Ragnarök, Eternal Tragedy.
Chapter 99: What silence we carry

Chapter 99: What silence we carry

Maverick was sitting at the edge of the table, arms folded, boots still caked with ash.

"We move at first light," he said. "There’s no way they’re not tracking her already. We stay too long, we get surrounded."

Kenneth nodded, still pacing.

Johnny leaned against the wall with a tired grunt. "We’re not exactly subtle."

Shylo stood by the doorway, arms crossed, quiet as always.

Amari said nothing.

He sat with his head lowered, jaw tight. That quiet kind of boiling that simmers under the skin. The kind that doesn’t shout—it just leaves.

He stood fast.

The chair scraped loud against the wood floor.

"Where are you going?" Maverick asked, already knowing.

"Out," Amari muttered, pushing the door open without looking back.

It slammed shut.

Everyone froze for half a second—just long enough for the tension to dig in deeper.

Shylo’s head turned toward the door.

The room was dim, dust trailing in thin lines through the moonlight slipping past the cracked window. It was dead quiet in there—except for Amari’s slow breathing.

He stood near the wall, one hand resting against the wooden frame, staring out at the trees. His jaw clenched. Shoulders tight.

He didn’t turn when the door opened.

Shylo stepped inside, quiet as always. He didn’t say anything right away. Just watched his brother from across the room.

Then—

"I’m not okay with this," Amari said suddenly, voice low. "I never was."

Shylo blinked, but didn’t flinch.

"You brought us here, Amari," he said. "You’re the one who made the deal. Told us it’d be better than the streets. But now you act like we’re the problem for following you?"

Amari still didn’t turn around.

"Yeah," he muttered. "I did bring us here. Thought we’d get power. Control. A way out. But this...?"

He shook his head.

"We’ve been doing this for three years. And every time we burn a village or break someone’s family to pieces, I tell myself it’s just the job. Just survival. But it doesn’t sit right. It never has."

Shylo walked up beside him now, not too close, but close enough to let Amari feel he wasn’t alone.

"I don’t get it," he admitted. "We’re killers. We made peace with that a long time ago. I don’t know what part of you still thinks we’re supposed to feel clean."

Amari didn’t respond.

Shylo glanced sideways, then sighed. "But... I’m not gonna pretend your heart doesn’t matter. Even if I don’t understand it."

He bumped his shoulder lightly against Amari’s arm.

"You never have to say anything, Amari. I just need to know if you’re still with us. If you’re still you."

Amari’s hand curled slightly against the window.

His voice was barely a whisper.

"I don’t know anymore."

Shylo didn’t push him. Just stood there. Let the quiet hang.

The low murmur of voices in the other room died fast.

A soft crunch outside—just one. Then another.

Amari stiffened near the window, his hand instinctively reaching down to one of the pulse daggers at his thigh. Moonlight caught the edge of his jaw, his breath slow but sharp.

"They’re close," he whispered. "Real close."

Shylo didn’t answer. Just nodded once and turned on his heel, slipping back through the door like a shadow bleeding into the walls.

Inside the main room, the others looked up.

"What is it?" Milo asked.

Shylo’s voice was calm, but firm. "Company."

That was all they needed.

Kenneth stood immediately, cracking both knuckles like it was routine.

Johnny already had one blade in hand, eyes flicking toward the dim hallway like he was reading incoming disaster like sheet music.

Maverick lowered the map they’d been looking over, rolled it up tight. "They track fast."

Milo muttered under his breath. "Should’ve moved quicker..."

"No point regretting," Maverick cut in, sliding on his gloves. "Arm up."

Boots hit the floor hard. Mask straps pulled tight. Blades unsheathed in silence.

Down the hall, Amari hadn’t moved from the window.

But his body was ready.

Those men were on their way to get what’s their’s back.

The explosion ripped through the safehouse like a scream of metal and fire.

Walls cracked. Dust and splinters rained down. The entire building rocked sideways as part of the upper floor caved in with a brutal crash. The force knocked Johnny to the ground, sent Milo stumbling. Even Kenneth blinked like he hadn’t seen that one coming.

Amari’s body snapped tense before the sound had even finished.

From outside the fractured windows, voices roared through the haze:

> "Return the princess! You have until we burn the rest of this place to ash!"

Amari’s blade was already in his hand.

Maverick growled, low and sharp. "Well... guess they’re not here for cookies."

He looked at the others. Everyone was already strapping up, ready, masks half-drawn.

Shylo stepped back into the room from the hallway, calm but fast. "Looks like they tracked us directly. No scouts. No stealth."

"They came loud," Johnny muttered, cracking his neck. "Means they’re serious."

Milo peeked through the crack in the broken wall and counted shadows moving in the dark—too many for this to be some village defense force. These were trained. Organized. Prepared.

Kenneth grinned. "Good. I needed round two."

Amari’s eyes flicked toward the corridor—the cell where the girl was still being held. Her fate was what brought the storm to their doorstep.

And now they had a choice to make:

Defend the stronghold and hold back the fire—

Or cut through it, carrying what the Dragunovs sent them to steal.

Everything hit at once.

The door blew wide, and the front of the safehouse went up in flame and splinters. Both sides surged—no hesitation, no words. Just impact.

Amari and Johnny crashed into the front line, blades flashing under shattered beams. Kenneth went wild—fist through shield, elbow through skull. Shylo vanished mid-step, sliding through shadow and dropping men from behind like a ghost you couldn’t pray against.

Maverick barked orders between parries, cutting through the haze with pure force and strategy. His focus was brutal.

And while the building cracked and fire spread across the walls, Milo’s clone darted down the half-collapsed hallway—straight to the cell.

It burst the door open with one hard push.

The princess staggered up from where she’d been thrown during the blast. Covered in dust, limbs shaking. Still gagged, still bound.

The clone didn’t wait. It lifted her up gently but fast, arm under her shoulders, and pulled her into the smoke-choked hallway.

Back in the main room, a beam snapped from above and slammed to the floor.

Amari ducked under it, sliding across scorched stone to help Johnny up. A body fell near them—one of the searchers, still clutching a broken sword.

The walls were crumbling.

And above it all, the roar of war clashed with the hiss of fire and the sharp ring of steel.