, her curiosity piqued. 

Ethan chuckled, though there was little humor in it. 

"Am not sure I can tell you that without you thinking I've lost some brain matter," he said, his tone light but his eyes heavy with memories. 

He burned another piece of meat, the flames reflecting in his weary gaze. 

"But as far as you should know, I'm a soldier—an officer of the Triple Alliance, better known as the Tri-Force." 

Selene tilted her head, listening intently as Ethan continued. 

"The land was scarred... dead... barren of any life. We'd gone to fight a war against tyranny, for freedom, they said. But of course, we all knew... the world was changing." 

His voice trailed off, the weight of his words hanging in the air. Selene felt his emotions—raw and full of sorrow, locked away in the depths of his being. It gave her a strange sense of sadness, a feeling she hadn't experienced in centuries. 

"Wise words for a man who just punched a minotaur through a boulder," she said softly, her tone more reflective than mocking. 

Ethan chuckled, wincing as the motion tugged at his injuries. "Yeah, well, that was a one-time thing. Don't think I could do it again." 

The fire crackled between them, the silence comfortable but charged with unspoken questions. Ethan handed her a skewer of squirrel meat, the gesture simple but meaningful. 

Selene hesitated, then accepted it with a nod of thanks. 

"Thanks... You really are a unique man." 

"Call it survival instincts,"

he said, biting into his own meal. 

After a moment, he turned to her, his curiosity getting the better of him. 

"What of you? A pairing of a minotaur and a vampire is something I wouldn't expect to see in a thousand years." 

Selene looked at him, her violet eyes reflecting the firelight. She placed her hand near the heat of the campfire, her pale skin glowing faintly in the flickering light. 

"It's a mutual friendship," she said, her voice calm but carrying a hint of something deeper. 

She moved her hand slowly around the fire, as if tracing an invisible pattern. 

"Ever since the fall of my domain under the Knights of Lone Star, I've made an alliance with him." 

Her emotions were hard to read, as blank and unreadable as moonlight on still water. 

"Meeting him was an accident," she continued. "He made his way into the forest in search of food and a place to rest. I, on the other hand, was running,from the old knights and the new... snap-shooters, as the humans called them." 

Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Snap-shooters? Something that shoots out of a barrel of a stick?" 

Selene nodded, her expression unreadable. 

"...Yes." 

Ethan leaned back, processing the information. It seemed the humans had progressed further in their technology—far beyond what he remembered.

Ethan sighed, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames. 

"Same old story," he muttered, his voice heavy with resignation. 

Though the land had changed and time had passed, some things remained the same. The struggle for survival, the endless cycle of conflict, it was a story as old as humanity itself. 

"Say, what do you plan to do?"

Ethan asked curiously, turning to Selene. 

She looked at him, her violet eyes reflecting the firelight. For a moment, she seemed to hesitate, as if weighing her words carefully. Then she sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. 

"I don't know," she admitted. "We've been moving day in and day out, just trying to stay alive. Until we came to the Deadlands, there was no plan... only survival." 

Her voice carried a weariness that Ethan understood all too well. It was the kind of exhaustion that came from years—or in her case, centuries—of running, fighting, and losing. 

Ethan nodded, his expression thoughtful. 

"Sounds familiar," he said, his tone softening. "But maybe... maybe this place is a chance to stop running. At least for a while." 

Selene's gaze lingered on him, her expression unreadable. 

"Perhaps," she said quietly. "But the Deadlands are no sanctuary. They are a prison—for the dead, and for those who dare to walk among them." 

Ethan leaned back, staring up at the moon. 

"Guess we'll find out,"

With a faint smile, he laid down, watching the night. He may not know where he would end up next, but he had hope, for he had company.

__________________________________

Knights of the Lone Star

– The Burning Blade of the Holy Sun

Forged in the name of the Church of the Holy Sun, the Knights of the Lone Star exist for one purpose—the eradication of heretics. Those who stray from the light, be they false prophets, forsaken gods, or abominations lurking in the dark, all face the knights' unyielding wrath.

For centuries, they have stood as an unshakable force, their steel and faith carving order into chaos. Though their numbers are few, their influence is vast, their banners carried into battles where even the gods hesitate to tread.

To oppose them is to defy the Holy Sun itself. And for that, there is only one fate—purification by fire.

"The Holy Sun does not forgive. It only burns bri

ghter."