Marked for Harvest

The warmth from the small clay pot of embers felt miles away. Julius pulled his knees close, the rough fabric of his tunic scratching his chin. Starborn. Void. Purge. Charon's words filled the space, thick and heavy, more solid than the dust in the air. He wasn't just hiding from Trackers anymore. He was hiding from history, from a power that hunted legacies and feared emptiness. He was the emptiness.

Charon watched him, his ancient eyes holding a strange mix of sympathy and a hard truth. He leaned forward, about to speak again, perhaps offer some sliver of comfort in the face of such cosmic dread.

But he froze.

His head tilted, not towards Julius, but towards the broken doorway, towards the unseen outside. The lines on his face deepened. The embers glowed softly, their light shaky and unsure. Shadows moved like they were alive. Even the wind had gone quiet, like it knew something was coming.

Julius felt it too. A pressure in the air, like right before lightning. It wasn't the dull fear the Trackers brought. This was colder, sharper. It felt like something was looking right at him.

"Child," Charon whispered, his voice a dry rasp, suddenly urgent. He struggled to his feet, gripping his staff. "Something... something has found this place."

Before Julius could react, a figure filled the broken doorway.

This wasn't like the Trackers hidden in cloaks. This one wore armor, dark and smooth like black glass. Lines cut into it seemed to glow faintly with a cold blue light. It was like the strange sparks Julius sometimes saw behind his own eyes. The figure was very tall, and the air felt cold around it. Its helmet covered its face with smooth dark metal that showed nothing. It didn't feel mean or hungry like the Trackers; it just felt cold and determined.

It took a step inside, the sound of its armored boots on the stone floor unnervingly quiet, deliberate. It didn't scan the room. Its head, its entire posture, swiveled directly towards Julius.

The pale blue lines on its armor flared for a moment, pulsing in time with Julius's racing heartbeat.

"Animus Vacuus," the Knight's voice echoed, not from a mouth, but seemingly from the air around it. The sound was sharp and metallic, with no emotion behind it. Not a question, but a statement. A marking. "Located. Target designated for harvest."

Harvest. Not capture. Not containment. Harvest. The word hit Julius like a physical blow.

"No!" Charon stepped forward, positioning himself between Julius and the Knight, his thin body trembling but resolute. He held his staff defensively, though it looked like a twig against the Knight's imposing form. "You will not take him! This is a place of sanctuary, protected by older laws!"

The Knight didn't seem to notice Charon at all. Its gaze stayed fixed on Julius, like something unseen was drawing it in. It lifted its armored hand, the blue lines glowing brighter.

"Run, Julius!" Charon shouted, pushing him toward a dark corner stacked with old, crumbling scrolls. "Go through the back, there's a gap in the wall, Get out!"

The chill of fear finally broke Julius free. The way the Knight looked at him, the way it spoke, it was worse than the Trackers. Far worse. He fell back, kicking stones, his heart racing.

The Knight moved forward. Not quick like the Trackers attack. It slid forward smoothly, like nothing could stop it. It ignored Charon and just kept coming.

Charon slammed his staff against the Knight's armored leg. The impact echoed sharply, but the Knight didn't falter. It didn't even seem to notice. With a casual, almost dismissive backhand swing of its arm, it sent Charon crashing into a stack of scrolls. The old man cried out, a puff of ancient dust exploding around him.

Julius hesitated for a heart-stopping second, seeing Charon fall. Run! Hide! Don't let them take you! His mother's desperate screams echoed in his ears, mingling with Charon's pained gasp.

He turned and ran.

He scrambled into the spot Charon indicated. Behind a messy pile of stone slabs, he saw a dark crack in the ruin's back wall. It was narrow, just barely wide enough. He dove for the opening, the rough stone tearing at his arms and tunic.

Behind him, he heard the Knight's steady, unnerving steps. It wasn't rushing. It didn't need to.

He squeezed into the narrow gap. The rock felt cold and damp on his skin. It was pitch black inside, smelling of deep earth and stillness. He pushed forward blindly, his hands searching for holds, his feet slipping on loose scree. The passage twisted, turned downwards. He could hear stones skittering away beneath him, falling into unseen depths.

Then, a scraping sound from the entrance of the crack. Heavy. Metallic.

It was following him.

Panic surged, hot and thick in his throat. He pushed harder, faster, scraping his knees, tearing his clothes. The passage was tight, claustrophobic. He felt like he was being swallowed by the earth. The Knight's presence felt like a physical weight behind him, a cold pressure pushing him onward, deeper into the darkness.

The crack opened slightly, and he tumbled out, not into open air, but into another part of the ruins, a lower chamber, half-collapsed, littered with debris. Dim moonlight came through cracks way up high. It made weird shapes on the floor, which was covered in broken rocks.

He scrambled to his feet, looking wildly around. There were multiple crumbling doorways leading off this chamber, dark and uninviting.

Which way?

A section of the wall near the crack he'd exited exploded inwards in a shower of rock and dust. The Soulforged Knight was a dark shape against the weak light coming from the upper level. Its armor didn't look hurt from smashing through the stone. The blue lines on its armor pulsed steadily, a cold heartbeat in the gloom.

It hadn't needed the crack. It made its own way.

Julius choked back a cry and darted towards the nearest dark opening, plunging into another passage. This one felt wider, sloping upwards slightly. He ran, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his small legs pumping as fast as they could. The sounds of pursuit were clearer now, the crunch of stone under heavy boots, the occasional scrape of armor against rock. Relentless. Unhurried. Inescapable.

He ran out of the narrow opening. He was outside again, but lower down the hill, still among the large, ancient ruins. Broken walls and stone posts were all over the bumpy ground. The wind whipped around him, colder than ever. He could almost smell his own fear on it.

He risked a glance back. The Knight emerged from the passage, its dark form a stark contrast against the grey stone. It paused for a second, its helmeted head tilting almost imperceptibly, as if reacquiring its target.

Then it started towards him again, its pace unchanged.

There was nowhere left to run. He was trapped among the broken stones, the vast, uncaring sky above, and the chilling, purposeful Knight closing in. Despair washed over him, cold and final. He stumbled back, his foot catching on a loose rock, sending him sprawling onto the hard, dusty ground.

The Knight loomed over him, blocking out the weak moonlight. Its shadow fell across Julius, cold and absolute. The blue lines on its armor seemed to burn brighter, pulsing with imminent action. Harvest time.

Julius squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the end, the ghost of his mother's scream his final thought.