Chapter 2 (Part 1): Blood on the sand

The gates of Exilium crashed open like war drums echoing through the night. Zero burst through the threshold, a beast unchained from hell. His metal claws pounded the concrete, each step leaving behind crimson imprints. The air reeked—iron, scorched metal, and something worse.

Rodrigo leapt from the wolf's back, landing hard. He couldn't breathe. Not from the wounds—but from what he'd left behind. He bled. Limped. Panted. Still standing. His chest heaved with every breath, adrenaline crackling through his nerves. Red soaked his sleeve, trickling down his arm, but his posture never wavered.

Cain dropped down behind him, his boots striking the floor like thunder, his entire form soaked in violence. None of it his. His gaze stormed forward—dark, locked, a second from eruption. Every movement crackled with tension, as though he was moments away from tearing the city apart with his bare hands.

From the side of the workshop, Vaelith ran out. Her eyes widened, breath sharp and fast.

"What the fuck happened?!"

Cain didn't stop. He walked past her, grabbed Rodrigo's shoulder, squeezing it with controlled force.

"Go. Find Ryx. Sit down, drink something."

Rodrigo didn't answer. He nodded again, drifting instinctively toward Ryx's bar, legs carrying him along a path they'd memorized years ago. The metal beneath his boots thudded dully, rain tapping on rooftops above, dragging old memories behind it.

The bar was quiet. Empty.

Ryx looked up from behind the counter, frowning. Without a word, he slid a glass of water across the bar.

Rodrigo sat at the same stool he always used. Same angle. Same faint scent of oil, smoke, and alcohol.

But as he stared at the glass, the years folded in on themselves. And suddenly—it hit him.

Four years ago

Clare threw the knife.

Bullseye.

As always.

Agito whistled from the side, leaning against the bar with that infuriating smirk.

"If you miss the next one, we're going on a date," he said. "Don't worry. I'll love Rodrigo like my own."

Clare laughed, reaching for another blade.

"Now I've got motivation."

Cain sat nearby, cleaning his weapon—even he chuckled.

Rodrigo, maybe ten years old, wide-eyed and proud, watched his mother like she was a war goddess.

"I'm gonna be better than her," he whispered.

Cain smirked.

"Grow a little first."

Even Korven cracked a grin, arms folded in the corner.

That night, there was no war. Just people.

The other night came. The one that ended everything.

Rain.

Rodrigo burst into the bar, soaked to the bone, still wearing an oversized school uniform.

Inside: Korven. Cain. Agito. Ryx behind the bar.

Silence.

Rodrigo scanned the room, heart pounding.

"Where's my mom?"

No answer.

Agito stood still, fists clenched, rage bleeding through his frame. He didn't look at Rodrigo.

Korven looked away.

Cain stared at the wall like it had something more important to say.

Finally, Korven muttered,

"She died on a scout run."

Rodrigo stepped back.

"You're lying."

His voice cracked, but his gaze didn't falter.

"She died because of your games…" His tone sharpened like a blade. "You took my mother from me!"

No one argued.

No one denied it.

They all knew.

And no one said a word.

Only silence.

The silence snapped back like a whip. Present. Sharp. Real.

Rodrigo blinked hard, eyes burning with unshed tears, grip tightening until his knuckles whitened. Each breath dragged like shards of glass through his chest, memories slicing deeper with every heartbeat. The glass shook in his hand.

For a second, the pain threatened to break free—raw, suffocating, buried so deep he thought he'd forgotten how it felt. But now it surged back, choking him.

"That's when everything ended," Rodrigo whispered, voice trembling. "We were happy. Then we weren't anything."

Ryx leaned on the bar beside him, voice gentle, firm.

"You didn't stop being something. You just got lost for a while."

Rodrigo stared at the glass in silence. He drank slowly, letting fire drown memories he couldn't face.

Vaelith shouted after them.

"Where are the scouts?! Where the fuck is Agito?!"

Cain finally turned his head. His fist tightened, veins on his forearm straining like steel cables. His tone came out flat and unforgiving.

"They're dead. Agito went to the Nomads."

The words left his mouth like a hammer. No grief. No hesitation. Only fury. He didn't whisper it. Didn't grieve. Didn't simply say it. He spat it like venom.

Vaelith froze.

Cain spun on his heel and marched toward Central.

Vaelith cast him a glance and followed.

People stepped out of their path. Not out of respect.

Out of fear.

CRACK!

Cain's boot crashed the doors open. They rattled violently. Before the echo faded, his fist smashed into the holotable.

Holograms glitched and rippled.

"You knew about the Grinders in the cave?!" he roared, locking eyes on Vaxtor.

The room fell silent.

Vaxtor didn't respond immediately. Everyone was watching. Cain's breathing grew ragged, fury filling the room like oppressive fog.

"You've got your fancy fucking maps, Vaxtor!" he barked, slamming the table again.

"My squad. Ten people. Dead. All of them."

The holograms shimmered. Cain didn't flinch.

Vaxtor wiped a hand down his face.

"There was no sign of activity," Vaxtor said calmly. "I'd have sent more."

Cain's glare narrowed to slits.

"So you fucked up."

Vaxtor didn't blink. His reply hardened.

"We had no data. Don't tell me you think I did this on purpose."

Cain didn't answer. He didn't have to. His glare said enough.

Cyrene stepped in sharply.

"What exactly happened?"

Cain ran a hand down his face.

"Grinders. Not scouts. Not stragglers. A fucking horde."

Another silence. This one deeper and stiffer.

"That's impossible," Cyrene said. "They don't operate in hordes."

"They don't—on their own," Cain spat on the floor. "Veyrath betrayed us."

The words dropped like a guillotine.

Vaelith stumbled back a step, like she'd just been slapped.

"Veyrath?!" Her words cracked. "He was a priest, right? People loved him!"

Cain nodded once.

"Yeah. Until he mutated. Then he started calling himself better than the rest. Like a god."

Cyrene's jaw tightened.

"He destroyed the comms tower," Cain growled. "Now he's heading for the Nomads."

Vaxtor furrowed his brow.

"And Agito?"

Cain looked him dead in the eye.

"He's probably already there. We need to move. Now. Gather whoever you can."

Vaxtor ran a hand over his bald head.

"It's not that simple."

Cain took a fierce step forward, barely restraining himself from grabbing Vaxtor by the collar.

"People are dying. We don't have that luxury."

Cyrene slammed her fist on the console.

"We don't have time for this bullshit!"

Vaelith spoke up, quieter but firm.

"If we leave them, they'll be slaughtered."

Vaxtor hesitated, but Cain already knew.

"Fuck it," Cain growled, eyes blazing with cold fury. "They're not dying because we hesitated. I'm going, with or without you."

Vaxtor exhaled, resigned.

"How many do you need?"

But Cain didn't respond. His mind was already elsewhere.