The Last Order

Chapter 6: An Oath Renewed

The air was thick with the stench of blood and damp earth, the remnants of battle scattered across the forest clearing. Valen stood, his breath ragged, leaning heavily on his glowing sword for support. His ancient, battle-worn armor bore new dents and scratches, testaments to the brutal fight he had just survived. His once-crimson cape was now tattered and stained with dirt, clinging to his body like a ghost of past glory.

Around him lay the bodies of Zorath's minions—twisted, dark creatures that barely resembled men. Their eyes, black as coal, stared lifelessly at the sky, and their gnarled hands still clutched at rusted weapons. The ambush had been swift and vicious, and though Valen had managed to fend off the attackers, he knew this was only the beginning. Zorath's forces were growing bolder, their strikes more coordinated. The dark mage's reach extended further with each passing day, and the relic Valen protected was the prize they sought above all else.

Valen sheathed his sword, the ethereal light from the blade fading as it slid into the worn leather scabbard. He winced as pain flared in his side—a deep gash from a particularly savage blow. Blood soaked through the torn chainmail, and he pressed a gloved hand against the wound, gritting his teeth.

The attack had been too close. He had nearly faltered, nearly lost his life to Zorath's wretched minions. As he stood there, the weight of his oath pressed down on him like a crushing burden. He had sworn to protect the relic, to ensure that the ancient magic it held would never fall into the wrong hands. It was an oath he had taken years ago, when the world was different—when he was different. And now, as he stood on the edge of life and death, that oath seemed heavier than ever.

He closed his eyes, letting the cool breeze brush against his face. Memories of his past flickered in his mind—his brothers-in-arms, the Order that had once stood tall and proud, protectors of the old magic. They were gone now, all of them, fallen to the darkness that sought to claim the relic for itself. Valen was the last. The last of an Order forgotten by time, the last to stand between the world and the ruin Zorath sought to bring.

But doubt crept into his heart. How long could he continue this fight alone? How long before Zorath's forces overwhelmed him, and the relic was lost?

The sound of footsteps snapped him out of his thoughts. Instinctively, Valen's hand flew to his sword, though his vision blurred for a moment as exhaustion set in. The figure that emerged from the trees was not one of Zorath's twisted soldiers, but a young woman, her form lean and agile. She moved with a quiet confidence, a bow slung over her shoulder and a quiver full of arrows at her back.

"Easy there, knight," she called out, her voice light and teasing. "If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't have saved your hide just now."

Valen frowned, his hand still resting on the hilt of his sword as the woman approached. She had bright, fiery red hair that fell in loose waves down her back, her green eyes gleaming with mischief. Despite her playful demeanor, there was a sharpness to her movements, a hunter's grace that belied her seemingly carefree nature.

"I didn't ask for your help," Valen said gruffly, straightening up despite the pain in his side. He had no time for distractions, no time for strangers who might interfere with his mission.

"Clearly," the woman replied with a smirk. "But judging by the state of you, I'd say you needed it." She looked him up and down, taking in his worn armor and the blood seeping through his side. "You're lucky I was nearby. Those creatures were about to tear you apart."

Valen's gaze hardened. He didn't like relying on others—especially not strangers—but the truth was, without her intervention, he might not have survived the ambush. He gave a curt nod, his voice low. "Thank you."

The woman grinned, as if she had won some unspoken victory. "You're welcome, knight. Name's Heather, by the way. And you are...?"

"Valen," he said simply, already turning away from her as he surveyed the bodies of Zorath's minions. He needed to keep moving, needed to get away before more of them arrived. His mission couldn't wait.

But Heather wasn't one to be brushed off so easily. She crossed her arms, watching him with an amused tilt of her head. "Valen, huh? Not much of a talker, are you?"

Valen didn't respond, his focus already shifting back to the path ahead. He couldn't afford distractions, not when Zorath's forces were closing in.

"Hey," Heather said, stepping closer. "I'm not just some random passerby. I know who you are. Or at least, I've heard the stories." She raised an eyebrow. "The last knight of a forgotten Order, right? The one protecting some ancient relic?"

Valen stiffened, his hand instinctively tightening around the hilt of his sword again. How much did she know? And more importantly, how?

"I'm not here to pry," Heather continued, sensing his unease. "But I've been tracking Zorath's movements too. And from what I've seen, you could use some help."

Valen shook his head, his expression cold. "I work alone."

"Sure, you do," Heather replied, her voice laced with sarcasm. "That's why you're bleeding out in the middle of nowhere, after barely surviving an ambush."

Valen turned to her, his green eyes narrowing. "I don't need your help."

Heather raised her hands in mock surrender. "Fine, fine. But I think you're underestimating what's coming. Zorath isn't just sending his minions after you for fun. He wants that relic, and he's going to send everything he's got to get it. You're going to need more than just a sword and some old armor to stop him."

Valen's jaw clenched. He knew she was right, but admitting it felt like a betrayal of the oath he had sworn so long ago. He was meant to bear this burden alone, to protect the relic at all costs. Bringing someone else into this fight—especially someone like Heather, with her carefree attitude—felt dangerous.

"I don't have time for this," Valen muttered, turning away again. He took a step forward, but his vision blurred, and the ground seemed to tilt beneath him. His injuries were worse than he had thought.

Before he could fall, Heather was there, steadying him with a firm grip. "Whoa, easy now. You're in no shape to go anywhere."

Valen tried to pull away, but his body betrayed him, the pain too much to bear. Heather guided him to a nearby tree, easing him down against the trunk. "Look, you don't have to like me," she said, kneeling beside him as she examined his wounds. "But you do need me. At least for now."

Valen's pride screamed at him to reject her offer, but his body—the exhaustion, the pain—left him no choice. He gave a reluctant nod, leaning his head back against the tree. "Fine," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "But I'm not making any promises."

Heather grinned, pulling out a small flask of water and offering it to him. "That's all I needed to hear, knight. Let's patch you up, and then we can figure out how to stop this Zorath character before he burns the whole world to the ground."

As Heather began tending to his wounds, Valen couldn't help but feel the weight of his oath once more. He had sworn to protect the relic, to carry out this mission alone. But perhaps, just this once, he would have to bend the rules. The world was changing, and Zorath's darkness was spreading faster than Valen could fight it.

For now, he would allow Heather to join him, if only because he had no other choice. But he would not let her get too close. His path was still his own, and the secrets he carried were too dangerous to share with anyone—even a fierce archer with a playful grin.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the forest in shadow, Valen closed his eyes, his mind heavy with the burdens of the past. His oath had been renewed, but the road ahead was darker than ever.